Page 64 of Killaney Blood
"Fuck!" I yell.
Shane steps forward. "Boss, we've got three more warehouses on the south side. Should we increase security?"
I hesitate. A million things running through my mind.
"Yeah, let's double the guards on all properties," I say finally. "And I want everything we can find on this Morrigan group. Every rumor, every link, every fucking scrap of intel."
"Should we tell Callum?" Shane asks.
I think of my brother, already drowning in our father's responsibilities. Already dealing with the fallout from the other attacks.
"No," I decide. "Like before. This stays between us for now until we can work it out."
Shane nods. "And the body?"
I look at the dead man, blood still dripping from his chair to the floor below. Another nameless, faceless enemy. Except this one had a grudge. This one was part of something bigger.
"Get rid of it," I say, "but find out who he was. I want every detail about his life, his associates, his fucking elementary school teacher if that's what it takes."
As they move to follow my orders, I step outside, needing air that doesn't smell like death.
The sun is fully up now, painting the industrial district in harsh light.
I pull out my phone, checking for messages from Henry about Lyra. Nothing yet. Which means she's still safe. Still sleeping, maybe, in the bed I left less than an hour ago.
For a moment, I let myself remember the softness of her skin, the way she arched beneath me, the sound of her voice when she finally broke and begged me to fill her.
Then I push it all aside.
I have a war to prepare for. One I didn't even see coming.
And this time, the enemy isn't after territory. They're after us.
20
LYRA
The fight should be the only thing on my mind, but it isn't. I'm sitting on a folding chair near the ring, pretending to focus as two men tear into each other like it's personal. Blood spatters, the crowd roars, but all I can think about is him.
Declan Killaney.
He's across the room, arms folded, jaw tight, attention going from the ring to me when he thinks I'm not looking. I catch him doing it twice.
Women notice him, too. How could they not? Three of them hover near his corner, casting glances his way. One, a blonde in a tight red dress with her tits out, is bolder than the rest. She approaches, says something to him, but he gives no reaction. She doubles down and touches his arm, leaning in, making sure he gets a good view of what she's offering.
Something twists in my stomach, sharp and unpleasant. I tell myself it's relief. That he'll be distracted now, focused on someone else. That I should be grateful.
I'm not.
His eyes find mine over the blonde's shoulder. Even across the room, I feel the heavy intensity of his looks. The blonde says something else, but Declan doesn't respond. He's looking at me, only me, as if no one else exists in this crowded, sweaty space.
The blonde follows his gaze, turning to see what's captured his attention. Her eyes narrow when she spots me. She says something that makes Declan shake his head, then walks away feeling his rejection.
I force my attention back to the fight, but my mind keeps drifting back to three nights ago. To his hands on my skin. The way his mouth claimed mine. The bandages. The couch. The sound of his voice when he made me shatter. And the way he disappeared by morning.
I got a text, but not him.
And so that turned into three days of silence. Though yesterday a man came to deliver two huge boxes. Inside were tons of new supplies, good stuff, not the cheap crap I get from the local stores.
