Chapter 35
Sorcha
The thud of fist on bone stops, and the only sound in the chamber is my ragged breathing.
He stays over Ahearne’s body for a moment longer, a predator ensuring its prey is well and truly dead before he slashes Ahearne’s throat to make double, extra sure.
Axl and Cillian haven’t moved, their blades still held at the ready, a silent, bloody guard.
When Ciar finally rises and turns to me, his knuckles are raw, his face splattered with blood that isn’t his.
His blue eyes are dark, intense, and focused solely on me.
He killed for me. He destroyed a man because he hurt me.
A possessive thrill, sharp and heady, slices through the last of the adrenaline.
“You okay?” he asks, his thumb coming up to wipe the blood dripping down my neck.
I nod, the words stuck in my throat as I stare down at Ahearne.
“He can’t hurt you again.”
“No, but Liam is now the head of that family, and he is going to be pissed.”
“Or thrilled, depending on how much power he wants,” Axl points out.
“We might’ve made it worse,” I say with a nervous laugh.
“Then I’ll take great delight in killing him as well,” Ciar says and drops his hand. “Open the box and let’s get the fuck out of here before anyone else decides to gatecrash.”
I turn from the dead bodies and kneel in front of the box. With shaking hands, I place them on the lid and brace myself for an almighty explosion or something worse as I lift the lid.
It sticks at first, but then snaps open. I hold it in place, waiting, but nothing happens.
Blowing out a slow breath, I push the lid up and stare into the box.
There is something in there wrapped in fabric, and I reach for it, my hand gripping it.
It’s solid and lumpy, and when I try to lift it, it’s also really heavy.
Hauling it higher, it’s about half a metre in length and narrow enough that my hand can fit halfway around it.
“What is it?” Axl murmurs, coming closer.
Ignoring him, I place it on the ground and lick my lips. Pulling the oilcloth aside, I gasp when I see the artefact that Ardal Gannon left as his hidden legacy.
“Whoa, mama,” Axl says, dropping to a crouch next to me and staring at the Celtic cross, definitely made of solid gold, with diamonds, emeralds, and other precious stones glinting in the flashlight.
“You can say that again,” I whisper. “Jesus.”
Cillian clears his throat, and I bite my lip. We are in the presence of something holy, old and probably priceless.
“That’s it?” Ciar asks, also crouching down to peer into the box.
“Looks like. What the fuck am I supposed to do with this?”
“Well, you can’t sell it,” Axl says. “There’s no paperwork or provenance, and technically, we’re stealing.”
I run a hand over the cold, intricate goldwork. It’s beautiful, ancient, and apparently, completely useless.
“He’s got a point,” Cillian says, his gaze sweeping over the carnage at our feet. “You try to fence that, and every copper from here to Interpol will be on your arse before it exchanges hands.”
“Not to mention every other fucker with a blade who hears about it,” Ciar adds.
“Alex has the paperwork to say this is mine,” I point out.
“Hmm, not really. It’s never been mentioned anywhere what the inheritance was,” Axl says.
“So what? Are we taking it or leaving it?”
“Oh, taking it,” Axl says with a laugh. “Don’t joke about it, sunshine. We didn’t come all of this way to walk out empty-handed.”
“But what are we supposed to do with it? Where are we supposed to keep it? How is this supposed to be some hidden legacy if it can’t be used for raising cash?”
He shrugs. “Who knows? But we are walking out of here with that, so wrap it up, we have a lake to swim.”
“With an old cross that weighs a ton? Are you fucking with me?”
Axl’s grin is a flash of white in the gloom. “Deadly serious, sunshine. Finders keepers.”
“Ciar will sink!”
“Who says I have to carry it?” Ciar grunts with dark amusement,
“You are the strongest,” I wave it off dismissively.
He smirks and hefts the cross like it weighs nothing. “Let’s go.” He wraps it back up carefully in the oilcloth and turns towards the cavern entrance, stepping over the dead bodies as he goes.
I stare at him. “This is the stupidest plan in a day of stupid plans.”
“Got a better one?” Cillian asks, already following Ciar to the water’s edge.
I don’t. So I grit my teeth and follow, the water feeling less menacing this time. Maybe it’s because I’ve already faced it, or maybe it’s because the reality of having five dead bodies behind us puts a little water in perspective.
Ciar swims with the cross tucked under one arm, his powerful strokes barely hindered by the weight. He’s a fucking beast. Axl stays close to me, his presence a silent promise, while Cillian takes the lead, a shadow cutting through the black water.
I don’t have time to be scared or for panic to rear its ugly head. We are on a mission to get out of here as fast as possible.
Ciar emerges from the water, looking sexy as fuck as he tucks the artefact tighter under his arm. My feet hit the rocky shore, and I scramble out, my body screaming with exhaustion.
“See?” Axl says, hauling himself out of the water with a grin. “Piece of cake.”
I look at the passage we came through as I crawl towards my boots. This is going to be unpleasant, but I don’t particularly want to go back the way we came barefoot. “Now we just have to get back through the maze.”
“And past a taskforce, with a priceless Celtic cross,” Cillian says.
“And deal with a new crime boss who’s going to want my head on a platter,” I add.
Axl claps a hand on my shoulder. “Just another day at St. Bart’s, sunshine.”
The urge to tell him to fuck off is lost as my shoulders slump and we trudge forward, back the way we came.