“Twelve of us,” she repeats, her voice wobbling, then steadying as she straightens her spine. “There used to be more. Alice said there were thirty at one point.”
Liam clears his throat, drawing her attention. “What’s your name?”
“I… I’m Niamh.” Her voice is almost a whisper, fear stretching it thin. As she keeps talking, the soft edge of a Scottish accent begins to bleed through. “They branded us so we couldn’t run.”
The room goes still enough to hear our own breathing as she holds out her wrist, still only looking at Liam. Like she’s picked him to trust and is scared if she looks away something bad will happen. At first glance, nothing’s visible just pale, nearly translucent skin.
But Liam steps forward, pulling out a thin flashlight from his pocket, and the room tenses.
“Hold still,” he murmurs, shining the light over her skin.
And there it is.
The brand burns bright beneath the light—two skulls perched atop a cross in white ink.
Marked like cattle. Branded with the same design engraved on Antonio’s cufflinks, his ring. Reduced to inventory and ownership scars they’ll never be able to scrub off, no matter how many times they shower, no matter how far they run. Apermanent reminder of everything taken from them carved into their skin.
Lily’s breath punches out of her in a broken, jagged sound that hits me like shrapnel. She jerks, hand tightening around the knife she has pressed to Isabella’s throat, her entire body trembling with a cocktail of rage and trauma so potent it feels like it burns the air.
Jonathan’s jaw flexes. Aidan swears under his breath as he tightens his hold on Nico. Da adjusts his grip on his gun, finger already on the trigger as the room thickens with the rage of five deadly men.
Niamh’s voice wavers, fear threading through every syllable. “It’s… it’s the same on everyone. The ones who’re still alive.”
Jonathan inhales sharply. “Still alive?”
Niamh nods, eyes flicking to Lily, more apology than explanation. “Some of us didn’t make it. Some were… punished. For trying to run.”
“Punished?” Lily chokes out, voice cracking around the word.
Jonathan exhales sharply through his nose, and Da lifts his gun another inch—but before anyone can say anything, a laugh cuts through the room. Choked and a little manic, like this is all one big joke.
Even with Aidan’s forearm locked against his throat, Nico, the bastard, manages to twist his mouth into a grin.
“Cazzo,” he grunts. “Always hated the sentimental ones.”
Aidan slams him harder into the wall, the impact echoing like a gunshot. “Shut. Your. Fucking. Mouth.”
Nico just coughs, then laughs again, wet and ugly.
“Twelve?” he rasps. “That’s nothing. You should’ve seen it when it was running properly. Before Angus let his pride get in the way.”
“Shut. Up.” Una spits the words like poison.
But Nico doesn’t. He’s like a tap that refuses to be turned off.
“You know I’m right. If it wasn’t for his obsession with Helen, these assholes would never have found out what we’ve been doing. We wouldn’t have had to start marking the girls and scale back. Keep a low profile.” He scoffs, mouth twisting like he’s tasted something sour.
Nico’s grin widens, eyes glinting with malice. “And don’t get me started on the collateral,” he says, voice low, savouring the words. “Some… accidents. You know, the one that got your baby brother, Aidan? Too bad about him, huh? If only he’d stayed out of Peter’s way, maybe he’d be here. Playing hero with his big brother.”
The room freezes. Even the air seems to stop moving at the mention of Cole, who had placed himself between Peter—Logan’s uncle and second at the time—and Abbie. Peter, we later discovered, was as tied to this bastard ring as Angus, and while he’s long since been dealt with, Cole’s name is still like an open wound for his brothers.
Aidan’s jaw tightens, fury darkening his face even as Liam calls out to him. In a flash Aidan slams Nico’s head against the wall again before tightening his grip on his throat.
“Don’t. Speak. Again,” Aidan growls, voice low, controlled, lethal. “You speak, you die.”
Nico’s eyes flick to Lily—still pressed against Isabella, hand still trembling—but Aidan shifts to place himself in front of her. Nico’s smirk fades for the briefest fraction of a second.
Antonio tries to interject, seeing the fury on every man in this room's face. “I—it’s not what you think—”
