Chapter 17
Sorcha
Glaring at him, I cross my arms. “I win, you lose. I’m staying here. Or didn’t you hear?”
“Oh, I heard,” he says, giving me a withering stare that makes my insides wince. “I heard you performed some ancient blood rite in the middle of the campus, and now you think you’re safe.” His gaze rakes over my battered face.
“Give me one good reason why you think I’m not safe now.”
“It was a smart move, Sorcha,” he says eventually. “You out-archaic’d the archaic.”
“That’s what I said!” I blurt out triumphantly, giving him a big grin, before I turn it into a grimace. We are not family. We aren’t even friends. “And it worked,” I add.
“Did it?” he challenges.
“Well, I’m still standing here, not hauled off to England, so yeah. It worked. You know it. I know it. Everyone knows it.”
He stares at me, unblinking.
“Right?” I growl.
Eventually, he sighs. “Right.” Then he flicks his gaze to the guys at my back. “You three are now responsible for her safety and well-being. If anything, and I mean even one scratch, happens to her, I’m coming for you three, and your dads won’t be able to save you.”
“Understood,” Ciar says, taking the threat seriously.
Cian nods grimly. “The families are scrapping about now, Sorcha, trying to decide how to play this. It gives you time. Use it wisely, and use it quickly.”
My jaw tightens. “Don’t worry about me. I’m a fast learner.”
He gives a short, sharp nod, his eyes lingering on my face for a second too long, a flicker of something that might be concern buried under layers of cold duty. Then he turns, melting into the shadows without another word. The tension breaks, leaving a hollow ache in its place.
“Let’s get you back,” Cillian says, his voice a low rumble at my side. Axl is already moving, his hand on my lower back, guiding me away from the crypt, away from the ghosts of tonight’s battles.
We walk in silence, a tight formation cutting through the damp night.
I won. I beat Annastasia, Ciar got O’Malley off my back, and I sent Cian packing.
But as much as I try to celebrate, I know this isn’t over.
There is more coming before it finally ends.
Liam Ahearne and his dad aren’t going to take this lying down.
The families who were coming for me aren’t just going to roll over and move on.
“You okay?” Cillian asks as we cross over the campus.
“Yeah, better now. My head is clearing, and Cian’s death knell has passed. I’m a bit bashed in, but nothing a hot bath won’t fix.”
“What did you say to O’Shea?” Ciar asks as we continue the slow hobble back to the townhouse.
I might be downplaying my pain, but I refuse to be beaten by this… beating. Hot bath, hot water bottle, warm bed, and sleep. It’s all good.
“Nothing,” I lie. “Just said she fought well.”
“Why do I get the feeling you’re lying to me?”
“Because I am. It’s none of your business.”
“You want to rethink that answer?”
“No.” I glare at him, and to my surprise, he backs down. I guess he doesn’t want to kick me when I’m down. But to be honest, it’s not his business. Or anyone else’s. It’s between me and Annastasia.
He lets it go, but the set of his jaw tells me it’s not forgotten.
It’s just filed away for later. But what I said to her was mafia woman to mafia woman.
I told her she fights like her dad, but she needs to lose the technical side to be a bit more wild.
I also asked her if she’d keep her ear to the ground about anyone coming for me.
Annastasia O’Shea respects respect. I gave that to her.
We’re good. If I tell the guys that, they won’t get it.
To them, an enemy is always an enemy. But here’s the thing, Annastasia was never my enemy.
She recognises in me what she sees in herself.
Just like I do. If it weren’t for the guys, I would be tight with her now.
We’d be inseparable. Formidable. Invincible.
There’s always a chance that might still happen.
But after all this shit dies down. I need to focus on not losing my guys right now.
I can guarantee this stunt we pulled has made them all an even bigger target. If they are put down, I’m alone again.
The thought of being alone again is a cold fist in my gut, a fear more potent than any punch. I stumble as we reach the townhouse steps, my knees protesting. Ciar hooks his arm around my waist to keep me upright. He doesn’t say a word, just hauls me up the last few steps and through the front door.
Inside, the warmth and light feel like another world. The adrenaline crash hits me hard, and the room sways.
“Upstairs, my room,” Axl says. “The bathtub is enormous.”
I nod and let Ciar carry me up to Axl’s bedroom.
It’s more of a suite, really. Very fancy and old money.
Ciar deposits me on the bed and moves to the en-suite to run the bath.
The sound of the water splashing relaxes me, and I lean down to untie my boots.
My ribs protest, but they aren’t broken.
I’m a little battered and very tired, but otherwise in one piece.
Ciar returns to strip off the rest of my clothes, and I let him as Cillian and Axl join us with hot tea and fluffy towels. Ciar carries me into the en-suite, and my eyes widen. The bathtub is one of the corner jacuzzi style ones, and Ciar has set the bubbles running.
“You couldn’t have put me in this tub to keep my drunk arse safe the other night?” I ask as he lowers me in. He chuckles, the sound a low rumble against the hiss of the jets, but he doesn’t say anything.
The hot water envelops me, a blessed relief that makes me groan as it seeps into my aching muscles. Every bruise, every strained tendon sings with a painful kind of bliss. I sink lower until the water is up to my chin, the bubbles tickling my skin.
Axl kneels by the side of the tub with a first aid kit, while Cillian perches on the edge, a damp cloth in hand. Axl starts cleaning the cut on my lip, his touch gentle.
“Stay still,” he murmurs when I flinch.
Cillian gently washes the blood and sweat from my face and neck, his movements economical and sure.
I close my eyes, surrendering to their care.
This is so far from anything I’ve ever known.
The only hands that ever touched me were either neglectful or violent.
Now, these hands, hands that have killed, are tending to me with a reverence that makes my throat tight.
Ciar slides into the water behind me, his massive body displacing a wave that sloshes over the side. He pulls me back against his chest, his arms wrapping around me, his hands splaying possessively over my stomach.
“Just relax,” he says, his voice a vibration against my spine. “We’ve got you.”
And for the first time in my life, I actually believe someone does. The fight, the blood, the fear—it all melts away into the steam, leaving only this. Them. My monsters. My saviours. My family.