“We won’t say anything for now. But please, think about it.” She squeezes me, and I hug her back.
When I look up, Declan just nods.
Viviana tries to keep me talking, asking if I’m okay, if we used protection, if I need anything, but I avoid every answer.
Right now, all I want is to go home.
Chapter Seven
Flynn
Istep into the warehouse, half-burned and rotting on the forgotten edge of the docks. We’d talked about rebuilding it once, but for now, it serves its purpose: a quiet place to drag the ones we need to erase. Or torture. Usually both.
“Flynn,” Declan greets with a smirk, while Connor and Kian flank a man standing stiff in a cheap, wrinkled suit.
“This is the fucker dealing at one of your clubs,” Kian says, nodding toward him.
I study the lad. He’s almost my height, with a fighter’s stance he probably thinks makes him look dangerous.
Dealing drugs in my clubs again. It’s nothing new; I try to keep them clean, but it’s never perfect. Still, when the drugs are laced with something that makes people collapse on the floor, that’s a different matter entirely.
Connor sifted through hours of security footage until he found him. Castor Mayfield. Some spoiled rich brat who thinks he can walk into my world, into The Irish Consortium’s world, and sell poison like he owns the place.
“You’re just pissed I was making more than you ever did in a night,” Castor mutters, peeling off his jacket like he’s not three breaths away from pissing himself.
We can’t kill him. He’s the prized son of one of our allies. But hurting him? That’s still on the table.
“You need us?” Connor asks, eyes flicking to Declan. I shake my head, gaze steady.
Declan’s watching me. Different this time. Measured.
“You two can go. I’ll stay and make sure he doesn’t kill the kid,” he says with a grin.
“Appreciate it, Connor.” I shake his hand and clap his back once.
“Anytime, mate,” he replies, and the two of them vanish. A moment later, the growl of their bikes echoes through the metal rafters, rattling the roof above us.
“How was the charity event?” Declan asks, turning to me as I shrug off my jacket and roll my sleeves up.
Castor remains frozen in place, trying to act unfazed, but his left leg twitches every few seconds, and he’s digging his thumbnail so deep into his palm he’s bound to draw blood.
This is the part I enjoy the waiting, the dread in their eyes. The not knowing.
“Same as always. Boring. Full of eejits.” I grunt, eyes shifting back to Castor.
Declan’s still watching me. And he hasn’t blinked once.
“Hm.” Declan hums, stepping back with that knowing glint in his eyes.
My focus stays on Castor, but her name is still carved into the front of my skull like a curse. The charity event was two nights ago, but I swear I can still smell her. Feel her. The soft weight of her thighs around me. The way her cunt clung to me like it was meant to. The shock of blood, fresh, sticky,unexpected. And now? Silence. No reply to the voicemail. No answer to my text.
She vanished.
My jaw tenses.
“I can take you,” Castor spits, dragging me back to the present.
Perfect.
