36. Lorcan
LORCAN
Iwas being watched.
A young dark-haired man in a black leather jacket leaned against the wall, pretending to scroll through his phone. He looked up when I emerged from my hospital room. Then he looked away.
I kept walking, pretending like my ribs didn’t protest every step. I glanced in the reflection of the glass window up ahead.
My reflection stared back at me. Tired eyes and a bandage on my neck. Even after a week in the hospital, I looked like death warmed up.
Beyond my shoulder, the man was following me, hands shoved in the pockets of his jacket.
The Sons. Alistair had sent someone to keep an eye on me even now.
I was suddenly glad I had sent Liath away while I recovered. She had argued. She had refused to stay gone. I knew she was somewhere outside the hospital right now, hiding and waiting for me to emerge because she couldn’t be convinced otherwise.
If she had come back inside, they would have caught her.
I took the long way through the maze of corridors, glancing in every glass surface to check my shadow was still following me.
He was. The dark-haired man maintained a careful distance. Far enough not to attract attention. Close enough not to lose me.
I led him deeper into a quieter section of the hospital where the corridors narrowed and foot traffic disappeared.
Then I slipped around a corner and flattened myself against the wall.
Five seconds.
Ten.
Footsteps approached.
The second he rounded the corner, I grabbed a fistful of his shirt and slammed him into the wall hard enough to rattle a nearby noticeboard.
Pain exploded through my neck and my ribs screamed beneath the hospital shirt. I ignored both.
The switchblade snapped open in my hand and I pressed the blade against his throat. “Why are you following me?”
There was something familiar about him. Yet I knew for a fact we’d never met.
To my surprise, the bastard smirked as he lifted both tattooed hands. “I’m a friend of Liath’s.”
I froze. This could be a test. Alistair loved tests.
I pressed the knife harder against his pulse. “Don’t know why that would mean shite to me.”
His smirk widened. Apparently being threatened with a knife didn’t faze him. “She might have mentioned me?” he asked. “Charming young man who gave her a lift to this hospital?”
Liath had mentioned that. Still. This could still be a trap.
“Who are you?” I asked.
The man grinned. “Call me Bas.”
Liath had used that name. The man who had helped her. Deargán’s ally.
“What do you want?” I pulled the blade back, flicked the switchblade closed, and slid it into my pocket.
Bas glanced both ways along the corridor before answering. “The Sons are running the auction within the week. We all want the same thing.”
“You want me to work with the asshole who did this to me?” I snorted and hooked a finger beneath the bandage around my neck, pulling it down enough to expose the healing wound.
His gaze dropped briefly to my neck. Something shifted across his face. Regret. Maybe guilt. Then it vanished. “Yeah. He shouldn’t have done that. He’s too stubborn to ever apologize himself or to ask for help, so I’m doing it on his behalf.”
I stared at him.
Bas held my gaze a second longer than felt comfortable. Then he shrugged. “Think about it.”
Strategically, it made perfect sense. Even with that bastard attached to the deal.
But Deargán had nearly killed me to clear the path back to her. Letting him near her again felt worse than death.
I would slit every Sons’ throat myself before I let Deargán walk back into her life.
“No, thanks.”
He studied me. For a moment I thought he might argue. Instead, he tipped his chin. “Cill na Caoine. When you change your mind.”
The Church of the Keening. The old abandoned church on the edge of Ravenwood grounds where they found Dahlia.
“I’m not going to,” I said as he walked past me.
Bas called out over his shoulder, “Just in case.”
I signed the discharge papers at the reception, ignoring the doctor’s protests that it was “too soon.” Then I pushed off the counter and aimed for the exit.
Every step tugged at half-healed muscle and bruised ribs, but the discomfort barely registered under the current of electricity.
Liath was waiting for me outside.
I pushed through the hospital doors, my eyes catching on a figure half-hidden among the trees across from the front gate. Before I could step off the curb, a black town car glided up in front of me, cutting me off from her.
The rear window slid down and a cold knot cinched tight beneath my ribs.
Alistair sat inside.
What the fuck was he doing here?
Even when I broke my arm in sixth grade or had a concussion from a particularly rough hurling match, he didn’t come to pick me up from the hospital.
His driver stepped out and opened the back door for me.
“Get in.”
Fuck.
I climbed into the car even though everything in me screamed not to. I sat facing my father in the back of the town car, forcing my hands to rest rather than fist on my knees.
I didn’t look back at the trees as we pulled away. One glance and Alistair would follow my gaze to her.
An emptiness settled beneath my ribs as the world slid past the heavily tinted windows in blurred shapes and muted colors. As I left her behind.
Alistair studied me. “You seem tense.”
“Hospital,” I said, forcing my shoulders to soften. “I hate the smell.”
A low sound escaped him. “You always were too sensitive. Like your mother.”
The mention of her sent a ripple of cold fire through me. Fucking murderer. I swallowed against the tightness in my throat.
After a moment, Alistair spoke again. “You have one more test until you’re a true Son.”
Of course. He didn’t pick me up out of the goodness of his heart.
“What test?” I asked.
“A simple delivery.”
Unease crept through me, clawing across my shoulders and gripping around my spine. “Delivery of what?”
Alistair didn’t answer.
Eventually the car pulled up along another gravel road and stopped. The driver climbed out and opened the door for Alistair.
I climbed out after him, my heart jamming into my throat.
We were standing behind the Magdalene building, the familiar spires and soaring stone walls looming up above me.
A windowless van waited nearby in the small parking lot.
Elias leaned against it. His scowl deepened when he saw me.
My pulse thudded hard against my throat. Did he tell Alistair? Was this a trap?
Alistair turned toward me, his eyes locking on mine. “Deliver the package to the required address. No stops. No detours. No mistakes.”
The rear door of the building opened and two orderlies emerged, supporting a girl between them. Most of her weight hung from their arms as they dragged her forward, her shoes scraping across the ground.
I didn’t need to see her face to know who it was. Her white-blond hair was all too familiar.
The breath left my lungs.
Nuala.
Her head lolled around as she tried to keep it up, her hair veiling part of her face. Her eyes were open but glassy and she looked right through me.
Nuala’s lips parted. “Finn?”
My best friend. The person she trusted. He’d never look at me the same way if he knew what I’d done. Or what I was about to do.
One of the orderlies adjusted his grip and they loaded her into the back of the van. Into a fecking cage in the back of the van.
Alistair was still watching me, his cold sharklike eyes assessing me.
I kept my facade unmoved, my face uncaring. He’d taught so well it made me sick.
I couldn’t do this. I had to find some way to get out of it. Some way that kept my cover.
I folded my arms and screwed up my face. “I’m not an errand boy.”
Alistair glanced toward the driver.
The driver opened his jacket and a handgun appeared in his gloved hand.
“Then I’m afraid you’ve failed,” Alistair said. “And you know the consequences for failure.”
Across the van, Elias’s grin stretched wider as he pushed off the van to move closer.
I glanced at Nuala, slumped against the cage, her fingers curled around the bars, her eyes on me.
Then at the gun.
My teeth ground together and the muscles in my neck tightened until they ached.
I had no choice.
I rolled my eyes and snatched the keys from Elias’s hand. “Fine. But I’m driving.”
Hours later, the van cut through the remote countryside of Northern Ireland.
Rain crawled across the windscreen in crooked trails. Fields and gorse bushes blurred together beneath a sky the color of wet concrete.
Elias sat in the passenger seat with his feet up, his headphones in, totally ignoring me.
Nuala was somewhere in the back.
My stomach churned as the van jostled me around.
Fuck. I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t deliver her to whatever hellhole they had marked her for.
Liath had only just forgiven me. If she could see me now, she’d never look at me again.
There had to be another way. A way to save Nuala instead.
I could break the handoff.
I could deal with Elias. Knock him out. Leave him in a ditch somewhere. Disappear with Nuala.
But Alistair would know within hours that I’d betrayed them. They’d change the auction. Move the girls. They’d hunt me until I was dead.
Our best chance of ending the Sons would die.
My grip tightened around the steering wheel until the leather creaked beneath my fingers.
I could stage an accident. Force attention on the situation. Force witnesses into it. Nuala would be taken to a hospital. They couldn’t make her disappear from there, right?
The idea died immediately. I couldn’t risk her getting hurt.
I considered speeding. Drawing the attention of the Garda. Forcing a stop. Forcing questions.
That option died too. I still didn’t know how far Alistair’s influence reached.
Every path led back to the same impossible choice.
By the time the address came into view, I still had no answer.
The delivery location was a grand manor that stood on the outskirts of a small northern Irish town near the border, a dramatic silhouette of steep dark slate gables, spires, and turrets, creating a jagged skyline against the gray sky, large windows staring out like empty eyes.
I parked the van in the small circular driveway in front of the front veranda and yanked the headphones out of Elias’s ear. “Go knock.”
Elias frowned, glaring at me for a moment before climbing out and heading toward the front entrance.
The second his attention shifted away, I moved quickly to the back of the van, threw open the doors, and climbed into the back.
Nuala lay on a huddle of blankets, her breathing slow and heavy.
I unlocked the cage and crouched beside her, grabbing her shoulders, shaking her.
“Nuala.”
Her eyelids fluttered. A faint crease appeared between her brows. Then her eyes opened fully, blinking as she focused on me. Her voice cracked. “Lorc?”
Fuck. I couldn’t knowingly hand her over. Not after everything.
“We don’t have much time.” I leaned closer, listening for the sound of footsteps. “You hit me and run. I’ll deal with Elias. And hope Alistair buys it.”
Nuala blinked, sitting up. “What?”
I lifted my chin. “Go on. Make it look convincing.”
“No.” Her hand shot out and clamped around my wrist, the strength of her grip catching me off guard.
Her eyes still carried traces of whatever they’d drugged her with, but they were focused now.
“I heard them. They’re sending me to the place they sent Bridgit.
” Her fingers tightened. “You have to let me stay.”
“No.” The thought alone made my stomach twist. “We can come back for Bridgit.”
Nuala shook her head, a determination steeling her expression. “I’m staying with her. She won’t survive without me.”
Gravel footsteps came toward the van. More than one set.
Elias was returning. And someone was with him.
I had seconds left.
I could force Nuala to run. Fight Elias and the person with him. Hope for a miracle.
Or I could let her stay. I could trust her judgment. And hope Liath didn’t hate me for it.
Neither choice felt right. Both felt unforgivable.
Finn’s face flashed through my mind.
Then Liath’s.
Pressure built inside my chest until breathing felt difficult.
I couldn’t save everyone. Not today. The truth tasted bitter.
I nodded as I helped Nuala stand up.
Elias appeared in the open mouth of the van. Beside him was a tall dark-haired man, the lower half of his face hidden behind gray fabric. Only his unnerving mismatched eyes, one green, one blue, were visible.
His shoulders were broad enough to crowd the doorway. I measured the reach in his long arms, the solid weight carried through his frame, and the way he moved without wasting motion. Nothing about him suggested a man who could be taken easily in a fight.
He assessed me first. Then turned to Nuala before holding out a hand.
I squeezed her shoulder as I leaned in to whisper, “We’ll come back for you.” The promise scraped raw against my throat. “Just… hold on.”
Nuala held my gaze.
For a moment neither of us moved.
Then she stepped forward, sliding her hand into Gray Mask’s hand.
Gray Mask helped her down off the van as if he were a gentleman and not a disgusting predator who’d just purchased two sisters. He glanced back at me, his eyes narrowing before he wound Nuala’s arm in the crook of his elbow and led her away.
The choice settled heavily inside me as I watched Gray Mask guide her toward the house.
With every step, the distance between us grew.
With every step, guilt dug a little deeper.
Movement caught my eye as an upstairs curtain shifted, a figure watching from one of the rooms above.
A woman.
Bridgit?
The curtain fell still again.
Nuala glanced back once before she disappeared inside. My insides twisted. Please hold on.