Page 45 of Bloody Knuckles

"Yes," I answer. "For now. I need to know what Liam's planning before I come home."

"And Donovan? He hasn’t hurt you?"

Heat floods my cheeks at the implied question. "No, but I fear my brother might.”

My father sighs heavily. "Twenty-four hours. Then we meet—you, me, and Donovan. Neutral ground."

"Agreed."

"And Aoife? Be careful who you trust. Even Donovan’s who appear to help you might have their own agenda."

"I know." I glance at Cormac's profile, all hard angles and controlled danger. "I haven't forgotten who he is. And just because I’m a woman doesn’t mean I don’t have an agenda either."

After ending the call, silence fills the car. Cormac drives through Dublin's outskirts, eventually turning onto a private road I don't recognize.

"Where are we going?" I ask.

"A safe house. Unknown to most of my organization."

"You don't trust your own men?"

"After Finn?" His laugh holds no humor. "I trust no one. Told you, trust issues."

We arrive at a modern lake house, glass and steel nestled among trees. Isolated, defensible, beautiful in a cold, clinical way that matches its owner.

Inside, Cormac immediately activates security systems before turning to look at my injury for the first time since the docks. His gaze tracks over the blood on my sweater—some mine, some Connor's, some Sean's.

"Your arm needs cleaning," he notes, voice deliberately neutral.

"It's just a graze."

"Still needs cleaning. Bullets are filthy things." He moves toward a cabinet, retrieving a first aid kit. "Sit."

I obey, perching on a bar stool as he cuts away the sweater sleeve, revealing the shallow gash beneath. His touch is soft as he cleans and bandages the wound, but tension radiates from his massive frame.

"You didn't hesitate," he says finally, smoothing medical tape over gauze. "With McKinney. With Byrne."

"Neither would you."

"No." He disposes of bloodied supplies. "But they were your father's men. Men you've known for years."

"They weren't my father's men anymore," I correct. "They chose Liam. Chose betrayal."

"And you chose to kill them rather than go with them." His attention holds mine. "Why?"

The question hangs between us, heavy with implication. Why indeed? Why choose Cormac over my own brother? Why trust my kidnapper over my blood?

"You chose to kill your own brother, why? Liam would use me as a weapon against both you and my father," I answer. "At least with you, I know where I stand."

"Do you?" Cormac steps closer, into my personal space. The scent of gunpowder and blood clings to him, oddly intoxicating. "Where exactly do you stand with me, Aoife?"

The question strips pretenses bare. Where do I stand? Captive? Lover? Ally? Enemy? The lines blurred beyond recognition weeks ago.

"I stand where I choose," I answer, rising to meet him. "Today, I chose you over Liam. Make your own assumptions.”

Something shifts in his mood—predatory gaze narrowing to deadly intensity. "You killed formetoday."

"I killed for myself," I correct. "You were just lucky I didn’t kill you."

---