Page 26 of Twisted Thorns

We quickly make a plan to meet after work. Kieran suggests he can bring some Chinese takeout over for dinner, and we'll talk. Part of me feels like I should feel uncertain, cautious even. I don't even really know Kieran.

But I can't deny that I feel soothed by his presence. With Kieran, I can let the mask fall away and just be myself. Even in the short time I've spent with him, at least since the accident, I know that much.

Chapter 14

Kieran

The underbelly of the city is never quiet, but tonight it hums with a particular kind of urgency that set my instincts ablaze. The docks, usually lost in shadows and elusive dealings, bristles with tension as Liam and I make our way through the maze of containers. Finn's words were a pulse in my veins — his father, Sean O'Neil, was up to something.

"Keep your eyes peeled," I murmur to Liam, my voice barely louder than the lapping water against the piers. Our steps are soundless, a dance we'd perfected over countless nights like this, chasing whispers and confronting threats head-on.

"Always do, big brother," Liam replies, his tone light but his gaze sharp as he scans the area.

The moon hangs low, a silent witness, painting the metal giants around us in silver strokes. We move like specters, our presence nothing but a mere suggestion to the untrained eye. Yet, despite our stealth, there is an unmistakable electricity in the air, a buzz that whispers of imminent danger, of secrets clawing their way to the surface.

We arrive at the docks, and instantly I know. More men than usual loiter, their stances too casual to be anything but forced. They are Sean's guys; I'd recognize their brand of menace anywhere. And the security — tighter than a snare drum — sings a clear message: Sean O'Neil is fortifying his fortress.

"Something's not right," Liam breathes out, his blue eyes reflecting the unease taking root in my chest.

"Agreed." My gaze sweeps over the figures that skulk near the water's edge, each man a sentinel to whatever dark secret was cocooned within those containers.

Liam leans closer, his warmth a fleeting comfort in the chill of the night. "There are more of them than there should be. He's expecting trouble or… starting it."

"Or both," I reply, the taste of coming confrontation bitter on my tongue. I can feel the thrum of my own blood, a rhythm that demands action, that longs for the sweet release of conflict resolved by the might of my own hands.

But patience — a virtue I'd cultivated amidst the chaos of leadership — holds me taut like a bowstring. We need to know what Sean is guarding so fiercely before we step into the light and reveal ourselves. It is a game of shadows, and we play it well.

"Let's find out what he's hiding," I propose, my voice a velvet promise of retribution. With a nod, Liam and I press deeper into the maze of containers, the scent of brine chasing us, along with the electric anticipation of a storm on the horizon.

Liam and I move with purpose, our footsteps silent on the damp cobblestone, our shadows fleeting phantoms in the dim glow of the harbor lights.

"Sean's sweating," Liam murmurs, his voice a low thrum that matches the distant hum of a cargo ship. "All this interference... It's got him rattled."

I nod, my jaw clenched. The intel from Finn and Sloane has been a thorn in their father's side, a constant agitation that I know is driving Sean toward desperation. He isn’t a man who tolerates insubordination or uncertainty. And we've served up a generous helping of both.

"Good," I said, the word slicing through the cool air. "Let him feel the heat. Let him make mistakes."

Liam's chuckle is a soft ripple in the quiet. "Careful, brother. You almost sound like you're enjoying this."

"Perhaps I am," I admit, though the truth was more complex. This game we play is dangerous, a dance on the edge of a knife that can cut deep if we stumble, even worse it can cut those we care about. But the thrill of the hunt, the allure of unraveling Sean's machinations—it ignites something primal within me.

We trail a pair of men, burly silhouettes that cut through the fog like ships setting course through treacherous waters. They lead us to a warehouse, its rusted exterior a testament to years of neglect. The hushed tones of conversation reach us, and we press ourselves against the cold metal of the storage container adjacent to the building, ears straining to capture the fragments of dialogue seeping through the thin walls.

"Tonight's shipment... critical," one voice rasps, the words punctuated by the clink of what can only be weaponry being handled.

"Boss is clear about it—no screw-ups," another replies, the menace in his tone unmistakable. "He says Calder's been a real pain in the ass. Wants this done smooth, no hitches."

"Calder..." The name hung in the air, a ghostly presence that hovers between us and them. I am that name, a whisper of dread in the underbelly of the city, a ghost in Sean's grand plans.

A surge of satisfaction courses through me, hot and heady as the finest whiskey. We are affecting him, disrupting the order he so desperately clings to. And here, in the pitch-black recesses of the docks, I feel the power of that influence like a living thing.

My muscles tense and my heart thunders like a relentless drumbeat against my ribs. I edge closer to the threshold of the warehouse. Shadows dance under the flickering lights, and the air was thick with the brine of the sea and oil—a stark contrast to the scent of jasmine and sandalwood that always clings to Avalina's skin, a reminder of a world far removed from this darkness.

"Kieran," Liam hisses, a warning etched into that single word. He grips my arm, the pressure of his fingers biting into flesh. "Wait."

I grit my teeth, every fiber of my being screaming for action. The urge to storm in, to disrupt whatever vile trade Sean is orchestrating within those walls, is a siren call luring me toward recklessness.

"Damn it, Liam, we can't just stand here!" My voice is a low growl, barely containing the fury lacing each syllable. "We've got him cornered, spooked. Now's the time to strike."

---