Page 67 of Sins and Salvation

And in that moment, I believe her. We're a team now. A family. Whatever comes next, we'll face it together.

But as sleep claims me, Petrov's words echo in my mind. Why would Cormac keep Siobhan alive? What truth is he hiding?

CHAPTER16

MAEVE

Iwake to sunlight streaming through the cottage window, Declan's arm heavy across my waist. For a moment, I forget everything—the kidnapping, the gunfights, the escape. Then reality crashes back as pain shoots through my bruised body.

Morning after a nightmare, and somehow, we're still alive.

I slip from the bed, careful not to wake Declan. His face looks younger in sleep without the hard lines of worry. The bandage on his shoulder needs changing, but that can wait.

Sarah's already in the kitchen pouring coffee when I drag my ass downstairs.

"Conor's still asleep," she says, passing me a mug. "Poor kid was exhausted."

"Thank you for taking care of him."

She shrugs. "That's what friends do."

I take my coffee to the window, staring out at the gray Irish sky. So much has happened in the past twenty-four hours—Conor kidnapped, Declan shot, me killing a man. I take a burning sip, trying to ground myself in the present.

"You look like shit," Sarah says, joining me.

"Feel like it too."

We hear footsteps from upstairs—Declan moving around. A few minutes later, Conor's voice rings out, loud and urgent.

I rush upstairs to find him in our room, clinging to Declan like he might disappear.

"I thought you left again," he says when he sees me, his face buried in Declan's good shoulder.

"No, baby. I'm right here." I join their hug, stroking Conor's hair. "We're both here."

We head downstairs together. Sarah's in the kitchen mixing pancake batter, the smell of fresh coffee filling the small space.

"Look who's up," she says, eyeing our bruised faces but not commenting.

"Can we have pancakes?" Conor asks, perking up at the sight of the bowl.

"That's the plan," Sarah says, ruffling his hair. "Set the table for me?"

I help Conor with the plates while Declan pours coffee. Sarah flips pancakes at the stove, humming some pop song under her breath.

"Look at us," she says, sliding golden pancakes onto Conor's plate. "Like a fucked-up family vacation."

I shoot her a warning look—Conor doesn't need the reminder. Or to learn how to cuss. He drowns his pancakes in syrup, chattering about Disney World while my face throbs from yesterday's bruises. Declan winces every time he lifts his coffee mug.

Twenty-four hours ago, I shot a man. Declan killed a Russian mob boss. Men with guns nearly murdered my son. Now we're eating pancakes like nothing happened.

"Your phone's charged," Sarah says, handing me the borrowed charger. "Your boyfriend's brother called six times."

Declan looks up sharply. "Cormac?"

"He wants us at the compound by noon," I say, checking the messages. "Says it's urgent."

"I bet it is." Declan's jaw tightens. "He's not happy I'm taking you to see Siobhan."

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