Page 28 of The Warrior's Salvation

I’m my father’s daughter. Mum has said it more than once. Now I have to prove it.

20

LOCHLAN

Jasper scowls at me as he walks past, his shoulder bumping into mine. I see the despair in Evie's expression, the way she won't even look me in the eye. And then they're gone, closed into the elevators as I stare after them, stuck between wanting to tell Draco she's mine, that I want her to be mine, and the nagging feeling of betrayal at the sight of her arguing with that other man.

I should've said something to Draco already, but I haven't. It's not the right time to bring up something like that, what with the enemy sniffing around. The strikes were bad enough, but with Doyle sending his men to disrupt our weapons shipment, I can't distract Draco or ask him to put thought into anything else, no matter how important or pressing it is.

Turning, I push the door to the offices open and the stench of vomit wafts up to meet me. It's telling—the reason Evie is on her way home, probably. She's been sick, but I thought that was better. Still, maybe she's one of those women who throws up when she gets emotional. It would make sense. The last time she was sick for days came after an argument with me too, which only makes me feel worse.

Maelyn was never like this—always steady and even-keeled. But Evie is everything my former partner was not, soft and meek, pliable. And alive… Which is the way it needs to stay. So her home is much safer for her, and there is less of a chance that Draco will see her bickering with me and understand the reality. That I'm falling in love with his little girl even though I shouldn't be.

Besides, it's not like they're going to plan a shotgun wedding with Cormac breathing down our necks. Evie is worried about marrying that suit and I know it's a very real thing she's facing. But Draco has too much on his plate, and I have time. Time to think about what I really want and time to think of how to confess those desires to Draco. Or time to shake these emotions loose and get Evie out from under my skin. If she can't stop seeing that man, then there is no reason to think we have a future anyway.

"Loch, could I speak with you?" Draco stands in the doorway to his office with a serious expression and his phone in his hand, fingers pressed over the mic.

"Yeah," I grunt, glancing at the trashcan next to Evie's desk. The whole office reeks now, and I'm happy to shut myself behind Draco's office door and avoid the stench. He struts around the desk and sets his phone down, pressing the speaker button so I can hear what's going on.

"We're listening," Draco says to seemingly no one, but his gaze darkens as he stares at the phone. The caller ID reads,TD Byrne, and I know why my friend is tense. A man of his status doesn't call for fun and games.

"Gentlemen, I want to remind you that the agreement we have with Chief Ronan is of the utmost confidence." He sounds angry. I look up at Draco with narrowed eyes, but his expression doesn't give away any reason why this call may be happening or how to interpret the deputy's frustration. "My name is being tossed around Antwerp. Do you understand what sort of problem that poses?"

Draco's eyes are inky black, hand gripping his own chin. He's hearing this for the first time too, which means I'm seeing his reaction in real time. My shoulders feel so tight they could snap like a piano string even after that romp with Evie, and all I can do is picture that asshole trying to grab her on the street. Anger bubbles in my chest just waiting for a chance to blow off some of the pressure.

"Deputy Byrne, you have to understand that we do everything in our power to?—"

"I don't have to tell you what sort of problems it will cause us all if I’m found out." His voice is sharp, cutting Draco off. I jam my hands into my jeans pockets and look away from his face. It's shameful to look a good man in the face as he's being reprimanded. Byrne has no right to bite Draco's head off, but he's under the gun.

I'm not a fool. I know Ronan's ties to high up in the political world here in Dublin, so if something has gone wrong and Byrne is at risk of being exposed, we all are. This is serious.

"Deputy Byrne, can you give us context? What's happening in Antwerp?" I sneak a peek at Draco's face as he sinks into his chair, massaging his temples. First the attacks on the picket line, then the gun shipment, and now this? And Draco doesn't even know that Evie is sneaking around with some idiot behind his back. It's like I’m watching the perfect storm develop over the ocean that's headed for land bent on total destruction but there's nothing I can do to stop it.

"The shipment of pharmaceuticals was stopped and searched and my name is being shared in conjunction. Gentlemen, fix this, now. I am not planning to go down alone." The line crackles with tension. I shift my weight from one foot to the other. Draco sighs and reaches for his phone.

"We're on it, Deputy Byrne, you have my word." He ends the call, not allowing for any more righteous threats from Mr. Byrne, and then shoves the phone in his pocket as he stands up glaring at me. "We have to get to the docks to find out what’s going on. I'm not going to sit around here waiting until we get a call from the port authority."

He walks past me, yanking the door open, and without being beckoned, I follow. Evie is on her way home with Jasper, and this office can handle itself. I've been sitting on the sidelines for long enough while Jasper and Draco take the heat. This is my family business at risk now and I'm not going to sit on my fucking hands and watch it burn to the ground. If Doyle wants to play hardball, we need the bench empty, all hands on deck.

The fog rolls in off the water as we approach the docks, wrapping around the car like we're invading a ghost town. The entire drive has been quiet, the car tense. Draco is never like this, but he knows as well as I do that Cormac is fucking with us. He's been pushing boundaries for months now, and with someone on the inside, it's not hard to determine how our weapons shipment was interrupted or this new surprise happened.

"Go round back and see if you can find the port inspector," he orders, gesturing at the warehouse. "I'll head inside. If the boys can't tell me what went wrong, we'll have to call Belgium." The lines on his forehead are etched deep into his skin. He looks tired and ready to kill someone.

"Draco," I say, pausing to rest my hand on my weapon holstered behind my back. He stops and looks up at me.

"If Doyle has a man on the inside, we have to be careful about who we speak with, what we say to them." My mind is whirring with thoughts. Cormac has been sneaky enough to infiltrate us in spite of our heavy vetting system. My mind conjures images of a spy sifting through the files on computers, but in reality, it could be anyone. "We can't spook them. We need to know who it is and find out how they got through."

Draco nods at me with a knowing expression. He may be Ronan's right-hand man, but his team missed something and slipped up, and it's my family name on the line. Those drugs being moved won't just come back to bite the union workers in their legitimate positions. Customs and import authorities will come after anyone who had cargo on that ship, including Ronan and our family businesses.

"We're gonna sort this, Loch. And I know I'll take the heat for it." His head dips as he turns back toward the office, and I start to move toward the end of the building.

The port inspector is a stodgy man, late forties, balding. His combover looks like he walked through a windstorm, always wet and slicked down. And his belly is rotund from one too many beers. But I don't see him anywhere. I search the docks and the shipping warehouses. Walk past the fishery and the parking lot, and only when I round back toward where the shipping warehouse is situated do I see movement.

A tall man, slender with dark hair and sunglasses, stands chatting with the man I'm looking for. Except, my eyes lock on the taller man, not the port inspector. I've seen him a few times now and it makes lava surge through my chest into every vein in my body. It's the man Evie was speaking with this morning, here at the docs. And this time, I see something I didn’t see before.

He has a tattoo on his neck just below his right ear, a black sword with the tip covered in blood—the Doyle family crest.

Before I can think, I’m reaching for my weapon. My hand is steady as I draw it from the holster, but I can feel the tremor running through my arm, like the gun’s going to slip from my grip. The man with the tattoo sees me move and his expression sharpens. He’s already pulling his own gun, aiming straight for me.

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