Chapter 23
Sorcha
The grey light of dawn filters through the window as I open my eyes and stare into Ciar’s blue gaze. My body screams in protest as I shift, every muscle stiff and aching. The bruises from the fight have settled into a deep, throbbing pain that radiates through my ribs with each breath.
“Morning, Red,” Ciar says, looming over me with a cup of tea.
“Morning,” I croak, my voice rough. I clear my throat and try again. “Ready to run?”
He snorts. “You’re insane. You can barely move.”
“Watch me.” My feet hit the floor, and I stand, my muscles protesting. But tough shit. I’m not slacking.
Cillian is on the other side of the bed, scrolling through his phone. “You’re really doing this?”
“Yes.” I grab my running gear and pull it on.
Axl groans from where he’s sprawled at the foot of the bed. “You’re all mad. It’s barely light out.”
“Then stay here,” I tell him, pulling on trainers. “No one said you had to come, future husband of mine.”
His eyes snap open. “Oh, say that again, sunshine. It makes my cock hard.”
“Really?” I ask, glancing at his cock, which is twitching. “You actually want this?”
He turns over onto his stomach to stare at me in all seriousness. “Yeah, I want this and not just to solve this mystery, but for me. For you.”
“You’re a sap,” I say, standing up but not really insulting him. It’s interesting. I figured he would be against this except for what he could get out of it.
“I have layers,” he says, flipping back over. “I’ll have food and coffee ready when you get back. Don’t rush on my account.”
I giggle and drop a kiss on his forehead and then grab Cillian’s hand, turning it over to kiss his palm.
“See you both later.” I head for the door with Ciar following behind me, his heavy footsteps a reassuring presence.
The cold morning air hits my face as we step outside, and I breathe it in deep, letting it clear the fog from my head.
My muscles groan as I stretch, but I push through it.
Pain is just weakness leaving the body, or some bullshit like that.
“You sure about this?” Ciar asks, watching me with those intense blue eyes.
“Stop asking me if I’m sure about things. I’m always sure.” I roll my shoulders.
He snorts and starts his own warm-up routine. “You’re going to regret this halfway through.”
“Probably.” I bend down to touch my toes and see a black car sail past the house. It speeds up when I straighten up.
“Guess we are being watched,” Ciar says, moving in a bit closer.
“You don’t say. Guess they didn’t expect us on the driveway this early.”
“More fool them,” he says. “Let’s go.”
I glance back at the house, chewing my lip.
“You want to bail?” he asks.
“No, I’m worried about Axl and Cillian.”
“You are worried about those two savages?” He shakes his head. “They will be fine.”
I nod, knowing he’s right. I wouldn’t want to come against one-punch Sullivan and the guy who promises me pickled dicks in jars.
We set off at a slow jog, cutting across the driveway and onto the campus path that leads around the lake. My body protests every step, but I push through it. The cold air burns my lungs in the best way possible, sharp and clean, washing away the cobwebs of sleep and sex and violence.
“Steady pace,” Ciar reminds me, matching my stride. “You’re still recovering.”
“I’m fine,” I lie. My ribs are crying, and there’s a sharp twinge in my left knee that I’m choosing to ignore. But the movement feels good despite the pain. It reminds me I’m alive, that I survived last night, that I’m still here and still fighting.
We round the lake, passing the crypt as someone falls into step beside me. Ciar’s knife is out before I can blink, but it’s only Annastasia.
“Hey,” she pants. “You running through the pain?”
“Same as you,” I giggle, and we share a smile.
Her blonde hair is tied up in a high ponytail that swings from side to side as she runs. She has a solid step and is looking way more in shape than I probably do.
“Stand down,” I say to Ciar, who is still waving his knife about as if he’s about to cut a bitch. “We’re good.”
He glowers at me, but does as I say.
“You heard of Mickey Ryan?” she asks as we round the lake to the far side near the woods.
“No, should I have?” I pant back.
“He’s a fixer,” she says, her breath coming in controlled bursts. “Works for the old families. Word is, he’s been sniffing around campus this morning.”
“What kind of fixer?”
“The kind that makes problems disappear.” She glances at Ciar sideways. “The kind that doesn’t leave witnesses.”
“Fuck.” The word comes out on an exhale. “Thanks for telling me.”
She shrugs. “I told you I would.”
“I know, but—”
“You didn’t trust me?”
I narrow my eyes. “I struggle in that area, but I think despite our hiccup, I can trust you.”
“Hiccup,” she snorts. “Okay, we’ll go with that. Look, I get it. But there isn’t room at St. Bart’s for you guys at the top and my plans.”
Ciar stops running, forcing us to a stop. “Is that a threat, O’Shea?”
“Oh, keep your balls from twisting,” she says with an eye roll. “No, it’s not a threat. I’m leaving at the end of the term. I’m going to St. Brid’s.”
“What?” I choke out. “I thought they were a legit type of place.”
She smiles, and it chills me. “It is. But my mum is a St. Brid’s legacy, and so I have a place. Besides, corruption of the innocent? Now that is going to be fun.”
“You have got stones,” I say, thoroughly impressed. “I’ll miss you.”
She snickers. “I’ll stay in touch, Gannon. I’ll miss you too. I’m sorry to say I won’t see how this ends.”
“With everything on fire except the Cerberus Order,” I tell her with a nod, which she returns, and we set off again.
“I’d expect nothing less.”
We part ways at the quad, and she jogs off towards her house while Ciar and I head back to the townhouse.
My lungs are burning, my ribs screaming, but there’s a clarity in my head that wasn’t there before.
Mickey Ryan. A fixer. Someone’s already making moves.
But for what? To take out the guys? It can’t be to take me out.
Not after everything I’ve learned about myself. Or is it something even more sinister?
“You believe her?” Ciar asks as we slow to a walk on the driveway.
“Yeah, I do.” I wipe sweat from my forehead, wincing as I hit a bruise. “She’s got nothing to gain by lying to me now. She’s already out.”
He grunts, unconvinced, but doesn’t push it. We reach the front door, and I can smell coffee and something yummy wafting from inside. My stomach growls despite the nausea from pushing myself too hard.
Inside, Axl’s in the kitchen wearing nothing but low-slung joggers, buttering bagels and tending to thick slices of melted cheese on toast under the grill. Cillian is at the table with his laptop, but he looks up when we enter.
“You survived,” Cillian observes.
“Barely,” I admit, collapsing into a chair. My legs feel like jelly, and now that I’ve stopped moving, every injury is making itself known with a vengeance.
“Mickey Ryan’s on campus,” Ciar announces, heading straight for the coffee pot.
Cillian’s fingers freeze on the keyboard. “The fixer?”
“Annastasia told us during our run,” I say, grabbing the mug of coffee Ciar slides across the table to me.
Cillian’s jaw tightens. “And you trust her? After everything?”
“We came to an understanding last night. We aren’t enemies. Besides, she’s leaving for St. Brid’s,” I say, taking a sip. The bitter heat cuts through the exhaustion. “She’s got no skin in this game anymore.”
“Mickey Ryan doesn’t show up for small jobs,” Axl says, sliding a plate of cheese on toast in front of me. “If he’s here, someone paid big money to make something happen.”
I bite into the toast, the cheese stretching as I pull it away from my mouth. It’s perfect. “A girl could get used to this,” I mumble around a mouthful.
“Good thing I’m a control freak that doesn’t give up my kitchen, then, isn’t it?”
We exchange a smile, and then I freeze as the doorbell rings.
I glance at Ciar. He shakes his head. “I doubt Mickey Ryan would ring the bell.”
“You hope.”
We watch Axl head out of the kitchen with Cillian at his back.
Moments later, they return with someone carrying a briefcase who looks like someone rammed a stick up his arse.
“Sunshine, looks like you have a meeting with Ben Davies.” He gestures to the guy. “My family’s lawyer.”
I choke on my toast. “What for? I didn’t do anything!”
“You agreed to marry me. That kind of means a long and detailed pre-nup.”
“Oh, you are joking, right?” I stare at Axl, waiting for him to crack a smile, to tell me this is some elaborate joke. He doesn’t. His face is serious, and the lawyer—Ben Davies—adjusts his glasses and sets his briefcase on the kitchen table like he’s about to unpack the world’s most boring bombs.
“Miss Gannon,” Davies says, his voice clipped and professional. “This is standard procedure for any union involving the Rhodes family. I assure you, it’s in everyone’s best interest.”
“Everyone’s best interest,” I repeat slowly, my eyes narrowing. “Or just the Rhodes family’s?”
“Yours, primarily,” Davies says, clicking open his briefcase. “Given the... unusual circumstances of this marriage, and the potential inheritance in question, we need to ensure all parties are protected.”
I look at Axl, who just shrugs. I roll my eyes. This is so much a part of their world that they don’t even realise how insulting it is. “Fine,” I grit out. “Give me the papers, I’ll sign them, and you can be on your way.”
Ben looks at me aghast, like I suggested he pull the stick out of his arse through his mouth. “But-but that’s not how this works—”
“It is now,” I interrupt. “I don’t give a flying fuck about a pre-nup.
I’m doing this for my own reasons. I haven’t got two cents to rub my arse with, so if you plan to come after me for a great pot of gold, you’re barking up the wrong Leprechaun.
” I watch Ben’s face turn an impressive shade of puce as he processes what I just said.
His mouth opens and closes like a fish gasping for air.
Ciar’s shoulders shake with silent laughter behind him, and I catch Cillian smirking into his coffee mug.
“Miss Gannon, I must insist—” Ben starts, but I’m already reaching for the papers he’s pulled from his briefcase.
“Where do I sign?” I ask, flipping through the pages. It’s all legal jargon that makes my eyes cross, but the gist is clear enough. What’s Axl’s stays Axl’s. What’s mine stays mine. In the event of death or dissolution, nobody gets fucked over. Standard rich people bullshit.
“You should at least read—” Ben tries again.
“Page seventeen, clause nine,” Alex interrupts, barging into the kitchen like he owns the place. Oh... yeah… “That’s the one about the Gannon inheritance. It ensures anything you receive from Ardal’s estate remains solely yours, regardless of your marriage.”
I glance up at Axl before I turn my attention to the older Rhodes. “You are becoming a serious pain in my backside,” I grunt at him.
He beams down at me fondly. “Oh, the feeling is mutual, Miss Gannon. I feel this is the start of a beautiful love-hate, fil-dil relationship.”
I blink as I take in his words. Fil-dil?
Father-in-law-daughter-in-law. I stare at him, my brain stalling on the casual way he just dropped that bomb.
Father-in-law. The words feel foreign, wrong somehow.
I’ve never had a father of any kind, never had anyone who wanted to claim that role in my life, and now this posh English bastard is standing in Axl’s kitchen, grinning at me like we’re already family.
“Don’t get ahead of yourself,” I mutter, turning back to the papers. “We’re not married yet.”
“Details,” Alex says with a dismissive wave. “Ben, stop hovering like a nervous hen. The girl knows what she wants.”
Ben looks like he might actually have a stroke. “My lord, this is highly irregular—”
“So is everything about this situation,” Alex cuts him off.
Poor Ben isn’t going to get to finish a sentence while he is in this house, it seems. “Miss Gannon has agreed to marry my son. She’s also bound herself to three men in a blood ritual that would make our ancestors weep with joy.
I think we can skip the handwringing over a pre-nup. ”
I flip to page seventeen and scan clause nine. It’s surprisingly straightforward—anything I inherit from Ardal’s estate is mine alone, untouchable by anyone, including Axl. I appreciate that, actually. It means Alex isn’t trying to snake his way into my mysterious treasure trove of secrets.
“Fine,” I say, grabbing a pen from the table. “This works.”
“Miss Gannon, I really must advise—”
I sign my name with a flourish, cutting Ben off once again. I shove the papers back across the table at Ben, who looks like he might actually faint. “There. Done. Happy?”
“This is highly unorthodox,” Ben sputters, gathering the papers with shaking hands. “I’ll need to have these reviewed—”
“You do that,” Alex says cheerfully, clapping the poor man on the shoulder. “Take them back to the office, make sure everything’s in order.”
Ben shoots me one last horrified look before practically fleeing from the kitchen. I hear the front door slam a moment later, and I can’t help the laugh that bubbles up.
“I think you broke my lawyer,” Alex says with a smirk before turning to the coffee pot.
“He’ll survive,” Axl says. “He’s been dealing with us for decades. This is just another day for him.”
“A day where he watches a street rat from Dublin sign away her non-existent fortune without reading the fine print,” I mutter.
“A day where he witnesses history being made,” Alex corrects, pouring himself a cup of coffee. “Now, go get dressed. You have a wedding to attend.”
“What?” I splutter, probably looking a bit like Ben did a minute ago.
“Shotgun ceremony and on with the rest of this game. I’m dying to see who the executor is after all these godforsaken years.”
“Right,” I mutter. “That’s the most important thing.”
Axl stifles his snort and ushers me out of the kitchen and up the stairs. “You ready for this?”
I blow out a breath before turning on my heel and heading up the stairs. “Do not even think about calling me Mrs Rhodes, ever.”