Page 1 of Blindsided
Prologue
Declan MacGallan
I stood gripping a glass of champagne, my fingers tight around the stem as I watched Connor and Mia disappear through the door. Envy coiled sharp and bitter in my gut; my brother’s carefree confidence had always come so naturally to him. Now, Connor wore the clan captain’s mantle, but I felt sure everything would unravel – and that dread, thick and suffocating, was the real reason I stayed on as his partner.
I sighed as I scanned the room, listening to my wife, Wren, and my sister, Kat, talk animatedly about flowers. My gaze landed on my cousin Kane, who stood across the dance floor, staring intently at Wren—his look so intense it was almost predatory. Rory slid up beside me, took my champagne glass as I passed it to him, then glanced at Kane and muttered, “Sucks to be him.”
A surge of anger pushed me into the crowd. The pulse of the reception faded behind me as I closed in on Kane, seized his lapels, and snarled, “Keep yourfucking eyes off my wife,” before slamming my fist into his face.
I shoved my way back through the crowd, forcing myself to focus as the chaos of the dance floor faded behind me. When I returned to Wren and Kat, Wren watched me curiously, her champagne flute paused in midair as she interrupted her conversation with Kat to look at me.
“Where'd you go?” Wren asked, narrowing her eyes.
“Handled something,” I said, flexing my hand.
Rory snorted, handing me my glass. “By 'something,' he means Kane's face. Nice right hook. Liked the head snap.”
“Jesus, Rory,” I muttered, hiding a smile as I sipped.
Wren’s eyes went wide. “You hit Kane?”
“He deserved it,” I said.
Rory cleared his throat and looked uneasy. He reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a cream-colored envelope. “Almost forgot. This was delivered for you earlier.”
I frowned, hands slick with sudden sweat as I set my glass on a table and tore open the envelope. Inside was a sheet of paper, my father’s handwriting screaming from the page. As I read, a chill gripped me—my fingers tightened involuntarily, and the world seemed to tilt, color draining from my vision.
“Is this a joke, Rory?”
“What? No. What is it?”
My hand trembled. “It’s… It’s from my father. Dated two years ago.”
“That was before his dementia, right?” Wren whispered, stepping closer.
“Yes, it was,” I said, looking at her. “Around the time we met at the nursing home.” My mind raced as I recalled that day—before I knew she’d become the most important person in my life.
I glanced around the reception hall, the celebration continuing around me, but suddenly I felt claustrophobic. The familiar faces of the ‘family’ were no longer so trusting. Pushing aside my unease, I turned to my immediate family. “Outside. Now.”
Kat and Rory exchanged concerned glances, then fell in line behind me as I nodded toward the doors. Placing my hand gently on Wren’s back, I guided her through the crowd and out onto the veranda of the country club. Behind us, the door closed, leaving us in sudden quiet as the cool night air settled on our skin and stars pierced the dark sky.
“Declan, what the hell is going on?” Wren asked, her voice tinged with worry.
I took a deep breath and unfolded the letter. “You, Kat, and Rory need to hear this.”
As they gathered around, I cleared my throat andbegan to read:
“Declan, if you’re reading this, I’ve passed on. There are things I’ve kept from you—from all of you—that I can no longer bear to hide. First, should something happen to me under unusual circumstances, I implore you to confirm that my body is in my grave. And if you find I’m not there, then you must go to Ireland—specifically to our family’s ancestral home in County Clare. There, in the castle, you’ll find a lockbox beneath the floorboards.”
I paused, looking up to see the shocked expressions on their faces.
“What you discover there will explain everything. I’ve made enemies, dangerous ones who’ve been looking for me for decades. I’m sorry for the burden that this places on you, but you’re the only one I trust to handle what comes next.”
When I finished, my hands shook violently. My father’s words wrapped around me like a suffocating shroud, pressing on my chest until every breath felt heavy, edged with dread.
“Jesus Christ,” Rory muttered, running his hand through his hair. “You don’t think—”
I ran a trembling hand over my mouth. “I don’t know what to think,” I managed. “Dad was always paranoid, especially toward the end, but this... this was written before the darkness took his mind.”
