Page 19 of The Endless Want

This is supposed to be my project. My responsibility. My proof that I still know how to run things without Liam micromanaging me.

But all I can think about is Ailish.

I sink onto one of the barstools, elbows braced on my knees. I take another swig from the bottle. Too much. Way too much. The burn crawls into my chest, coiling there like a fist.

What the hell am I doing? My head drops forward.

Five months ago, I walked away from the truth because it was easier. Now, I can’t walk away. Now, every step she takes feels like a countdown. And I’m going to tear apart anyone who lays a hand on her.

Footsteps scrape behind me—one of the men I called off dock duty.

“Boss? You needed us here?”

I lift my head, my voice steady despite the alcohol. “Lock down this place for the night. Nobody in or out without my say.”

The man hesitates. “Is something happening?”

“Something’s always happening,” I mutter.

He nods, not fully understanding but knowing enough not to ask.

As he steps away, I rest both hands on the bar, staring at the unfinished room that will soon become another artery in our growing network.

I should be thinking about logistics, staffing, supply lines. Everything feels like it’s shifting under my feet, and for the first time in a long while, I’m not sure I can keep my balance.

But I know this much: Whoever is hunting her is already dead. They just don’t know it yet.

CHAPTER 6

Ailish

I’m still sorting through the morning’s logistics—shipment discrepancies flagged by Kellan, a request from the Italians for updated route timing—when a folder drops onto the papers in front of me.

“You’re done with these for now,” Liam says.

I blink up at him. “Done? I haven’t even started the second half.”

“And you won’t.” He taps the folder with two fingers, avoiding my eyes. “I need you to run supplies to Nadia and check in on her. She’s getting restless. Make sure she has what she needs.”

I sit back slowly. “Lots of others could do that.”

“They’re busy.” His jaw tightens the way it does when he’s picking his battles. “You’re more familiar with what comforts Nadia needs. And she’ll talk more openly with you.”

It’s a decent excuse. It’s also a deflection. “Liam,” I say carefully, “I can handle the logistics. You trusted me with them last week.”

"Yes." He finally meets my gaze. "But things have escalated."

"Then you know what's on my car." I keep my voice level. "You want me driving it across the city to the one address that can't be found."

"I want you doing what I asked."

There it is—that tightening grip of doubt around my responsibilities. The slow, creeping erosion of trust. My stomach hollows with the realization that he’s sliding me back into the safe, harmless tasks again. Pretty errands wrapped in soft concern.

“I’m not incompetent,” I murmur.

“I never said you were,” he replies. “But this is not the week to test how many fires we can juggle.”

He grabs his coat and leaves before I can argue. The finality in his retreat stings more than it should.