“Kid,” I call.
He comes over, nervous as hell. I can hear it in his breath. “How’d you end up working for him?”
“He—uh—he was friends with my father,” Doyle stammers. “Did some jobs together. When I couldn’t find work, he offered me one.”
“But now you’re with him full-time,” I say. He nods, throat bobbing.
“He trusts me. Says I’m good with a gun. Smart.” His gaze lifts to mine for a heartbeat before dropping again.
I want to push harder, but I can’t read yet if he’s a snake or just a scared kid.
“Good work tonight.” I clap his shoulder once. He flinches, then walks off to help search the dead.
Declan watches him go. “What d’you think?”
“Not sure,” I answer. “Feels genuine, but have Connor dig anyway. See what he finds.”
Declan hums, still breathing heavy. He grips my shoulder. “Thanks, mate. I was gonna kill him.”
“I know.” My mouth lifts. “He earned it.”
We start for the cars. The adrenaline fades slow, leaving the ache of spent muscles and ringing ears.
By the time I roll my shoulders, my mind’s already somewhere else—home.
Her.
Autumn.
Lying in one ofmybeds, undermyroof.
I exhale, a sound half growl, half sigh.
“You can’t fuck her,” Kaden says quietly, because of course he knows what’s running through my head.
“I know,” I mutter.
Not yet.
The first time hadn’t meant a damn thing. But now she’s living in my house, breathing the same air, walking past files the Consortium would kill to protect. When they find out a civilian’s inside the walls, there’ll be questions—threats.
For now, she’s aprisoner. That lie will hold… for a little while, but with Flanaghan stirring the waters and Declan ready to drown anyone who crosses him, I can already feel the tide turning.
I haven’t slept. Not a fucking wink. My mind loops the warehouse on repeat. Flanaghan materialising like smoke to sink a bullet in the last bastard still breathing.
Fuck.
He’s a reckless prick sometimes, but betrayal? He wouldn’t. I hope.
I stalk to the shower and crank the dial until the water scalds. Grab a towel. Then I catch it. Her soft footsteps padding across the floor next door. One quiet pad and my brain flips traitor. Her cunt clenching around my fingers yesterday. Those perfect tits jutting like arrows aimed straight at my chest. My cock jerks hard, instant and aching. I could smash through that wall, haul her in here, slam her against the tiles and fuck every ounce of fight out of her until she’s limp and leaking. Christ, I want to. Need to, but I need to check the plans for the Bratva at the hotel.
I step under the spray. Water burns like punishment, steam chokes the air thick and hot. Still my cock stands rigid, veins pulsing, demanding. It’s got its own goddamn plan.
Fuck this.
I fist it rough. Hips snap forward. Breath hisses between clenched teeth. “Fucking girl’s driving me insane,” I snarl low, pumping harder. Veins throb thick along my shaft and forearms. Muscles lock tight across my chest and abs, every ridge straining under the water. Tonight I’m done with games. I’ll bury myself balls-deep while she screams my name. Watch her cunt drip down my thighs. Mark every inch of skin until she wakes branded, remembers exactly who I am.
One brutal stroke. Another. Grip slick and punishing. I slam my free palm against the cold tile. Chest heaves. Water sluices over my inked shoulders and down the deep V carving my hips. Orgasm barrels closer, coiling viciously in my gut.
