Chapter 15
Chapter Fifteen
Ashland
The call comes at four in the morning.
My phone vibrates against my palm, and I silence it before it can wake her. I slip out of the bedroom, close the door behind me with barely a sound, and step into the hallway.
Seamus’s voice is tight and clipped. All business. “The warehouse on the docks. Russians—Morozov, by the looks of it—hit it two hours ago. Took down four of our men.”
I blow out a breath. Took down means injured, not dead. Still. Bollocks.
“Tiernan's there now, but it's bad, Ash. It's really fucking bad.”
Ice slides down my spine. Tiernan. My uncle, my trainer, the man who taught me how to fight, how to kill, how to survive in this world.
“How bad?”
“He's… alive. He's asking for you. Says he needs to talk to you before he—” Seamus cuts off, but I hear everything he's not saying. Before he dies .
Holy fucking Christ. Tiernan .
“On my way,” I hear myself say, even as every instinct screams at me to stay here, to guard her, not to let her out of my sight.
Her ankle's been healing, but not as well as it should.
She's still limping, wincing when she thinks I'm not looking, and says she's in a lot of pain.
I'm going to have to take her to a doctor soon, whether she wants to go or not.
“Hurry, Ash.”
Seamus's voice softens, which actually takes me by surprise. He doesn't speak softly to anyone. “I know. I know you've got something going on, but this is family. He's family.”
“I know. I said I'll be there.” I don’t need a fucking lecture.
I hang up before I can say anything else, then stand there in the dark hallway, my hands clenched at my sides, every muscle in my body corded tight.
Tiernan . The man who made me into a weapon, who stood in my corner for every fight, who never once flinched at the monster I became. Who told me six years ago, when I came back covered in someone else's blood, “Sometimes the monster is what the world needs, lad.”
I can’t fuckin’ lose him, not so soon after losing Donovan.
I can’t. I won’t.
I have to go. I know I have to go.
But she's in bed, soft and warm and mine, and every cell in my body is screaming at me to stay with her, to guard her, and not to let her go more than three feet away from me.
I haven't even joined her in bed properly. I've been lying next to her for two weeks now, close but not touching, even though everything in me wants to. I want to climb into bed and tell her Tiernan’s fucking hurt, that it’s not looking good, that I have to go…
The lump in my throat chokes me as I move on autopilot. Grab my clothes from the dresser. Pull on jeans, boots, and a jacket. Strap on a shoulder holster, checking the clip as usual.
Habits. Muscle memory from a thousand jobs I've done.
But this time, all of it feels… wrong. Like I need to let her go.
No. No, I fucking won't.
I stop outside the bedroom door and peer through the crack. I can see her curled up inside, her beautiful black hair still mussed from sleep, one hand tucked under her cheek. Her fair skin looks creamy in the dim light filtering through the curtains.
She looks so beautiful. So… innocent. Everything good in the world contained in one fragile body.
I could lock her in. Could bolt the door from the outside and make it impossible for her to leave. It's secure in here—reinforced windows, no way out except the front door.
She got out before, though, didn't she?
I remember the way she looked at me when she asked why I watched her, the tremor of trust in her voice when she admitted she didn't know how to stop caring. She's starting to understand, to get it. To see that I'm not just a monster.
Or maybe I'm just imagining things.
If I lock her in, she'll know I don't trust her. I don't want her to see herself as a prisoner, but I… Christ, I don't trust easily.
Before I can second-guess myself, I push open the bedroom door and cross to the bed. I sit on the edge, close enough to touch but not touching. Not quite yet.
“Bianca.” My voice is rough. “Wake up.”
She stirs and makes a small sound of protest, then blinks at me with sleepy eyes. For a moment, she looks at me as if she's happy to see me, genuinely happy, and something in my chest tightens. Her eyes are a little starry as she blinks and yawns, as sweet as a little kitten .
Maybe I'm imagining things.
Then she remembers everything and sits up, the blanket clutched to her chin. “Something wrong?”
Christ. She knows something's wrong just by looking at me.
Why does that make me want to cry? I never fucking cry. “I have to go.”
“Go where?”
“Family emergency. One of my uncles was hurt. I need to—” I run a hand over my scalp, frustrated that I'm explaining myself, but I can't help it. “Tiernan. Fucking Tiernan. I need to be there.”
She swallows hard and studies me. I can see her thinking, processing, her beautiful mind working through angles I can't predict.
“How long will you be gone?” she finally whispers.
“Don’t know.”
She reaches out with a tentative hand, all gentle and soft, and touches my arm. “It's… going to be okay.”
I slide my hand over hers and give it a gentle squeeze.
“I don't know,” I whisper and pull my hand away.
She nods slowly, then brings her knees up to her chest and wraps her arms around them. She looks so small in the bed, drowning in all that white linen .
I can't leave her. I can't fucking do this.
But then I see Tiernan's face after my last match, the pride in his eyes I’ve come to crave. I have to go.
“Bianca.” I lean forward and cup her jaw, brushing my thumb across her cheek. “I need you to promise me something?—”
“Don’t run.” She says it before I can, quiet but steady.
“ Don't .” My voice shakes, and I fucking hate that it does. “Please. I swear to fuck it isn’t safe.”
She knows I'm vulnerable right now, doesn't she? But are we beyond me caring about being vulnerable at this point?
“I need you to stay here.” I've never begged anyone for anything, but I'm begging her now.
She's quiet for so long, I think maybe she'll refuse.
Then she finally whispers, “Alright. I'll stay.” She meets my gaze with something vulnerable in her own eyes. “I promise. Please believe me.”
She's not a liar. Even after everything, I know she's not a liar.
I reach out and cup her face with my hand. Her skin is warm and soft against my calloused palm.
“Stay safe.”
Stay safe, where I can watch over you .
“I promise I'll be back as soon as I can.”
Just a few hours, that's all. Tiernan will be fine. He has to be.
She leans against my palm. “And I hope… I hope everything turns out okay. I hope he's okay.”
As if she cares. As if she actually gives a fuck whether I come back whole or in pieces.
I want to kiss her. I want it so badly my hands shake with the need. But I force myself to pull back, stand up, and create distance before I do something stupid.
“There's food in the fridge. Books on the shelf. If you need anything?—”
“Go,” she says quietly. “I'll be fine. Go. Your uncle needs you.”
I stare at her for one more moment, trying to memorize every feature. The way her hair falls over her shoulders, the flush in her cheeks, the fullness of her lips.
My little Snow White. Sweet and gentle. Fierce.
Then I turn and walk out before I change my mind. The door shuts behind me with finality.
I can't shake the feeling though. Can't shake the certainty that this will be the last time I ever see her, that she’s going to find a way out.
But she can't. She's still hobbling on that ankle, isn't she? She's not well enough. She still needs me to take care of her. She still needs… she still needs me .
Me, goddamn it.
I look at the time on my phone. I have to go. I have to go right now to get there before?—
Christ .
I text Seamus, but he doesn't respond immediately.
I throw my phone on the dash, take one last look at the cabin in the rearview mirror, and can't shake the feeling that I shouldn’t leave her.
I can't keep fucking doing this—can't keep running from Bianca and running to my family. I won't.
Something needs to give. She can't hide forever, and neither can I.
Outside the McCarthy home, I kill the car's engine and sit there for three seconds too long, staring at the house.
Part of me—most of me—wants to turn around and go back to the cabin, to make sure she's still there, still safe, still mine. But Tiernan's inside, and I need to see him.
“Ash.” Lorcan jerks his chin at me and gestures for me to follow.
“How is he?”
Lorcan scrubs a hand across his jaw and curses. “Fuck's sake, not good. Took a bullet to the chest, shattered a kneecap. Lost a ton of fucking blood, brother.” His voice is hoarse as he shakes his head. “I'll fuckin' kill them.”
“Aye, lad, we all will, won't we? Let's see to Tiernan first.”
When we get to the room, my da's on one side of him and my cousin Declan on the other. There's so much fucking blood. His shirt's been cut away, and our family medic's bandaging his torso, muttering under his breath.
His eyes are open, alert and pissed off.
“There's the lad,” Tiernan rasps when he sees me. Christ, even half dead, he sounds like he's about to drag me back in the ring. “Took your sweet time, Ash.”
“Traffic. I came as soon as I could.”
“Bollocks.” He coughs, then winces and gives me the middle finger with a smirk.
I drop to my knees beside Lorcan. My hands hover over Tiernan's body, cataloging the damage. “Jesus, brother. What the fuck happened to you?”
“Didn't expect a fucking ambush,” he mutters, dragging his hand across his brow. He jerks his head at my father. “Christ, but this was easier when we were younger, Nolan.”
“Aye,” Da says, shaking his head and rubbing a hand across his face. Da married my mother when Tiernan was still a lad and half raised him. Tiernan's somewhere between his brother and son .
“Six came in, three left.” Tiernan grins, blood on his teeth. “Not bad for an old man.”
“Not bad at all,” Da agrees.