RONAN
Finn.
Even though I knew he was part of this, it still makes my blood run cold as he exits the car and falls in step behind Declan Walsh, just like he used to do with my father.
It’s been a few years since I last saw him, and yet he still hasn’t quite grown into his height. His limbs are still gangly, and his face still has some youthfulness to it, except for his eyes. Those icy blue eyes are sharp and unreadable.
Yet, despite the coldness Finn is trying to project, there is a crack in his armor. A sense that maybe he didn’t want to be on this side of the fight after all.
But it’s too late for him to take it back now. He branded himself a traitorous bastard the moment he decided to entertain Declan Walsh’s demands.
I should be more pissed than I am, but at least having Finn here gives me the opportunity to kill two birds with one stone. If I play this right, both of their bloods will be staining my hands by the time the sun starts to rise.
I slam the car door shut, sealing Ciara inside.
My reflection stares back at me in the window, my eyes burning, before I turn and stalk forward.
I keep my steps slow and deliberate.
Brennan is out of sight, tucked behind one of the splintered pillars of the mill, waiting for the right moment to strike.
I take a few more steps forward until the headlights from Declan’s car illuminate my face.
When Declan's eyes meet mine, surprise flickers in them, quickly replaced by a feral gleam. “Well, well. If it isn’t the golden boy himself.”
He walks like he owns the ground beneath his feet. If he weren’t such a pain in my ass, I’d be impressed by his commanding presence.
To most, he’s an intimidating figure, but not to me. There has only ever been one man I was ever intimidated by, and he is now buried six feet under.
Declan Walsh has got nothing on my father.
There’s a calculated coldness to his eyes and a permanent crease between his eyebrows as he assesses me. His hair is slicked back, streaked with gray, the only sign that age is starting to leave its mark.
“It’s been a while.” I tuck my hands into my pockets.
My eyes flick to Finn, but he’s refusing to look at me. The guilt is written all over his face, but I don’t feel sorry for him. If he hadn’t been the one to kill Max, I could have considered forgiving him, given our history. But ultimately, he hurt Ciara, and that’s not something I can ever forgive.
“I got to hand it to Stephen, I didn’t expect him to bring you here too,” Declan drawls.
I say nothing.
“Unless you came instead of your girl?” His amusement at my presence fades.
I jerk my chin toward the vehicle behind me. “She’s in the car.”
Declan narrows his eyes. “Prove it.”
“I’d prefer to keep her out of our business.”
“From what I’ve heard, she can handle herself pretty well, Sullivan. She almost killed one of my guys, and I think she would have if you hadn’t shown up.”
“I wouldn’t want to get on the wrong side of her if I were you.”
Declan smirks. “That sounds like a challenge.”
“More like a promise.”
“Who knew you could be so…sentimental? Not gone soft now, have we, Ronan?”
