Page 9 of Aidan

“Good. Are you guys hungry? I have some stew upstairs if you want to heat it up for dinner.” I guide them to the stairs and they all march up with me right on their heels.

The four of us go inside without speaking, but I can tell there are questions on the twins’ lips. Thankfully, neither ask any of them. As with every other day, while I heat up their dinner, they tell me about their day, although the conversation is much more subdued than usual. Like the three of them can all tell something is going on and that it’s bad. It was the same way the first couple of weeks after Da died.

“I need to get back downstairs, but make sure you clean up the dishes when you’re done. Come down and say good night before you go to bed, and don’t forget to make sure your homework is done before video games,” I warn the boys.

“Sorcha?” Carson, the more sensitive of the two of them, speaks up.

“We’ll talk later, okay?” I press a kiss to both of their foreheads—something they allow for the first time in months—and then Aisling’s, who’s been unusually quiet. “You can stay up a little later tonight since you don’t have school tomorrow.”

They nod. With a final glance over my shoulder I walk out the door and down the stairs, my legs trembling with each step, it’s a wonder I don’t tumble down them. For the rest of the night, nausea churns in my gut, and every time someone walks in, I flinch. By the end of the night, my nerves are frayed and my whole body shakes. I nearly slam the door shut behind the last customer, locking it as quickly as I can.

On numb legs, I make my way back behind the bar and call the only person I can.

“Aidan, I need your help. Please,” I beg before bursting into tears.

CHAPTER5

Aidan

I don’t givea shit how late it is.

I pound on the front door of a pretentious house owned by a ruthless prick. It might be minutes later, or seconds, but it’s finally jerked open. In its place is a hulking shadow and, my guess? A .45mm. I don’t even blink. It’s not the first gun I’ve had shoved in my face.

“Give me one reason why I shouldn’t pull this trigger,” the bastard growls.

“Liam, put that thing away,” Imogen calls out seconds before her shadowy figure appears behind him.

“Yeah,Liam, put it away.”

Seconds pass before he lowers the weapon. “What the fuck do you want?”

Imogen continues standing close enough to touch Campbell, and there’s tension in her shoulders, but she doesn’t say anything else.

“You and I need to have a discussion.”

“Make an appointment.” He tries slamming the door, but my foot blocks it from shutting.

I smirk. “My appointment time is now.”

There’s been an unsteady truce between Campbell and our family since Imogen entered the picture almost two months ago. He’s still being a cunt and controlling the shipping docks, which has made importing contraband—weapons—more than difficult. He’s also moved forward with purchasing a building to open his own casino in order to compete with ours. Then again, that deal had already been in motion before he fell in love with my half-sister. Beyond that, while he hasn’t done anything more to try and take Da and the rest of us down, he also hasn’t done anything to help us, either. Essentially, we’re in a holding pattern that all rests on Imogen’s—and his stepsister Nessa’s—shoulders.

“Fucking Donnellys,” Campbell curses under his breath. “You have five minutes and then Iwillshoot you.”

Imogen throws her head back with a groan and stares at the ceiling for a second before dropping her chin and glaring at her lover. He turns on several lights and walks away, brushing his hand against hers as he passes her. No doubt my time has already started, so I trail behind. Apparently she trusts him enough not to follow through with his threat, because she doesn’t come with us.

Campbell walks into a room, turns on the light, and takes a seat behind a behemoth desk, setting the gun on its surface but pointed in my direction. He doesn’t offer me a chair, but I sit in one anyway.

“Four minutes left. You better start talking.”

I lean forward. “Call your men and tell them to leave Sorcha O’Connell the fuck alone.”

There’s not a single flash of recognition on his face at the name. I’m also sure he’s counting the seconds until my time is up.

“Dónal Sheehan loaned money to a man named Keir O’Connell.” I pause. “Two…loan collectors visited his daughter earlier today. She doesn’t know anything about it and doesn’t have the funds to pay it back.”

“Three minutes. I’m also bored already.”

Arsehole. “Since you took over Sheehan’s organization, I assumeyouare now the new loan holder they mentioned. You need to wipe the debt clean.”

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