“Ready?” Kaden asks, stepping beside me.
I nod once.
“I got your back, brother.”
He means it. If someone makes a move, he’d bleed for me. Die for me. That’s what loyalty looks like.
We move down the hallway. Guards from every family stand posted, eyes forward. Silent.
The place is clean, every inch old as hell and expensive. Our great-grandfathers built it, and no one’s dared touch a thing since.
The massive wooden doors creak open as we approach, and inside, the oval table dominates the centre of the room.
Declan sits at the head, with Connor and Kian on either side. Next to Kian are the Keeffes, Christian and his cousin, stiff as ever; across from them, beside Connor, are Flanaghan and Doyle.
What the fuck ishedoing here?
I say nothing, just move to my seat directly across from Declan. Kaden takes the one beside me, eyes scanning everything.
A man pours whisky into my glass. I don’t look at him.
“So?” I ask, voice low as I lean back in the chair.
“You have someone living with you,” Flanaghan says, his voice coated in sarcasm, that ghost of a smile curling his lip like he thinks he has the upper hand.
My fists curl under the table, knuckles tight, but I keep my expression still.
“And?” I shrug, raising the glass and letting the whisky burn down slow.
“She’s not approved. A civilian, no ties to the Consortium.” His voice lifts, sharp and accusatory, like he expects someone else to jump in and echo him.
“She’s a captive,” I say, locking eyes with him, my tone cold, unmoving.
I watch the vein in his temple twitch, the tension in his jaw coiling tighter.
He’s pissed that I’m calm, that I won’t rise to his noise. Autumn unravels me, pulls reactions out of me that no one else can, but Flanaghan? He doesn’t get a flicker.
“A captive you took to a fight andkissed?” he snaps, snarling as he turns to Declan like a child running to a parent. “He kissed her in front of everyone. He can’t have her at the mansion. She has access, documents, photos, Consortium intel!”
He slams his fist into the table. The sound echoes.
Declan watches him for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then he shifts his gaze to me and exhales, slow and tired.
“You know the rules,” he says.
I catch the flick of movement beside him, Kian and Connor, shaking their heads, clearly not wanting to touch this with a ten-foot pole.
“I’m not killing her, Dec.” My eyes stay on his, steady, unflinching. “You know that.”
“The rules are straightforward.” Flanaghan rises; jabbing a finger at me like that makes him more convincing. “No one outside the Consortium or off payroll can be near sensitive information. She’s a fucking liability.”
I laugh under my breath, low. “If anyone’s a liability, it’s you, John.”
His face goes red, lips flattening into a line.
“Remind me again whyyoushot the only man alive at the warehouse,” I continue, leaning forward just slightly. “The one person we could’ve questioned. Why did you kill him before any of us had the chance to ask who sent him?”
He slams his chair back and starts toward me.
