SASHA HAS NEVER really belonged with the people she hung out with when we were younger. She is the type of girl who should be locked away for safekeeping, not going to house parties with people who thought they had something to prove to the world. She wasn’t meant for men like me. But I’m no saint. When she came to me, asking for help, I saw my chance. “Come with me to the charity event,” I suggested, the words slipping out almost automatically. I run my hands across my face. I should be focusing on Danny, not thinking about Sasha. Women were easy come, easy go for me. I never got attached.
I glance up as I hear the door creak open, my hand reaching for my gun that’s strapped under the desk. I release the weapon as Baz strides in, a grin plastered across his face as he makes himself comfortable in the armchair opposite my desk.
“I got caught up talking to Sasha’s dad and found out some information,” he starts, his eyes glinting with mischief. “It’s the Black Crew that are occupying her home.”
I lean back, considering this; I have questions like why they are there, but it’s the least of my worries. “Send a few men over in the morning. Clear them out. Make it clear they aren’t to return.”
I return to the stack of paperwork on my desk. A few contracts that need to be signed. Dad has been buying up a few rundown buildings in the area to use as safe houses. I thought he was paranoid, but maybe he was right. Maybe we will need places to hide. I wonder if his shift into buying property and guns is connected. I start to sign them, hoping Baz will take the hint and leave, but he doesn’t budge. Instead, he leans forward, his grin widening. “I’ll do it personally.”
A flicker of irritation sparks within me. “Why? You never involve yourself in minor things like this.”
He shrugs nonchalantly, standing up and stretching. “Maybe I have a reason.”
I clench my jaw, the unspoken name hanging between us. Sasha. I know why he’s doing this. It’s about her. “Fine,” I say, forcing the word out through gritted teeth.
As Baz walks out, he pauses at the door. “How is Danny?” he asks, his voice serious now.
“He'll be fine.” It’s an automatic response. The minute Baz leaves with a nod, I drop the pen and the pretense that I’m going to work. I can't shake the worry gnawing at my insides about Danny. The unease sits heavy in my stomach, a constant reminder of the danger he’s in. Mike informed me he had taken a turn for the worse, his voice heavy with concern and a hint of fear. The bullet hadn’t gone straight through; it had nicked his heart, leaving him in critical condition.
I lean back in my chair, the worn leather creaking under my weight, and stare at the ceiling. I try to push away the thought that's creeping in, but it clings to me like a shadow, dark and relentless. My mind races, imagining the sterile hospital room where Danny lies, the beeping machines that monitor his fragile life; it could have been me.
Danny's tough, I remind myself. He's been through hell and back, facing down dangers that would break most men. But this…this is bad. He’s the youngest, only by a few years. If it were me in the hospital bed, he would be gunning down every door, looking for answers. But, making noise won’t help. We need to go under, weed out whoever is involved. I know that would be our father’s advice; I just haven’t gotten to speak to him yet.
My mind drifts to Sasha and our recent verbal contract. I need to be at the charity event to take out a politician; that’s the last conversation I had with my father. The plan is risky, the stakes incredibly high, and a female companion is necessary for cover. I could have hired an escort, someone anonymous who wouldn't complicate matters further. But when Sasha walked into the room, it presented the perfect opportunity to see her.
The politician was pushing for a new referendum that allowed households in Ireland to own a gun. Fucking ludicrous. And what we are hearing is that he may just get his wish. They wouldn’t be rare anymore; our prices would drop, and it would affect our gun trade; that’s millions of euros. My father couldn’t have that.
The door swings open, and Lucas steps into my office. He’s my eldest brother. Family gatherings aren't common unless there's a crisis, and Danny's condition has drawn us together. There's an unspoken bond, a need to stand united when one of our own is in danger.
"Lucas," I say, trying to keep my voice steady. "It's been a while." He has gotten wider; His shoulders stretch his suit jacket across his frame. He must be working out a lot. Even his neck looks thick.
He nods, his eyes scanning the room before settling on me. "Too long," he replies, a hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. But there's something in his gaze, a flicker of...what? Distrust? Resentment? It's hard to tell with Lucas.
Family. We can’t seem to gather unless the universe throws us into chaos.
Lucas unbuttons his black suit jacket and takes the seat that Baz had just vacated. I'm acutely aware of Lucas's dangerous nature. It's not just the tattoos that snake up his arms or the scar that cuts across his eyebrow – it's the way he moves, the way he watches everything with a predator’s eyes. The bad blood between him and our father still simmers beneath the surface, making our interactions cautious. Lucas complicates everything: he won’t take orders; he’s a loose cannon with his own agenda in mind. Our father may be in his seventies but he’s still a force that not even Lucas would go up against.
"How's Danny?" he asks, his voice softer now, almost tender. It’s a rare tone for him, one that takes me by surprise.
"He's stable," I say, leaning back in my chair. It’s a small lie, but one I hope manifests itself into the truth. "But the doctors are still worried. They’re running more tests."
Lucas nods, his jaw tightening. "We'll find out who did this, together.”
Together. The word feels heavy, laden with history and unspoken grievances. I have to be on guard, even with him—especially with him. He’s family, but that doesn’t mean he’s safe. The memory of the last blowout with Dad flashes through my mind. Yelling, broken glass, and Lucas storming out, swearing he’d never come back. Yet here he is, sitting across from me in a well-tailored suit, freshly shaven.
"I hope so," I say, and for a moment, I let my guard down, just a fraction. "We need to be united for Danny."
Lucas's eyes meet mine, and for a brief second, I see a glimmer of the brother I used to know, the one who would have done anything to protect me. But then it's gone, replaced by the hard, dangerous man he's become.
"Yeah," he says, breaking the silence. "For Danny."
Lucas's eyes flash with determination. “We need to go to the site of Danny’s shooting,” he says, the edge in his voice unmistakable. He’s set on finding and punishing the shooter. Revenge fuels him, and I can't say I disagree. Whoever did this needs to pay.
I lean forward, resting my elbows on the desk. "And what exactly do you plan to do when we get there? Remember, I was there, too." I say, trying to keep my voice calm, reasonable. But I shrug my damaged shoulder for emphasis.
He doesn't hesitate. "You may have missed something I won’t; you weren’t exactly in a great state of mind after watching Danny being shot.” His eyes are cold, hard as steel.
I sigh, running a hand through my hair. He’s right. Thinking back, I know I could have missed something.
“I had three other men search the area …”
His jaw tightens, and for a moment, I think he might explode. But then he nods. "A fresh pair of eyes never hurts."
I can feel the anger boiling inside me. Danny’s blood, the chaos- he’s right. I’m sure we could have missed something. I stand up and grab my jacket. "Alright," I finally say. "But, I’m driving."
Lucas smirks, and I see a spark of the brother I used to know there. “With a damaged shoulder.” He cocks a brow and continues to grin. “Besides, I want to show you my new car.”
I follow Lucas out of the pub. “You got a new car?” I ask.
Baz is sitting at the bar; he isn’t drinking; he's waiting on news from any of our crew members. They know to keep their heads down until we find out who is after us.
“I’ll be back shortly,” I call to him over my shoulder.
He nods, but his gaze follows Lucas with a hostile stare. He doesn’t like him; not many people do. Lucas breaks necks first and asks questions later. Not the best way to make friends.
We arrive at the safehouse where Danny was shot in no time. “You were clocking 170.” I am happy to have my feet back on solid ground.
“She needed to be opened up.” He taps the hood of his new Mercedes. It’s a nice machine.
The place is eerily quiet, the scene of violence still palpable. My heart pounds as I step through the doorway; memories of Danny lying there, bleeding, flash in my mind. Lucas strides in ahead of me, eyes scanning everything, every detail.
“Look for anything out of place,” Lucas orders, his voice low and commanding. I enter the front room, but there is nothing out of place . I knew there wouldn’t be. We searched the basement. All the guns were gone; they had been relocated as Tony had instructed.
After a thorough search, Lucas meets me back in the kitchen.
“How did they know where you were?” Lucas asks, his voice breaking the silence.
I’ve been thinking the same thing. “It’s been beating around in my mind, too. Someone on the inside. But who was brave enough to take a shot?”
Lucas looks at me with a weariness I haven’t seen before.
“They had been camping out back for a few days, only a field over. They must have been waiting.”
Lucas nods. “Show me.”
I take him to the campsite, most of the small belongings are gone. I’m sure they are being dusted for fingerprints.
Lucas kicks the grass at his feet, moving clumps aside, searching the ground. “What were you and Danny doing here?” He asks.
“A job for Father.”
He glances at me. “I know that. What kind of job?”
“There was a shipment of guns we were to move. A large shipment. They weren’t the usual handguns; these were automatics, rifles.”
“Is Father considering starting a war?” Lucas’s voice holds a tinge of sarcasm.
“I don’t know what he wanted them for,” I say honestly.
Lucas nods in understanding. He knows we don’t ask questions.
I glance around the open space again. Someone had intel to know where we would be but not enough to know the day or time. We're used to attacks, but from inside our own circle? That’s something we’ve never had to face before. The realization hits hard, and the implications are chilling. We have a traitor among us, and finding them is now our top priority.