Declan
Ailish keeps pace beside me, her hand still in mine, her breath a little too fast even though she’s trying to hide it.
She’s been doing that—trying to appear unshaken—for as long as I’ve known her. Every few steps I glance over, checking her, making sure the shadows behind us stay empty.
They marked her car and gave her three days to feel it. Then they put two people on her, and one of them let herself be seen in a shop window. None of that is how you take someone. That's how you make sure the taking looks like a choice she made.
Take her down, and the Irish will tear themselves apart trying to understand who betrayed them.
It starts raining before we've gone three blocks, fine and cold and steady, the kind that soaks you without ever seeming to fall.
We move fast, weaving through late-night stragglers, across the river, into quieter streets where foot traffic thins.
I keep her close, one eye on the corners, the parked cars, the rooftops.
Ailish breaks the silence first. “You don’t have to grip my hand so tightly,” she says softly.
“You’re the only thing I care about keeping upright right now.”
She gives a humorless laugh. “If you let go, I won’t shatter.”
“I’m not taking the risk.”
She exhales. Not annoyed—more like she’s too overwhelmed to correct me further.
We reach a quieter block, rows of shuttered shops and dim flats above. I steer her into the recessed doorway of a closed tailor’s shop and step in front of her, blocking her from view.
She looks up at me, rain clinging to her lashes. “Declan, what if that woman doubled back and follows?” She cringes, realizing her moment of vulnerability. Normally I’d give her shit for such a thing, but this is not the time.
“She didn’t,” I say firmly. “I checked.”
“You can’t be sure.”
“I am.”
Because I know how the Russians train their shadows. I’ve hunted men and women like that before. I’ve watched what they become when they’re forced into silence and obedience. Even their footsteps obey orders.
“Ailish,” I say, lowering my voice, “they wanted you to know you were being watched. That’s all. Tonight wasn’t the kill.”
Her throat moves in a tight swallow. “Then what was it?”
“A demonstration. A warning. And a message.”
The worry behind her eyes darkens. “Liam’s already putting weight on my actions.”
“I saw the new protocols he issued,” I say. “He’s suspicious, but he’s holding it together—for now.”
“For now isn’t long enough,” she whispers. She’s right. We’re living on borrowed hours, and I know what I need to do. Whether or not she’ll cooperate is another problem.
I pull her coat straighter around her and watch the city for a moment, waiting for her breathing to steady. “Tell me everything from the beginning,” I say.
She nods slowly. She traces her steps even from earlier in the day, with words. I don’t like the idea of that rescheduled meeting. Almost like it’s linked. Like they are using our movements against us.
I’ve been expecting that detail, but it still burns through me like acid.
“They want to fabricate a version of you that Liam will believe exists,” I say.
She meets my gaze. “Do you think it’s working?”
“Not yet. But it will if we don’t act fast. That was their issue, why this happened tonight. They wanted to hurt you, scare you, and make you do something that would be irrefutable to Liam.”
Her eyes close in relief at the honesty. She doesn’t want comforting lies; she wants the truth, even if it hurts. It’s one of the things I like—no, admire—dangerously much about her. Which chafes at me because of our history.
Because of the way she betrayed me with Liam and lied about him being alive.
When she opens her eyes again, something softer appears beneath the fear. Something she rarely shows because she knows this position requires strength and resolve.
“Declan… I don’t know how to beat an enemy I can’t see.”
“You don’t have to see her,” I say. “You just have to stay alive long enough for me to.”
She doesn’t argue this time. Ailish draws a sharp breath. “Nadia’s friend. I think she’s involved. It just makes sense.”
The thought hits her like a stab—hope, fear, recognition, grief tangled together. I see the way her eyes flicker with the story Nadia once told: two girls surviving horrors together, one escaping, the other swallowed by the machine that created her.
“If it’s her,” Ailish whispers, “then she didn’t want this assignment.”
“No,” I say. “She didn’t.”
Her gaze lifts to mine, steady despite everything. “Then what do we do now?”
“We find shelter,” I say. “Somewhere no one in the Irish ranks knows. Somewhere the Russians can’t triangulate. After that, we look for cracks in their operation. The woman tonight—she didn’t hide her silhouette. She wanted you to see her. She wanted you to know she was close.”
“You think it was her.”
“I think it was someone in her circle. Someone trained like her. And someone who knew watching you was more effective tonight than killing you.”
Her eyes lock on mine, searching for something—assurance, direction, maybe a reason to believe she hasn’t already lost the fight.
Whatever she sees softens her expression. “Where do we go?” she asks.
“There’s a place,” I say. “A safe flat I’ve kept off every record. Not even Liam knows about it.”
That’s when her eyes narrow. “I was talking about waiting a day out, not being forced into chains like Nadia,” she spits out like a venomous snake.
The way she flips on a dime, harsh and protective of herself, it’s attractive and incredibly infuriating at the same time.
I stop walking, gritting my teeth. “I’m trying to keep you safe. You nearly died.”
“I was handling myself. Besides, if you’re going rogue on Liam with me, won’t that confirm his suspicions? If I just disappear?” Her voice raises along with the hairs on the back of my neck.
We can’t afford a scene. Not after what just happened. And she needs medical care if I have any say in it. At the very least some damn sleep.
And as far as I’m concerned putting her back out there is just handing her to the Russians until I can get all the answers.
“I can handle Liam. And trust me, he’d rather me take you somewhere on my terms and be pissed at me than lose his precious strategist and pet.” I shouldn’t have said it that way. I know it instantly. But I spoke from deep inside. I feel that all the time now.
I know Liam is with Nadia and has never touched Ailish, but what are Ailish’s feelings given that she lied and schemed for him over her loyalty to me and to the Irish, allowing the Italians to get a foothold over us?
She shakes her head and lets my hand drop. Anger rises in the heat of her cheeks. At least she isn’t scared anymore.
“You think you just know everything, Declan. You know what’s best and deserve control over everyone’s lives. But under you things were floundering. We would have lost people because you wouldn’t be a team player.”
I take a step closer to her, my lips nearly on her forehead. “This is not the place or time, and you’ll come with me like it or not. In this instance, I do know what’s best for you.”
Despite my deadly tone, she laughs at me. “You watch me get attacked, and now you’re threatening me? Why even bother saving me, then?”
Did she seriously think that?
Seething, I grab a hold of her wrists, pinning them in front of her with one hand. She can’t break free, especially in the shape she’s in.
I practically drag her to the car, her fight giving up halfway there.
I let her climb in the back, knowing she won’t dare sit in the front with me right now.
I only spare one glance back at her as she curls into herself and focuses out the window instead of on me before I focus on taking the most roundabout route possible to my secret safehouse.
The safe flat sits in an old brick building wedged between a derelict music shop and an empty storefront with peeling paint. It looks abandoned from the street—intentionally so.
No lights in the windows.
No visible locks.
No movement.
I guide Ailish up the narrow staircase, every instinct on high alert.
She stays close, her hand gripping the rail, her breathing shallow.
The adrenaline from the alley hasn’t worn off; if anything, the weight of what almost happened has finally settled into her bones.
So much so that she has no more fight for me.
My keys hit the lock. The door clicks open. I step inside first.
The flat is small—one room, one bath, nothing more. Bare walls, hardwood floors, battered furniture that never invites company. The air smells faintly of cedar and gun oil.
I clear each corner. Check the windows. Check the closet. Only when I’m certain it’s untouched do I say, “You can come in.”
Ailish steps through the doorway slowly, like she’s afraid the floor might give way beneath her. She pauses in the center of the room, taking it all in.
“This place…” she murmurs. “Declan, it feels like it belongs to someone who never goes home.”
I shrug. “It’s not meant to feel welcoming. It’s meant to keep people alive.”
She lets out a breath that’s half a laugh, half a sigh. “Fitting.” She shrugs out of her damp coat, and I catch the slightest tremble in her fingers. She tries to hide it—always tries—but I see the strain beneath her composure.
“Sit,” I say.
She starts to protest. I give her a look.
Reluctantly, she lowers herself onto the old leather sofa. It creaks under her weight, the sound unusually loud in the quiet space.
I move into the kitchenette and put water on to boil. It’s a simple action, but the normalcy of it seems to ground her. For a moment, she just watches me, eyes following my hands as if memorizing every movement.
Or maybe I just want to think that’s what she’s doing.
When I return with two steaming mugs, she’s sitting straighter, but her shoulders haven’t relaxed.
“Thank you,” she says, taking one.
I sit across from her, elbows on my knees, studying her. She stares into the mug like it contains answers. “I should check in with Liam,” she murmurs.
“You shouldn’t,” I say immediately.