Page 69 of Declan

“Nolan?” John turns to Nolan, confusion clouding his expression. “You never said you knew her.”

“I—I don’t,” Nolan stammers. “We never talked.”

“Yes, we did,” I counter smoothly. “You even asked me to prom.”

Nolan’s face flushes bright red, and I can’t help the smug smirk that appears on my lips. “And I said no.”

Flynn’s lip twitches, amusement flickering in his eyes as he turns to Nolan. “So, you wanted to fuck Viviana, the same Viviana who’s now married to our leader?” His voice drips with mockery.

John sighs, dragging a hand down his face.

“John,” Flynn says without breaking his gaze on Nolan. “Did you fingerprint the phone? Check its locations?”

“It’s a burner; you can’t trace it,” Nolan growls defensively.

“Actually, you can,” John interjects. “If you have both the phone and the SIM card.”

“She could’ve used gloves,” Nolan retorts weakly.

“Sure, but if she’s stupid enough to sign her name, you think she’d bother with gloves?” Flynn chuckles, and I can’t decide if I’m insulted or amused.

Flynn waves a hand to one of John’s men. “Bring her something to eat and drink; she’s been here for hours.” He removes his jacket and settles into John’s chair, an air of control settling over him. “This might take a while, sweetheart.”

“She’s our prisoner!” Nolan snaps, his face darkening.

Flynn’s brow arches as he swivels toward Nolan, his chair screeching against the floor, and my teeth clench.

“A prisoner?” Flynn repeats, his voice is cold and deadly. “She’s the wife of our leader and will be treated as such until you have concrete proof. And don’t forget, Nolan, if this is all bullshit, Declan will come for you with everything he’s got.”

The colour drains from Nolan’s face as his throat bobs nervously.

I stare into Flynn’s eyes. Something in his tone tells me he isn’t just trying to scare Nolan—he’s serious. Deadly serious. Would Declan really come for a member of The IrishConsortium’s family because of me? The thought sends a shiver down my spine, and I shake my head, trying to shake it off.

As the tension in my body starts to ease, I force myself to breathe steadily. There’s no way that phone has my fingerprints and the pinned location can’t possibly be at the Callaghan estate. It’s only a matter of time before they’ll have to let me go.

“You cold, Viviana?” Flynn’s voice is smooth, almost too smooth—like silk gliding over rough edges. Charming, but disarming.

“I’m fine,” I reply, though my voice wavers slightly. He steps closer, his hand brushing mine briefly as he smiles gently. Without asking again, he takes off his suit jacket from the chair and drapes it over my shoulders.

“Can’t have you catching a cold, or I’ll have to deal with Declan’s temper. And unlike Nolan over there, I don’t have a death wish,” he says with a hint of amusement. His words seem to dig at Nolan, who fidgets with his sleeves before storming out of the room, frustration radiating off him.

John follows after him, leaving me alone with Flynn. He gestures to his man at the door, silently instructing him to stay put, before turning back to me.

“I looked you over when I came in. You’re not hurt, are you?” His tone is softer now, almost… considerate. Suddenly, it clicks—his earlier scrutiny isn’t perverse like Nolan’s; he was checking for injuries.

“I’m not hurt. John is kind,” I admit quietly. The weight of Flynn’s jacket settles over me, its scent a subtle but jarring reminder of Declan. The resemblance in their cologne sends my thoughts spiralling back to him. His eyes were filled with pain when they took me. The way he said he would come for me…

I take a deep, shaky breath and close my eyes for a moment, trying to pull myself together.

My head throbs and the dim lime-coloured light above feels oppressive, like it’s pulling me into some kind of subterranean abyss. This place feels like a tomb where people are buried alive.

“Viviana,” Flynn’s voice breaks through my thoughts, steady and calm, drawing me back. “I need you to stay strong just a little longer, okay, sweetheart?”

I open my eyes to find his arms resting on the table, his piercing gaze fixed on me. For a moment, I feel anchored.

“Thank you,” I whisper, my voice barely audible as a breath catches in my throat.

“Thank the Callaghans,” Flynn says, leaning back slightly with a wink. “They’re the ones who told me what to say and ask.”

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