Page 67 of The Endless Want

When I hit the street, I move like a man marching straight into war. Because that’s what this is, and I’m done pretending otherwise.

CHAPTER 20

Ailish

I found out about the car three days later, and only because Mackenzie made it her business to find out.

A grey sedan picked me up leaving the compound. It never got as far as where I was going, because Declan had two cars on it inside of ten minutes and ran it off the access road by the container yard. Nobody was hurt. The men in it were paid locals who couldn't name who'd hired them.

That's the part that matters, and I've turned it over more times than I want to admit. They lost me at the second light. Whatever they were paid to find out, they didn't find it out.

Declan never told me any of it. He never mentioned it. He simply moved through it and out the other side, and left me to find out from someone else.

Two more weeks pass, and in the strange, wavering quiet that settles around my life, I begin to understand just how much chaos a single man can leave behind even when he’s not speaking to me.

Declan has become… disciplined. Almost ruthlessly efficient.

He oversees the speakeasy expansion with a level of commitment that makes the Italians glow with pride and relief. Liam even pulls me aside one morning to murmur, “He’s finally behaving like the Declan I used to know.” A statement so loaded with history and warning that I couldn’t fully respond. All I could do was nod and bury myself back in spreadsheets and security schedules.

He thrives under pressure, under expectation, under the heavy gravity of responsibility. Which would be easier to admire if he wasn’t so determined to pretend I no longer exist.

He doesn’t look at me unless forced. He doesn’t speak unless it’s strictly professional. And not once in these painfully long weeks has he stepped outside the rigid boundary he’s drawn between us.

It should help. It should make everything easier. Instead, it makes me feel like there’s a soft bruise blooming under my ribs every time I walk into a room he’s just walked out of.

But business is smooth. Safer, somehow. And I cling to that because I have to cling to something right now. Especially with the ultrasound appointment Mackenzie keeps reminding me about and with the fact I can’t keep avoiding the decision looming over me—what to do about Declan.

The girls’ self-defense session ends with a round of heavy breathing, scuffed mats, and the surprising sound of laughter. Ronan stands at the center of the studio, arms folded, watching us like a schoolmaster who doesn’t want to admit he’s proud.

“You’re getting faster,” he announces. “Still easy to kill, but less embarrassingly so.”

Nadia flips him off. “We love you too, Ronan.”

By the time Ronan dismisses us, my arms ache, my ribs ache, and my patience is worn thin—but there’s a surprising lightness in the air. For once, it isn’t dread or tension or paranoia. It’s accomplishment. The kind that comes from surviving something you thought you’d fail at.

Nadia flops onto the gym mat beside me with a groan that shouldn’t be funny but somehow is. “If he tells me to block that chokehold one more time, I’m stabbing him with the safety knife,” she mutters, wiping sweat from her forehead.

Mackenzie hands her a water bottle. “You almost got it that last round. You’re better than you think.”

Nadia closes her eyes. “I’m better than I’m showing.”

Mackenzie laughs, because she thinks it’s a joke.

“Why not both?” Mackenzie teases, nudging her with her foot. “Irish Mafia Barbie: pirouettes and precision kills.”

Nadia almost chokes laughing, or maybe wheezing—that line between amusement and misery is razor thin today.

The training has been brutal, intense, and honest. Ronan’s version of kindness is telling us exactly how to survive an attacker without sugarcoating our weaknesses. Strangely enough, it helps.

I sit beside her and open my own bottle. “You let Ronan put you down twice.”

“Three times.” She doesn’t open her eyes. “He needs to feel useful.”

Mackenzie looks between the two of us, and I watch her arrive somewhere she hasn’t been before.

Nadia turns bright pink, kicking Mackenzie’s shin lightly. “Shut up.”

We’re still laughing when the heavy door at the far end opens and Liam steps in. He’s dressed in his usual tailored dark shirt and slacks, but there’s a softness around him today that’s rare—something warm and unguarded when his eyes find Nadia.