Page 56 of Faithless Vows

The only car I see on the quay is a dark saloon parked twenty feet away with the engine off. Two men stand beside it, both of them staring directly at me. I start toward them, but after a few steps, something makes me slow. They still haven’t moved. They aren’t talking to each other or looking around the dock the way men waiting for someone usually would. They’re simply standing there, watching me approach.

The older one is in his sixties, broad through the shoulders, built like a man who has spent his life doing hard work and never seen a reason to stop. Silver hair shows beneath a flat cap pulled low against the wind. His hands rest in the pockets of a dark wool coat as he looks me over, his face giving nothing away.

The younger one stands to his left, somewhere in his forties, dark hair beginning to grey at the temples. Same solid build as the older man, heavy through the chest and shoulders. He watches me just as closely, his expression just as blank. There’s something about the two of them that feels familiar, though I can’t place it.

When I’m a few feet away, the older man takes his hands out of his pockets and steps forward. “I told you what would happen,” he says, “if you set foot on Irish soil.”

Oh fuck. I know that voice.

“I have to say, lad.” Malachy O’Connell looks me over. “I’m glad you did.”

The younger man steps up beside him. “My brother’s choices,” he says, “have cost this family enough.”

I reach into my coat. The envelope is there—the papers, unsigned, everything I’ve crossed an ocean to say. I open my mouth. “Look—”

The fist comes from the left. The crack of it snaps my head sideways and the world tilts. The envelope slips from my fingers and skids across the wet concrete. I go down hard.

The last thing I see is Malachy O’Connell standing over me, calm as ever, brushing his knuckles once against the side of his coat. “Stupid lad.”

Then everything goes black.

Chapter Twenty-Four

Ronin

I come to with my head pounding. The left side of my face throbs, the ache running from my jaw up into my temple. I hold back a groan as pressure builds behind my eyes and a high ringing settles into my skull. My stomach rolls. For a second I think I’m going to throw up. I force it back down.

I flex my hands against the arms of the chair I’m sitting in. Thick rope is wrapped tight around my arms and legs. I pull against it slightly, testing it. It doesn’t give.

The room smells of wood smoke, and warmth hits me from one side. There must be a stove burning nearby. A heavy burst of laughter breaks somewhere in the room, and a chair leg grates across the floor. I keep my eyes shut. If they think I’m still out, I’d rather keep it that way for now.

More voices follow, overlapping each other. I recognise one of them—the younger man from the docks. And another.

Malachy.

He scoffs. “Ah now, Ronin. You may as well stop pretending.”

I open my eyes. The room swims for a second before it settles into focus. I’m in a long stone room with a flagstone floor. A couple of lamps throw enough light across the space to see by. There are no windows. Heavy wooden tables run the length of the room, ten men or more settled around them. Bottles and glasses sit among scattered hands of cards. The men play and drink like I’m not sitting tied to a chair a few feet away.

Malachy sits at the nearest table, the younger man from the docks beside him. Malachy glances over and smiles. “Take it in, lad. You came a long way to see the place.”

A smirk pulls at my lip. It tugs at the split I can feel there, and I taste blood. “Well,” I say. “Now I’ve seen it. Bring me my wife and we’ll be on our way.”

One of the younger men pushes back his chair and gets to his feet, moving toward me. “You think you’ll get near my cousin again?”

My smirk turns into a grin.

“Declan,” the other man from the docks says softly. Declan stops where he is, jaw tight, his eyes still locked on me.

Malachy glances between us and smiles faintly. “Pay him no mind. We’re all a little protective of our Alannah.” The words land exactly the way he means them to.He’s wrong. Alannah is mine.

“Well,” I say, keeping my voice level, “then you’ll understand why I’m asking.” I look straight at Malachy. “So bring her in.” That earns me a few quiet chuckles around the room.

Malachy tips his head, studying me. “Bring her in,” he repeats. “Listen to him.” A couple of the men smile into their glasses, but Declan doesn’t. He’s still standing there, shoulders tight, hands curled at his sides like he’d be happier with them around my throat. The man beside Malachy says nothing at all. He just watches me with the same hard look he had on the quay.

Malachy reaches for his drink and takes his time with it. “You’ve crossed an ocean, got yourself picked up off a dock like contraband, and you’re tied to a chair on my land, and you still think you’re in a position to ask me for things.” He lowers the glass. “That’s almost admirable.”

I hold his gaze. “I didn’t come here for admiration.”