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“Everybody out.” The command slips from my lips, and the room clears within seconds. No one fights me on it. No one stays to defend Kane Cahill.
Kane remains seated at the table, his eyes glazed and his hands absentmindedly turning over the cards in front of him. He doesn't seem to notice that his companions have abandoned him or that the room has fallen silent. I step closer, my shadow casting long over the table. He’s so consumed with his cards and greed that he is none the wiser.
"Kane," I say quietly, my voice cutting through the fog of his stupor.
His head jerks up, and for a moment, confusion flashes across his face before recognition sets in. He swallows, eyes darting around the room, and then he meets my gaze.
"Diarmuid," he stammers, "what brings you here?"
But the guilt in his voice betrays the lie behind his words. He knows exactly why I'm here.
He has told someone that his son is alive and he escaped the clutches of the Hands of Kings.
That can’t happen.
The room falls silent, and Kane’s gaze flickers nervously as I advance toward him. Without hesitation, I knock the table across the room, sending cards and empty bottles scattering against the walls. Kane flinches and recoils, scrambling to his feet as the whirlpool swallows the vessel completely.
"You haven't learned," I growl, my voice low and seething with barely contained rage. "Your son was spared by my mercy. I risked my own life to save Brien, and here you are, back to your old ways."
He tries to speak, his words slurred and disjointed, but I cut him off sharply. "The debt must be paid, and Brien will not be the one paying it."
His eyes widen as the gravity of my words sinks in. I grip him by the collar and drag him across the room. He doesn’t have the strength to resist, his pleas barely audible over the thundering of my pulse. I spin him fully, his back pressing into my chest.
He tries to speak, but there isn’t one word that would make me stop. With one fluid movement, I slip the blade from the hidden compartment in my trousers pocket, and with a rage that gives me strength, I plunge it cleanly into his neck. He gurgles, blood making a pathway out of his mouth. His hands try to pry mine off him, but his attempt is weak as the life and blood seep out of him. I release him, and he hits the ground hard.
I fall to my knees as blood spews up out of his mouth. His hands try to stop the flow of blood from his neck. Easily, I pull his hands away and use the knife as a saw, cutting through flesh, veins, and tissue all the way to his bones. I use my foot to break his neck.
The ordeal is gruesome and bloody. It didn’t have to end this way, but in order to save Brien, Kane left me no choice.
Not long afterward, I walk through St. Gertrude’s church, my coat bundled tightly in my arms. I pass the cleaners standing along the aisle, their eyes following me with a mixture of suspicion and fear. Each one is armed and ready to defend Victor with their lives. Their gazes trail to the blood that I can’t hide on the sleeves of my shirt or the small spots that managed to land on the front of my chest.
The stone walls are cool to the touch as I walk past the altar, down the hallway, through the private courtyard, and into Victor's office.
Victor is seated at his desk, writing on some document, as two of his guards stand vigil at the door. He looks up as I enter, his eyes narrowing with suspicion. Without breaking stride, I boldly walk the length of the office, step up to the desk, and unfurl my coat.
Kane's head tumbles out, landing with a sickening thud on top of Victor's papers. Blood smears across the document, and the guards gasp in shock. But I don't flinch.
"The debt has been paid," I declare, my voice firm and unyielding. "Brien Cahill is not to be touched."
Victor says nothing but quietly lays his pen down. As the fire blazes within me, he returns my gaze with an emotionless coldness, the same gaze that watched me as he held my hands over the candle so many times, knowing how my skin would tighten and twist from the hot flame. Knowing the pain he inflicted on a child but unwilling to stop it.
A beat passes in silence. The room feels like it's holding its breath. Then, without another word, I turn and leave. The guards remain frozen, and no one dares to stop me.
Outside, the air is sharp with the chill of morning, and I walk away from the church, knowing that Victor will have to think carefully before deciding his next move. The whirlpool has claimed its victim, but I remain firmly in control of the tide.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Amira
I EXPECTED THIS kind of thing to happen at night. The darkness makes a good shroud for evil, doesn’t it? But here I am, walking onto this ferry in broad daylight.
I pull my scarf tighter around my neck against the wind. It’s cold enough to slice through my thin sweater, but I welcome it. The air dulls the searing pain from the beating Wolf gave me when he found out I’d destroyed his favorite toy. My clothing sticks to the wounds like glue, and each step on the metal deck is a small agony. The drugs numb the rest. I’ve taken just enough to blur the world into a hazy dream, where even the worst horrors float by like mist.
Wolf explained that we were doing this during the day because the docks are bustling now. The noise, the crowds, the constant activity—it all makes for the perfect camouflage. I try not to think about what’s coming, what I will be a part of.
The ferry looks like any other ferry, the kind that shuttles tourists between Dublin, Wales, Liverpool, and the Isle of Man. But when we slip below deck, I realize how different this one really is. Women are huddled around the walls, half-standing, half-sitting, their hands tied to a wooden rail. Some look healthy, others emaciated. All of them are terrified. Their eyes dart to us, and they recoil, trying to press themselves back against the wall as if they could disappear through it.
One of them looks at me, and I see surprise flicker in her eyes. I can just imagine they don’t see many women when they are being trafficked. I don’t want to see hope there, hope that I can save her because I fucking can’t. I can’t even save myself from this fate. I glance away, but I’m faced with more faces; my stomach curls, and I focus on Wolf.
