6. Lorcan
Lorcan
Adrenaline is a cold bitch. It hits my system, flushing out the warmth of Atara’s skin and the lingering haze of the last few hours. My brain clicks into the mode I’ve lived in since I was nineteen, a world of sectors, exit points, and kill zones.
I roll off the bed and grab Atara by the waist, dragging her with me. She’s a dead weight, her breath coming in tiny, high-pitched hitches.
Fuck, she’s in shock.
"Stay low," I growl into her ear. I don’t have the time to be gentle right now. Gentleness gets people killed.
Another burst of fire chews through the headboard right where her head was ten seconds ago. Wood splinters spray my back. I reach for my Glock, the grip familiar and solid. I peek over the edge of the mahogany frame.
Three shooters on the balcony. They’re moving in a tight, triangular sweep.
My blood turns to ice. Not because of the bullets, but because of the formation. It’s a signature. A specific, high-efficiency tactical movement I haven’t seen in five years. Not since the night I put three rounds into Silas’s chest and watched him fall into the Vegas desert.
Could… could it be?
It’s impossible. I watched him die. I killed him myself.
"Echo! Left flank!" I roar.
The door to the suite bursts open. Echo and Kieran are in the room, their suppressed weapons spitting soft thwips into the dark. One of the men on the balcony drops, his head snapping back as he tumbles over the railing.
"Extraction! Now!" Kieran shouts, his voice a jagged edge over the ringing in my ears.
I grab Atara’s hand, yanking her up. She’s staring at the balcony, her eyes wide and glassy.
I drag her toward the door. We hit the hallway, and it’s a goddamn war zone. The smell of cordite and burnt carpet is thick. One of the O’Shea men is slumped against the wall, his chest a mess of red.
"Maeve," I rasp, the word feeling like a hook in my throat.
I don't wait for a response. I run. I’m still half-naked, just my trousers on, feet bare against the plush carpet that’s now wet with things that aren't water. I’m dragging Atara behind me like a rag doll. She stumbles, her knees hitting the floor once, but I yank her back up.
"Keep moving," I snarl.
We reach Maeve’s suite. The door is slightly ajar. I kick it open, my gun lead, my finger a hair-width away from the trigger.
Mrs. Higgins is on the floor. She hasn't been shot; she’s fainted, her face a pale, waxy mask. Maeve is huddled in the corner of her bed, clutching a stuffed rabbit, her face streaked with tears. She’s let out a broken, terrified wail when she sees me.
"Dada!"
I holster the gun in a heartbeat. I can feel the blood on my hands, the grime of the basement still under my nails, and now the fresh heat of the fight. I look at Atara. She’s still standing there, blinking rapidly, her chest heaving.
"Atara. Come here," I command.
I scoop Maeve up. She’s shaking so hard her teeth are chattering. "Daddy, what’s happening?”
“Nothing, Maeve, it’s just… fireworks.”
“The fireworks are too loud, Dada! They broke the windows!"
"I know, baby. I know," I say, my voice cracking as I try to force it into a calm, paternal register. I look her in the eye, trying to hide the monster she saw earlier. "Listen to me. We’re playing a game. Remember the Treasure Hunt game? The one with Dora?"
Maeve nods, a hiccupping sob escaping her.
"We have to be very, very quiet to find the treasure," I say, reaching into the bedside drawer. I pull out her bright pink noise-canceling headphones. "If you put these on and don't take them off until I say, we win. Okay? No matter what happens, don't take them off. It’s the Super Secret Rule."
She reaches for them, her little fingers trembling. I slide them over her ears, clicking the "on" switch for the white noise. She blinks, the world suddenly silent for her. I give her a thumbs up, and she tries to smile, clutching her rabbit.
I look at Atara. The shock is starting to crack. Her eyes are darting from Maeve to the blood on my shoulder.
"Grab her bag," I snap at her before her brain starts forming answers to the questions in her head. "Now."
She moves. It’s a jerky, mechanical motion, but she grabs the small backpack.
"Kieran, take the front. Echo, you’re the tail," I order as we exit the room.
The descent to the garage is a blur of violence. We hit the service stairs. Two men in tactical gear burst through the fire door on the third floor. I don't think. I fire. Two rounds, center mass. They go down like sacks of flour.
Atara lets out a muffled sound—a choked-off gasp. I don't look at her. I can’t. I have to keep my eyes on the corners.
We reach the garage. The black SUVs are already idling, the exhaust fumes filling the concrete space. Echo clears the perimeter while Kieran holds the door. I shove Atara into the back seat of the lead vehicle.
"Get in. All the way to the other side," I say.
I slide Maeve into the middle seat, buckling her in. She’s looking at me, her eyes curious now behind the headphones, completely insulated from the sound of the tires screeching and the final exchange of gunfire behind us as we barrel out of the garage.
The SUV hits the coast road at eighty miles an hour.
I sit back, my chest heaving, the cold air hitting my bare skin. I’m covered in sweat, plaster dust, and a fine spray of red. I look at my hands. They’re shaking.
Kieran is driving, his eyes fixed on the rearview mirror. "We’ve got two tails. Echo is handling the first one."
I reach into the center console and pull out a clean black t-shirt, pulling it over my head. I need to be a person again.
The silence in the car is suffocating.
Then, my phone rings.
I stare at the screen. Private Number.
I answer it.
"Ahh, you’ve gotten soft, Lorcan, I’m almost disappointed,” the voice says. It’s a rasping, wet sound, like lungs filled with sand. But I know it. I’d know it in hell. Silas.
"But at least you got yourself a new girlfriend," Silas continues, and I can hear the smile in his voice. "She’s pretty. A bit vibrant for a man like you, isn't she? You usually go for the ones who know how to keep their mouths shut."
"Silas," I breathe. My grip on the phone is so tight the casing creaks.
"I saw the way you looked at her at breakfast this morning, and that was what confirmed it for me. You don't do casual, Lorcan. You never have. If she’s at your table, she’s in your heart. And we both know what happens to things you love."
"I killed you," I find myself saying, because what the fuck am I to say to a ghost??
"You missed the heart by an inch. I’ve had five years to think about that inch.
Five years to watch you build your little empire in Vegas while I rotted.
An eye for an eye, Lorcan. That’s the rule, isn't it? You took what’s mine, you took her from me, and you took my future. Now, I’m going to take yours."
"If you touch her—"
"I already have," Silas chuckles. "I’ve marked her. She’s yours, which means she’s mine to break. See you in the desert, Lorcan."
The line goes dead.
I stare at the phone for a long time. The dread is a physical weight, pressing down on my lungs. Silas isn't just alive. He’s been watching. He saw the cliff. He saw the breakfast. He saw me bring her into my suite.
By wanting her, I’ve signed her death warrant.
FUCK!
I look to my right, and Atara is staring at me. The shock has vanished, replaced by a white-hot, vibrating fury. Her hair is a mess, her cream dress is smudged and rumpled, and her eyes are searching my face with a terrifying intensity.
"What," she says, her voice trembling, "the absolute hell was that?"
I look away.
"Lorcan! Answer me!" she shouts, leaning over the center console. She’s gone batshit crazy, her hands fluttering in the air. "Who are those people? Why were they shooting at us? H-how did you just shoot two men in a hallway like you were taking out the trash? How do you even have a gun?!"
"Atara, sit back," I say, my voice flat.
"No! I will not sit back! I have questions, and you will give me my answers! Who are you? Really? Because 'just a businessman' doesn't cover all I just witnessed!”
She’s breathing hard, her face flushed.
"And why am I in this car?" she continues, her voice rising to a screech. "Turn this car around! I want to go back to the resort. I want to call the police. I want to go home!"
"You can't go home," I say.
The words are a stone dropped into a still pond. She freezes, her mouth half-open.
"What do you mean I can't go home?"
"The man on the phone," I say, turning to look at her fully. I want her to see the truth. I want her to see the monster Silas sees. "His name is Silas. He’s… a terrifying bastard. And he saw me with you. In my world, that makes you a target. If I let you go back to that resort, you’ll be dead or worse before you reach the lobby. "
"That’s insane," she whispers, her bravado flickering. "I don't even know you. I’ve known you for two days! Tell him that! Tell him I’m just a girl you met coincidentally!"
"He won't believe it. I don't take 'just girls' to my private table. I don't take 'just girls' to my bed. He knows me, Atara. He knows that if I’m protecting you, you’re important."
"But I'm not! I'm just… I'm just Atara!"
"Not anymore," I say. I reach out, my hand hovering near her cheek, but I don't touch her. I don't want to contaminate her further. "You’re coming with me. To Las Vegas. For protection."
"W-what? Las Vegas?! Protection?" she laughs, a jagged, hysterical sound. "You’re kidnapping me! You’re literally kidnapping me under the guise of 'protection'!"
"Call it whatever you want," I growl, as the craziness of the situation settles in. "But you’re getting on my plane. And you’re staying in my house. Until I find Silas and put him in the ground for real this time, you don't leave my sight. Is that clear?"
She looks at me for a long, silent beat. I can see her calculating, her brilliant brain trying to find a loophole, a logical exit strategy. But there isn't one.
"You can’t do this to me… t-this makes no sense," she whispers.
“I have no answer for you Atara, not right now, not if you want to keep breathing.”
I look down at Maeve. She’s asleep, her head tilted to the side, the pink headphones still firmly in place. She’s dreaming of treasure hunts and Dora. She has no idea that her world almost ended.
I sit back and close my eyes. I’m relieved she’s fighting me. The fire in her eyes is better than the hollow shock. I can handle her anger. I can handle her hate.
What I can't handle is the memory of how she looked before the window shattered. The way she trusted me. The way she looked like she might actually like the monster.
I’ve lost that now. And I’ve gained a war I thought I’d already won.
"Kieran," I say without opening my eyes.
"Yeah, boss?"
"Get the plane ready. We’re leaving in twenty minutes. No stops. No delays."
"Copy that."
The SUV speeds into the night, the Irish coast disappearing behind us. I’m taking her to my golden cage. I’m taking the sunshine into the dark.
And as the silence settles over the car, I realize Silas was right about one thing.
I don't do casual. And God help me, I don't think I’m ever letting her go.