Total pages in book: 120
Estimated words: 120240 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 601(@200wpm)___ 481(@250wpm)___ 401(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 120240 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 601(@200wpm)___ 481(@250wpm)___ 401(@300wpm)
Da stands by the fireplace, arms crossed, while Seamus paces.
“You found nothing?” he asks.
Declan shakes his head. “None of the security cameras were triggered. Whoever came had access to our gates.”
“So she doesn’t remember anything at all about who took her,” Seamus mutters. “We’ve got no footage. No triggered alarms. No signs of entry. And yet… here she is.” He rakes a hand through his hair. “What the hell am I supposed to do with this? Bronwyn, you sure you don’t remember anything? Nothing?”
“No.” She shakes her head. “I remember the explosion. And then… blank. I just woke up, and I was here.”
“How long was she gone?” Seamus asks.
“Twelve hours,” Kyla answers.
“Wow.” Bronwyn sips her tea. “Well, that’s scary as hell.”
“Tell me about it,” Seamus growls. He looks at the bodyguards in the hallway. “You were at the cemetery perimeter. I want a full report by eight a.m.” He points at Nate, head of security. “Pick your top three. They’ll be glued to Bronwyn.”
“Oh, Seamus…” Bronwyn starts.
“Hush.” He cuts her off.
“I agree with your brother,” Da says.
“Someone showed up, took our girl, and brought her back like she’s a message.”
“A warning,” Mam says, standing. “We do know it was a warning. Aye?”
“Aye.” Seamus’s jaw tightens. “But for what?”
I want to open my mouth and let it all spill out. Every dark, twisted bit of it. But I stay quiet. I have to.
“Well,” Kyla says, thoughtful now. “It happened right at Malachy’s burial, didn’t it? So maybe… he had the key to something. Or he knew something none of us did.”
Seamus looks at me. “Right. Something happened,” he continues. “But Bronwyn came back. So we’ve got no leads on who the hell did this. But we do know that the stronger we solidify our clan, the less likely they are to try it again.”
“Well then.” Kyla rises to her feet. “Time we start making advantageous moves, isn’t it? Seamus married Zoya. That gave us an alliance with the Kopolovs. But we don’t need Moscow right now. We need Ireland. This is where we live. This is where we earn.” Her eyes are bright. “This is where we set roots, gain momentum. Where we thrive.”
“Yes,” Seamus agrees.
“I’m not saying the alliance with the Kopolovs isn’t valuable,” Kyla says. “But now that it’s secured… we need more. Something different.” She straightens her shoulders and sighs. “Marry me off, then.”
The words hit hard. Bronwyn gapes, and Mam goes still, but Kyla continues. “Marry me to someone who’ll benefit the family, won’t you?”
My stomach turns.
Kyla. Offering herself up like a lamb to slaughter. For us. For the family.
Because that’s what we do—we sacrifice and break ourselves on the altar of the McCarthy name.
We all will, in the end.
“Kyla—” Mam gasps, stunned. “It doesn’t have to come to that.”
But Seamus doesn’t argue. Neither does my father.
“Who?” she asks, her voice thin now. “Who can you marry me to that would make our family stronger?”
No one who deserves you, lass.
“I can’t tell you how grateful we are for your sacrifice, love,” my father says. “But I can’t think of a single person. In fact, it’s the opposite. Right now, the strongest move we can make—the smartest—is to expand our trade routes. Cavin, tell us the latest about your work, son, will you?”
So I tell them. As a gun runner to Belfast, my work’s only increased in the past months. Doubled since this time last year.
“The East Coast is secured. Ballyhock is as strong as ever. There’s talk the Boston Irish also want access, but right now, it’s just that. Talk.”
“Right,” Seamus says, eyes narrowing. “What we really need is access to the West Coast and south of Ireland. Killarney. Cork. Galway.”
I walk to the wall, stabbing a finger at the map. “Here. The lines. The docks. All of it.” I shake my head. “If we could secure that connection, get access to the West Coast trade, we’d be…”
I stop myself.
Unstoppable. Fucking invincible.
And worth killing for.
“Did you say the West Coast?” Mum says, her voice soft. We all turn. She smiles faintly. “Funny, isn’t it?”
We say nothing and just wait. It’s clear she’s thinking, coming to grips with what she has to say next.
“Well then. Maybe it’s not one of my daughters we’ll have to marry off…”
Silence.
Her eyes lock on mine.
Me.
“Maybe it’s one of my sons.”
My blood goes ice cold.
No. No fucking way.
“What’re you on about, Mam?” Seamus asks.
“Tara Kavanagh came to me today. She heard about the bombing. Heard Bronwyn went missing. You know we’ve been friendly since your school days at St. Albert’s, right?”
“Right,” Seamus mutters.
“She said something that got my attention.”
“What’s that?”
“Her husband’s gained access to the Western trade routes.”
Seamus and I look at each other.
“Is that so?” he asks.
Declan’s already pulling up his laptop, showing maps, numbers, routes. “Mmm. That would be a match made in heaven.” Easy for him to say. His head isn’t suddenly on the marriage block.