Page 67 of The Irish Arrangement

“Let’s go,” Ian said, not even checking whether his brother was all right. I supposed in their world, in their code, if a man was standing, breathing, and speaking, he would make it.

Sullivan guards checked the bodies on the ground, but I barely glanced at them as Declan ushered me into the parking lot.

“Declan.” I shook my head, unable to loosen this grip of anxiety.

If I lost him. If he was hurt and killed…

“It’s over,” he said simply as Ian covered our backs, rushing us into the first SUV that pulled up.

Last night, Declan had wanted to leave and spend the night here, in the city, closer to the ballroom. My request for him to help me choose a gown turned into being another hour late. Then another. So much so that we fucked all night at home, at the castle, and only came to this gala just before it started.

The plan was to stay in the city tonight, but I was relieved that the driver checked that he was driving to the family home. The castle. For almost a month, I was so sick of being imprisoned there. Since Declan and I had come to terms and found our way toward each other with hot sex, it was a place of refuge, of security that I could share with him.

I was glad we were going there, and in the backseat, I tried to stay out of the way but also help as Ian handed him gauze from the front seat.

“Here.” I yanked on Declan’s sleeve when he struggled to get it off. The fabric ripped, but I didn’t care.

“Get the shirt, too,” Ian ordered.

I nodded. I’d helped plenty of sheep and horses. Declan was a man, but it couldn’t be that different. As the vehicle sped along, Ian handed me gauze to compress the wounds.

“You’re not afraid of blood, are you?” he asked.

I glanced at Declan, worried when he hissed at the last stretch to get his shirt off. I helped, ripping it and removing it at last.

“No. Give me that water bottle,” I instructed. “I need to irrigate the wound.”

“What, are you a fucking doctor, too?” Declan joked, clenching his teeth as I squirted the water on the cuts.

“No.” At the thought of a doctor, I thought back to all the ones Mom had to see. All the ones who’d tried to keep her comfortably alive for so long. And the private privileges for advanced, faster medical care that I was behind on debt-wise.

Together, with Ian handing me first-aid supplies from the front, we aided Declan on the ride home. I wrapped his arm, glad that it looked like grazes more than anything. His flesh was torn up. The tattoos that had been inked there were now destroyed, but I saw nothing like muscles exposed. They were deep enough to cause pain if the grimaces lining his face were any indication, but they seemed shallow enough that a simple line of stitches would cure him.

Stitches I wasn’t confident to give him on the road, even if supplies were on hand.

“He’ll be waiting for us when we pull up,” Ian told Declan, explaining that he’d called ahead to the house and requested a family doctor to be on hand.

Lucky. Private, family doctors. It felt so wrong to feel this way, but I couldn’t help but think back to my stepmother’s taunt, that if I wanted money for my mom, I could ask my wealthy husband.

I never should’ve had to consider that option. My father was supposed to cover it. And I couldn’t know yet whether Declan would use my mother’s illnesses against me.

He couldn’t. I didn’t want to think that he could still be so cruel. I saw the worry on his face when he stood. He’d taken a bullet for me and pushed me to safety. That mattered. It had to matter more than anything and serve as a real example of how much he was coming to care for me.

Maybe he could care so much that he wouldn’t want to hurt me.

“Tell me what happened,” Declan said, taking my hand as we rode home. “When I fought Peter.”

I licked my lips and explained it all to both brothers. How the other man had tried to creep closer to me, but I’d warned him off with the gun.

Declan frowned. “Have you ever used a gun before?”

I nodded, then shook my head.

“Which is it?” Ian asked.

“I’ve used a gun on wild animals, but not on a person.” They seemed satisfied with that, so I continued. “When you tried to…” I winced. “Choke that first guy, the other one shot at you. So I fired at him, but missed. Then he shot again but missed.”

I’d never been so damn scared in my life. Not only that I could die, but that I couldn’t help Declan. And if I died, my mother would be screwed and I’d fail her too.

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