I keep having to remind myself of that. The word feels foreign, like trying on a sweater that does not quite fit yet.
The twins, Seamus and Kiernan, are the oldest of Marianne and Liam’s children. Born barely three months after me, though they grew up steeped in bloodlines and loyalty I never knew existed. Then there are Connor and Saoirse, who came a few years later, fraternal twins who apparently fought like cats as children. The last one is Jack, still in high school, still untouched by the weight the rest of them carry.
The family, she tells me, are scattered across three cities. Boston, Ireland, and Seattle. Liam became the head of theSeattle branch when my mother went missing. He rallied the family to search for her and built the empire up from nothing, brick by dangerous brick. His brother Declyn is clan leader in Ireland, rooted in the old-world traditions. His cousin Cian works with the Boston Irish, the ones who hold their territory with both charm and brutality. All three branches of the Kavanaugh family work together for the most part, but each of them holds independent autonomy in their respective cities. They are equals. No one leader answers to another.
Once Nan finishes helping me dress and tame my damp hair, she gives my shoulder a gentle squeeze and nudges me toward the door. She tells me to head down to the bar. Someone wants to see me.
My heart gives an unsteady thud.
Taking a deep breath, I step one careful foot at a time down the narrow stairwell. The wood creaks beneath me, old and uneven, as if warning me with every step. By the time I reach the bottom, I am nearly out of breath and there is a small stitch in my side. Voices filter back from the main room, low and steady. The clink of glass against polished wood, a hum of conversation that rolls like distant thunder.
I breathe in and hold it for a moment, letting the scents and sounds settle around me. Beer. Oak. Warm spices. A faint curl of cigarette smoke that must drift in from outside. I release the breath slowly and peek my head around the corner.
I have never been to an Irish Pub before. I imagine they are all similar, though I cannot be sure. How am I to know?
The space is large, larger than I would have guessed from the street. A massive wooden bar runs nearly the entire length of one wall, polished to a shine that reflects the soft overhead lights. Green cushioned barstools line its edge, all crowded together as if they have stories worn into their seats. A strip of draft handles sits to one side like a row of rigid soldiers. Beyond that, the backwall glows with a subtle green light that illuminates a chaotic collage of liquor bottles, framed menus, and old photographs.
A row of pool tables sits elevated on a long dais that stretches the length of the room. The felt on the tables is a deep, velvety green. Overhead lamps cast warm pools of light that spotlight the players leaning over their cues. Several dart boards are mounted along the back wall, surrounded by chalkboards scribbled with names and half-finished games. Above it all, an Irish flag and an American flag hang side by side from the ceiling, their edges fluttering slightly each time the door opens.
The place feels alive in a way that makes my pulse skip. Loud enough to hide in, but familiar enough to breathe in. It’s comforting. Unfamiliar, but somehow still makes me feel—safe.
It is early afternoon, and the bar is nearly empty. There are a few men that sit huddled together in one of the booths, beers in hand. I recognize them from my rescue. I let my gaze sweep around the space, settling on a group that causes my heart to thud rapidly in my chest.
Just a few tables away sits Liam and the twins. My brothers.I have brothers, and not the weird, creepy type either.
I hope.
There is another man at the table, his back turned to me so I can’t see who he is.
I hang back, hover at the threshold, half tempted to flee back to the room I woke up in. There are still so many unanswered questions. Why did they come for me? How did they even know I was there? Where is Matthias?
I thought he would have been the first one I’d see when I woke.
Questions swirl my mind, a strong current dragging me down into the ocean until I am lost in its dark depths. I take in a deep breath, shoving the anxiety aside as I straighten my shoulders, and step from the shadows of the doorway.
The moment I do, Liam looks up, his emerald eyes shining with something I can’t decipher. He stands, the legs of the chair scraping against the wooden floor. The rest of the table follows his gaze, including a pair of eyes I don’t expect.
“What the hell is he doing here?” My tone is brusque, eyes hard as I take in the man I’ve always called my cousin.
Liam frowns at my tone. “Neil is the one who helped us get you and the other women out of Elias’sstables.”
Good for him. Fucker.
“Did he also tell you he’s the one who put me there in the first place?”
Neil’s jaw clenches, his gaze turning to look down at the bottle of beer in his hands.
“Avaleigh—” I cringe at the use of my full name. A reflex. I’ve been conditioned to hate it over the years because the only time it was ever used was when I was being punished. Then again, maybe that was how Elias planned it.
Avaleigh is an Irish name. A reminder to him that I was not his. I just never knew that.
“Ava,” I tell him through gritted teeth. “Just Ava.”
A sadness seeps into my biological father’s eyes, but he doesn’t say anything more about my name.
“Ava,” he amends gently. “Neil is here under my protection. He risked everything to rescue you. A thank-you should be in order, don’t you agree?”
“No,” I hiss. “He dragged me from Texas, then forced me to watch my best friend be raped by the man I thought was my brother, which he blamed me for. Then, he ran a truck into the side of my SUV, kidnapped me, and let that motherfucking psycho cattle prod me, stung gun me, whip, and nearly drown me. So forgive me if I’m not in the mood to saythank you.”
