I don’t deserve it.
"I have a lead on where he might be. If I can get to him, end this threat, then you'll be safe."
"And then what?" Her voice is small.
“Then you can go home.” I lean my chin on top of her head, so that I don’t have to look at her face, see the inevitable expression of hurt there. “You can have the annulment and start over. Marry someone else. Someone more suitable for you.” The words feel like they burn my tongue. The thought of another man touching her makes me feel murderous, like I want to flay any man alive who thinks he could lay claim to her. But it’s what’s best for her.
I know it is.
"Without you." It's not a question.
“You’re better off without me.” Every word hurts. I feel her tense in my arms, feel her shutting down.
She's quiet for a long moment, and when she finally speaks, her voice is carefully neutral. "You should go, then. The sooner you finish this, the sooner we can figure out what comes next."
There's something in her tone that makes my chest ache, but she's right. The sooner I deal with Brennan, the sooner we can both move forward. Even if that means moving apart.
Something I would have given anything for less than a month ago, and now makes me feel as if I’m losing something precious, something that I didn’t know I wanted and know I don’t deserve.
I extract myself from the couch, fixing my clothing and zipping my jeans back up, and head to the bedroom to change. Maeve stays on the couch, and when I come back out dressed and armed, she's staring out the window at the Dublin skyline. She’s still in my t-shirt, the thin cotton fabric falling to the tops of her thighs, and the knowledge that she doesn’t have anything on beneath it makes my cock stiffen all over again. I could pin her against that window, push the t-shirt up and be inside her in seconds… but that’s not how her first time should go, no matter how much I want that right now.
And her first time shouldn’t be with me at all, even though the thought of it being another man makes me feel as if I want to burn down the entire world.
"Flynn will be here soon," I tell her. "Don't leave the apartment until he arrives. Get dressed before he does,” I add, thinking that if he sees her like this, I’ll kill him, best friend or not. “I’ll be back.”
She nods, but doesn't say anything, and I leave before I can do something stupid like change my mind.
—
The leadon Brennan came from one of Connor's contacts, a low-level enforcer who'd heard whispers about a man fitting Brennan's description meeting a contact of his own in an abandoned warehouse near the docks. It's the kind of place that attracts rats—both the rodent kind and the human kind—and if Brennan's smart, he'll have backup.
Connor’s contact didn’t know what the meeting was about, but I’d guess it has to do with whoever he’s paying for the attempts on Maeve’s life. It’s possible that he knows she’s in Dublin now and is trying to make a move.
I intend to end him before he gets a chance.
I considered taking backup with me, but I want Flynn watching Maeve, and I’m used to working alone. I take a cab to a spot three blocks from the warehouses, then move through the alleyways toward the address I was given. My plan is to scope it out, then wait until dark when Brennan will show up.
The warehouse is exactly as I expected, decrepit and isolated, the kind of place that wouldn’t attract much attention. It’s easy enough to do recon of the building, finding the ways in and out, before seeking out a spot to wait, hidden, and see who Brennan brings with him.
Just after dark, I see men start to approach the warehouse, taking up sentry positions outside and some heading in. I see no sign of Brennan, but it’s entirely possible that he’s gone in through another entrance. I can’t cover all of them, not on my own.
I watch for another fifteen minutes or so. The sentry out front takes out a cigarette and lights it, staring off into the distance. He doesn’t notice me creeping up slowly through the shadows, not before I take him out quietly, a blade to the throat before he can make a sound, and slip inside.
The interior is dark and cavernous, filled with old shipping containers and rotting crates. Perfect for an ambush. I moveslowly, listening, every sense on high alert. There's a sound from deeper in—voices, low and urgent—and I head toward it.
That's when everything goes to shit.
I realize, a moment too late, that this was a setup. Not by Connor, I don’t think, but his contact might be a traitor… or maybe Brennan just got a whiff that his meeting had been found out, and used it as a trap instead. Regardless, there’s a solid chance that I’m fucked.
The first man comes at me from behind a container, and I put two bullets in him before he can close the distance, foregoing stealth for a better chance at making it out of here alive. The second comes from above, dropping from a catwalk, and I barely dodge in time. His knife catches my side, a burning line of pain, but I manage to break his arm and snap his neck before he can do more damage.
Three more emerge from the shadows, and I feel a rare sensation: a cold knot of fear coiling in my gut. I fight like I always do—efficiently, brutally, without hesitation. But there are too many of them, and they're better trained than I expected. It seems Brennan’s stepped up his hiring since the assassination attempt.
Regardless, I'm in trouble.
I take down two more, but the third gets a lucky shot in, his fist connecting with my ribs hard enough that I hear something crack. Pain explodes through my side, and I stumble. That's all the opening they need.
The next few minutes are a blur of violence. I'm fighting on instinct now, muscle memory taking over while my conscious mind focuses on staying alive. I'm bleeding from multiple cuts, my ribs are screaming, and my left shoulder feels wrong, like something's been dislocated. But I’m still on my feet.
