Flanaghan lowers his weapon, face blank. “We don’t leave anyone alive. That’s the rule, right?”
Declan’s jaw flexes. “After we get answers, you useless fuck.”
He takes a step toward him. Flanaghan meets it, shrugging out of his jacket, squaring his shoulders. The idiot actually swings first. His fist connects with Declan’s jaw in a dull crack.
I grab Kaden before he steps in. “Don’t,” I say. “He touched the leader. He knows the price.”
Declan wipes blood from his mouth and grins, a cold, wolfish thing. “Finally.”
Then he’s on him. A blur of black suit and raw power. Each punch lands with the sound of bone breaking. Flanaghan folds to the floor, coughing, blood spraying his shoes.
Doyle starts forward, panic in his eyes. I catch him by the throat and slam him back into the container.
“Don’t,” I growl in his ear. “Rules are rules. You touch the boss, you pay the cost.”
He nods, breath shaking. I release him.
“Flynn!” Kaden calls. Declan’s still pounding Flanaghan, each strike harder, angrier. The man’s body jerks with every hit.
“Enough.”
I move, hard, fast, slamming my shoulder into Declan. The impact rattles the steel behind him. I twist, catching him under the arms, forcing him back.
He’s a fucking tank, but I’ve got weight and leverage. My muscles burn as I haul him off the man and pin him against the wall.
“Come here, fucker!” Declan snarls, trying to shove me off. His breath hits my face, hot, furious.
“Dec,” I snap. “Calm the hell down.”
He pushes again; I push harder, pressing him into the wall until the fight bleeds out of him.
If there’s anyone who can stop him when he loses it, it’s me. Always has been.
“Flanaghan isn’t worth it,” I hiss close to his ear. “You kill him now, we lose the trail. You want vengeance or control?”
Declan glares at me, chest heaving, knuckles split. “I want him dead.”
“I know,” I say, still holding him there, muscles trembling with the effort. “But not tonight.”
His eyes stay locked on mine for a beat, then he exhales and finally stops fighting.
Around us, no one moves. Every man knows better than to interfere when the leader loses control.
Doyle and what’s left of Flanaghan’s crew step in, hauling the bastard out of the warehouse. His boots drag through the blood streaking the concrete.
“He’s not dead,” Kaden says, coming up beside me.
“Yet,” Declan mutters. His chest still heaves, eyes wild, suit spattered in red. He strips off his jacket, the white shirt beneath soaked through, clinging to the muscle across his shoulders.
“Twice in one week,” I say, backing off a step to give him air. “You’re running out of patience.”
“I’m done with patience, mate.” He wipes his face on the ruined jacket, smearing blood across his jaw. “Founding family or not, he keeps this up and he’ll be sleeping with the fishes like every other rat I’ve buried.”
I glance over the bodies scattered across the floor, the stink of cordite still heavy in my throat. “Weird move, coming here just to put a bullet in that man. Check them for IDs, tattoos, anything that tells us who the fuck they were.”
The men obey. Boots splash through crimson puddles, steel echoing underfoot.
Flanaghan’s gone, but Doyle hesitates, eyes darting between me and the corpse pile.
