My bike waits around the corner, black and seething. I straddle the beast, slide the helmet on, and lock my gaze on her window through the visor.
She’s safer here.
And I’m close enough to burn down the whole building if anyone even breathes in her direction.
The engine snarls awake beneath me as I pull into the street. Kaden’s SUV rolls in behind me, just like I knew it would. My shadow.
I tap the Cardo.
“You didn’t have to follow me,” I grunt, rougher than I mean it to be.
“Right. But I like getting paid. And dead bosses don’t pay well,” he says, too amused.
“She like the apartment?”
“She does.” I cut left, heading toward the docks.
“Did you tell her you own the whole building?”
“Nope.”
“She’s gonna be pissed.”
“Let her,” I mutter. “As long as she’s alive.”
The docks come into view, shadows stretching long over the water. I roar down the ramp, the bike snarling under me, and spot Christian already waving us in, jumpy as always, never sure if today’s the day I start a war.
I park in the private garage beside the old steel warehouse, Kaden pulling in close, his engine echoing mine.
“Again, Flynn?” Christian laughs, voice tight at the edges.
“Don’t worry. I’ll behave.” I strip off my suit jacket, then my shirt, rolling my shoulders slow, stretching, loosening muscle and rage.
Inside, two Irish Consortium women watch from the shadows. Daughters of men who wish they had my place at the table.
“Oh my God, Flynn, you’ve been working hard,” one squeaks. It takes everything not to roll my eyes.
I push past them, cock already half-hard, that gnawing tension thrumming in my veins. Only two things settle it, fighting or Autumn. She’s not here, so fists will have to do.
The next challenger steps into the ring, some brave, stupid bastard who wants to make a name off mine.
Kaden drops into a chair beside Christian, muttering, “Just try not to almost kill him like the last one.”
“I’ll be betting on you.” Flanaghan emerges from behind a pillar, smirking like we’re old friends. Haven’t seen him since things went sideways with Declan.
“As you should,” I bite back.
He claps me on the back. “Hey, no hard feelings, boy.”
Who the fuck is he calling boy?
I ignore him and vault into the ring, blood running hotter, hard-on fading under the burn of fresh anger. If he wasn’t a founding-family prick, I’d crack his jaw for that.
The referee’s mouth moves, but it’s all noise, background static under the thrum of blood in my ears. My focus locks on Flanaghan standing ringside and then on Doyle, who just slipped in behind him. Doyle gives me a nod. I give one back.
Wonder if Doyle would flip on John; could be leverage for Declan, but only if he proves he’s not a snake. I file it away. Doesn’t matter right now.
Pain snaps me back, the first punch cracks across my jaw, left side. Iron hits my tongue. I’ve been distracted. That’s on me. Won’t happen again.
