Page 39 of Dirty Delivery

Her eyes widen, genuine interest lighting up her face. “And now Declan runs it?”

“Yeah,” I reply, my voice softening. “After Da passed, Declan stepped up. I worked here for a while, but . . . it wasn’t really my thing. Declan turned it into more than just a pub—it’s become a safe haven for the family’s operations.”

She tilts her head, studying me. “You don’t talk about your family much.”

“There’s not much to say,” I deflect, shrugging. “But this place? It’s the heart of what we are. Good memories. Bad ones, too. It’s all here.”

Savannah nods, her fingers tracing the rim of her glass. The tension between us feels lighter—like maybe, just maybe, we can steal this moment away from everything that’s chasing us.

But out of the corner of my eye, I spot someone who doesn’t belong. A man with slicked-back dark hair, dressed far too sharply for the rustic charm of the pub, is talking to Savannah’s friends. His suit screams money, but it’s his presence that sets me on edge.

Our gazes lock, and the man’s lips curve into a smug, knowing grin. A chill races down my spine.

Savannah notices my change in demeanor. “What’s wrong?” Her voice is tinged with concern.

“We need to leave. Now,” I say, my voice tight.

“What? Why?”

I don’t answer. Instead, I lock eyes with Declan, who immediately stiffens. He gives me a subtle nod before disappearing toward the back, his jovial demeanor replaced with sharp focus.

Standing, I grab Savannah’s hand and pull her to her feet. “Stay close to me, mo stóirín,” I mutter, my tone leaving no room for argument.

She stumbles slightly as I weave us through the crowd toward the kitchens, her confusion and alarm evident in the way her large eyes dart around. Her hand tightens on mine, a silent plea for explanation or reassurance, but I press forward urgency driving my every step . The noise of the pub fades as I push open a hidden panel disguised as part of the kitchen wall. Behind it, a narrow staircase spirals downward, the air growing cooler with each step.

At the bottom, Declan is already waiting, his expression grim. He tosses me a set of keys. “Take the Rover,” he says curtly. “It’ll hold.”

I nod and guide Savannah toward the SUV Declan had our guys deck out and all but turn it into a military grade tank. The black Range Rover is parked in the last spot of the undergroundgarage. She hesitates. Her body trembles as she climbs into the passenger seat. Her eyes search mine, desperate for answers.

“Rylan,” she whispers. “What’s going on?”

I pause, my hand on the doorframe. Meeting her gaze, I soften my tone. “They found us. That guy at the bar—he’s with the Castillos.”

Her breath catches. “The ones looking for me?”

“Yeah. But you’re safe with me. I promise.”

As I round the front of the car and slide into the driver’s seat, I catch Declan scanning the road the garage exits onto to ensure it's clear, but his body language shifts abruptly into something all too familiar—the "someone's about to die" vibe that can make even the toughest man piss his pants. He's already reaching for his phone, his movements sharp and deliberate. The moment we pull out of the garage, tension consumes my body. In the rearview mirror, a pair of headlights appear, too close and too deliberate.

“Are we being followed?” Savannah asks, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Yes,” I say grimly and grip the wheel tighter. “Hold on, mo stóirín. This isn’t over.”

Chapter Thirty

Rylan

The headlights in the rearview mirror draw closer, the Castillos gaining ground with every second. My grip tightens on the wheel, my knuckles turning white as adrenaline courses through me.

"Stay calm," I say, my voice steady despite the chaos swirling around us. Beside me, Savannah clutches the seatbelt across her chest, her breathing fast and shallow.

A sharpcrackechoes through the car when a bullet ricochets off the rear window. Savannah screams, her hands flying to her ears. "Rylan!"

"Get down!" I bark. Reaching into the glove box, I pull out the gun I know Declan keeps stashed. My mind is sharp, calculating the odds as I roll the driver’s side window down just enough to fit the gun through. I glance at Savannah, only to find her frozen in terror. "Mo stóirín, listen to me. Crawl into the back seat and get on the floor. Stay down and don’t come up until I say. Do you understand?"

Her eyes lock onto mine, wide and full of fear, but she nods and moves quickly, scrambling into the back seat and curling into a ball on the floor. Another round of gunfire shatters against the reinforced glass. The windows are holding, but not for long.

I take a deep breath and lean into the partially lowered window. With my left hand still holding the steering wheel, I use the other to aim the muzzle back toward our tail. I squeeze the trigger and the deafening crack of the shot cuts through the chaos. The car jerks slightly under the recoil, but my aim stays steady as I fire again, determination surges through me with each pull of the trigger. The side mirror of the Castillos’ car explodes in a shower of glass. The vehicle swerves, but they don’t slow down. Their determination to get to Savannah is clear, and it makes my blood boil.

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