Page 41 of The Endless Want

“There was a whole night.”

That lands somewhere I don’t have a wall built for.

“The guard,” she says. “Was he insurance against them, or against me?”

“That’s not what this is.”

“Then what is it?”

“A war,” I say simply.

Ailish’s throat works as she swallows. Her eyes are bright but dry. She looks away, and the loss of her gaze feels like a blow.

I turn to Mackenzie. “Liam’s arming everyone. Ronan coordinates, and he reports to you and Nadia on movements, not the other way around.”

Mackenzie’s brows lift. “Nadia’s going to have opinions about the word coordinates.”

“Nadia can take it up with him. I’d pay to watch.”

Ailish’s breath catches softly beside her.

Ailish says nothing. I take one small step toward her. Not enough to touch. Just enough so she’ll hear me clearly. “You’ll be safer now,” I say. “That’s all that matters.”

She turns her face toward me, eyes sharp with something I can’t name—pain or anger or the remnants of something neither of us should have crossed. “Is it?” she whispers.

My breath catches. For a moment—one suspended, painful heartbeat—I almost reach for her. But I don’t.

Instead, I step back. Put distance where there should have never been closeness. And nod once at Mackenzie.

“She’s yours,” I say quietly. Mackenzie stiffens at the phrasing but doesn’t argue. She gestures for her men to escort Ailish toward the waiting SUV.

Ailish hesitates. Not long. Just long enough for the moment to knife through my ribs. Then she turns away from me.

Walks to the SUV. Gets inside. Door shuts. And I’m standing alone in the cold lot, pulse steady, breath even, posture composed—But everything inside me is a quiet, unrelenting implosion.

When her SUV pulls away and disappears into the dark, I finally let my hands fall open at my sides. The tension bleeds out slowly, painfully.

At least she’s alive. At least she’s safe.

CHAPTER 12

Ailish

The echo of bodies hitting the mats travels through the training hall long before any of us actually step inside.

It’s a strange, cavernous room beneath Liam’s main compound—newly refinished floors, padded walls, rows of gear that still smell like clean rubber and leather.

The Italians insisted on doubling security starting today, and their presence is impossible to ignore. Two stand at the entrance, another pair by the far wall, and a few more posted outside the double doors. All of them carry the kind of silent alertness that makes every breath feel watched.

I arrive early, mostly because I didn’t sleep. Some of that is nerves, some work-related anxiety, and some… something else entirely that’s been following me for weeks like a shadow I can’t kick loose. I take a place near the far wall, arms crossed, trying to blend in despite the fact that everyone in this session knows why we’re here.

Why I’m here. Why Declan fought so hard to get these sessions implemented. Why I can no longer pretend this world won’t come for me again.

The others file in slowly. Mackenzie first, hair in a high ponytail, rolling her shoulders like she’s been looking forward to punching something. Nadia arrives last, a flicker of restlessness in her stride, a hunger for movement that makes her look almost predatory in the low lighting. She doesn’t meet anyone’s eyes, staring instead at the mats as if they’re a test she already knows she’ll pass.

Then Ronan steps inside.

Even standing still, he commands the room. Taller than most men I’ve ever met, built like someone carved him out of stone, Ronan has the kind of presence that quiets a room without a word. He’s in a simple black shirt and athletic pants, arms crossed, gaze sweeping the group like he’s tallying weaknesses already.