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DECLAN

HAVE your eyes ever met someone’s across a crowded room?

Have you ever looked into that person’s eyes, and somehow known you were theirs?

That they were yours?

I was fifteen when that happened to me.

It wasn’t the first and only time it happened either. It kept on happening, only with the same guy. Over and over and over, it occurred.

Our eyes would connect, and it was like the sun would peep out from behind the clouds on a dull day.

I knew it sounded like nonsense, but it actually wasn’t.

Every time my gaze was captured by Declan O’Donnelly’s, I knew we were meant to be together.

That was what made things so awkward.

I wasn’t his.

He wasn’t mine.

He was my best friend’s.

And that was only the start of all the trouble.

My father had been low down on the totem pole in the Five Points’ Mob for most of my life, meaning I’d been pretty much a nonentity. Only when he’d been promoted had I started attending a decent school, and that was where I met Deirdre.

She was the kind of girl who knew everyone and everything, and somehow, she’d taken me under her wing when I arrived at St. Mary’s Middle School for Girls.

Nearly twenty years later, I still wasn’t sure if that was the best thing that had ever happened to me or the worst.

Deirdre had been kind and sweet to me. Enough so that I hadn’t realized what a manipulative bitch she was until I was nearly seventeen.

You read that right—for nearly six years, the cow managed to pull the wool over my eyes. But I didn’t do what I did to get back at her.

No, back then I’d been too innocent to be so conniving.

I’d appreciated her friendship when I’d suddenly gone from a regular, run-of-the-mill PS162 school to a private Catholic middle school.

When St. Mary’s had been forcibly closed due to—and this always amused the hell out of me—abuse because the nuns used to get whippy with it when you were really bad, we’d had to go to St. John’s High School.

A mixed private high school.

For girls who’d only been surrounded by other girls all their school life, it had been groundbreaking. For me, it was just normal. Still, I’d been allowed to meet Deirdre’s Declan for the first time ever, and when we had met?

That was when the whole world crashed and burned to a halt.

All this time later, as I sat beside his hospital bed, I still couldn’t believe how powerful that moment had been.

I was an artist now. A mom. I wasn’t some dopey kid who had her head in the clouds, her hands covered in paint— although they still were most of the time—and her will easily molded to what others wanted.

With the power of time, a reputation that had been hard-won, and after coming to terms with being a single mom, I was still mind blown by that connection.

I created art in many mediums, had worked in studios around the world, picking up techniques and teaching them, my mind was a hive of creativity… but no matter what I did, I couldn’t replicate that sensation.

It was like a lightning bolt between the eyes. It was so strong, it should have killed me, but it didn’t. It almost zapped my heart, but hearts were a little supernatural in their ability to regenerate themselves—over time.

Or so I’d thought.

Watching over the man I’d grown to hate, a hate that would always be founded with a seed of love, was proof of that.

I’d thought that was it for me. I was one and done. Guys were a pain in the ass that I had no time for. The only dude I wanted around was my kid. He took up every second of my non-working time, every ounce of my energy. But it took one look at Declan for me to know it was all bullshit. Lies I told myself to make it easier to live without the love of my life.

That was why it was a punch in the gut for him to have almost died.

My hands itched with the need to draw him, to take in the majesty of his face. A hard jaw, a stubborn firm slash for a mouth, eyes that were usually narrowed with distrust. He had a dark face, one built with features that were perfect for his choice of career. Somehow, though it was hardened, it was utterly perfect to me.

So wonderfully complex to draw.

There was a play of light and shadow on his brow, furrowed lines between them too. Either side of his eyes, there were squint lines, making him so much more interesting than he’d been as a boy.

Pitch black stubble made him look even tougher, and while his hair was a tousled mess and should have made him look less hardcore, it didn’t. So much so, I wanted him to open his eyes because that would reveal the only softness to his nature.

A softness I’d lost any and all rights to access a long time ago —his soul.

Mournfully, I blew out a breath, then jerked when the door opened and my gaze clashed with Brennan’s.

I liked Brennan, but unfortunately when I looked at him, we didn’t have the same sparks.

I wished we did.

I wished I could be with him.

He was insane, like all the O’Donnelly sons—you couldn’t not be when spawned from Aidan Sr.’s seed—but he was the most grounded, I thought.

When I looked at him, I felt calm, felt like my brain wasn’t whirring with a mixture of panic.

But I didn’t want to paint him, and that was indicative of my feelings for him. Or the lack of them, I guessed.

So I smiled at him weakly as he rasped, “What are you doing here?”

I shrugged. “I don’t know.”

His brow furrowed. “Hmm.” That was all he said, almost making me snort.

Brennan was a man of few words, that was for damn sure.

I pressed my head to the side of the armchair, just resting it for a second.

I wanted, badly, to walk away. I knew when he woke up again, he’d discover the truth and call me chickenshit, but I didn’t want to be there when he learned he was a father.

Maybe I should be the one to tell him, but I didn’t think I could.

I’d spent so long running, so many years hiding, that I just couldn’t do it.

Brennan shook his head at me like he knew what I was thinking. “You need to get out of here, Aela.”

I gulped. “I know I do.”

“The doctors say they’re drawing him out of the coma. When he wakes up, we’ll be telling him the truth. You need to bring the kid down here.”

“You mean your nephew?” I snapped, irritated by his dismissal of my pride and joy as just a ‘kid.’

Brennan wafted a hand. “You know what I mean.”

I gritted my teeth. “He’s the best O’Donnelly out there,” I told him.

“Course he is. He hasn’t been tainted by us yet,” Brennan rumbled, and his words had me flinching inside.

Because they were true.

And in his eyes, I knew he was being candid and earnest, and it killed me.

For a second, my heart pounded, and the sensation of being trapped was so all-consuming that I wasn’t sure what to do.

I’d done the right thing. I’d helped someone in need, but I should have stayed out of it, and now my boy was going to pay the price for that.

Suddenly feeling like I had a melon lodged in my throat, I stared at him and I saw sympathy etched in his features.

Sympathy.

I closed my eyes, clenching them tightly because I couldn’t cope with that look.

“Don’t even think about running,” he warned me, but it wasn’t really a warning, it was more of a gentle reminder.

My mouth tightened. “You think I don’t know the drill?”

“You forgot it once upon a time,” he rasped, making me flinch.

“Because I had sense.”

“No, you’d have had sense to stay gone,” he told me, and again, his honesty hit me square in the gut. “You always were

good people though, Aela. I’ll have your back if ever the time comes where you need it.”

I gaped at him, unable to believe he handed me that offer.

Everyone knew it was the O’Donnellys against the world. Against the universe. And truth was, they needed to be so tight-knit. They were the head of the Five Points, the one and only Irish Mob family in the tristate area because, long ago, Aidan O’Donnelly Sr. had taken over every other piece of the puzzle and consolidated it, establishing himself as king of the hill a long time before I was born.

As a result, they were the most powerful family on the East Coast. The billionaires and one-percenters thought they were powerful, but that was nothing compared to the clout the O’Donnellys had.

I’d been born revering them like they were the second coming of Jesus though.

The O’Donnellys, for all they were headed by a psychopath, were good leaders. Everyone respected them, loved them even. It was rare to get a traitor in the midst, and not only because Aidan would cut you like a motherfucker either, but because they earned it.

They treated the commoners like they treated the lieutenants—sure, the pay was less, but the respect wasn’t. And for people who did the running, who were the most likely to be tossed in jail or prison for the crap they did for the family, respect meant everything.

Feeling tired, I got to my feet because I didn’t want to be dealing with any of this now. I just… I didn’t even know what I was doing here.

I should have been running far and wide across the Atlantic, but there was no stone I knew the family would leave unturned now that I was in the picture.

Now that Seamus was in the picture.

My jaw clenched and I started to walk toward the door, toward Brennan.

When his hand reached out to grab my arm, and he turned me to face him, I looked up at him and muttered, “I’ll probably need your help in the upcoming weeks. You might regret offering me the olive branch.”

He shrugged. “You think I’m frightened of Dec, laoch?” His lips twitched, and he revealed the slightest of smiles that, along with his Gaelic endearment, would melt any woman’s heart.

Just not mine.

Mine belonged to the bastard on the bed.

The bastard who’d almost died on the bed. Twice.

When I’d learned he’d been shot, I’d been unable to stay away. For years, I’d pushed distance between us, uncaring what he did or what happened to him, just living with survival instincts in mind.

But the second I’d known he might be dying?

I’d had no alternative but to come and see for myself.

Thanks to a few misspoken words when I thought the love of my life, the father of my son, was about to leave this world forever, my kid’s future was in jeopardy. I’d hate myself for it if I hadn’t been traumatized by the sight of Declan as a bunch of surgeons, in this illegal hospital, gathered around him and started to cut his chest wide open.

No one should have to see that.

No one.

“I don’t think you’re scared of anyone, Brennan,” I told him carefully, well aware that was true.

Some might say I was still a dreamer, unrealistic, but I knew how to read people. More than when I was a kid.

I knew what Brennan was and wondered if he knew it too.

He was Aidan Sr. reincarnate.

The thought made a shiver rush down my spine, because that meant he was a psychopath, but Brennan had a self-

awareness that was very uncomfortable, and made his kindness all the more perplexing and my trust in him all the more concerning and bewildering.

When Eoghan, Declan’s younger brother, had discovered I’d been hiding a son from the family, he’d gone apeshit.

Brennan?

He’d dealt with me—there was that word again—kindly.

I gulped, and whispered, “Will you do everything in your power to protect my boy?”

He patted my shoulder. “He’s our boy,” he corrected me, making me shudder. “And you know we will. You should go get him. Bring him here. Not for Declan. We don’t want the boy to see his da like this for the first meeting, but the family will want to get to know him.”

My stomach twisted, turning sour at the prospect. “I-I have responsibilities up there.”

He shrugged once more, and I knew he was about to dismiss a decade’s worth of hard work as if it was nothing. “You know they mean shit now.”

I gritted my teeth with fury. “I’m a professor at the Rhode Island School of Art, Brennan. Do you know how difficult it was to obtain that position? Do you know what I had to sacrifice—”

He snorted. “Use that argument on Declan, and I’m pretty sure he’ll blow his top.” Another pat. All the more discomforting. “Your life’s been in New York ever since you got pregnant. You’ve just been procrastinating.”

I wanted to wail that I had a life, that I had plans that had nothing to do with the many and various crimes the family committed. That that wasn’t my future anymore.

But when I looked at him, I knew what I was seeing.

The stonewalling that would make it so that if I didn’t do as I was told, Seamus would be taken from me.

Was it weak to concede defeat?

Or strong to accept it? Because for my boy, I’d kill. And in this world, those words held real-life consequences.

I bit my lip, grinding my teeth hard as I shoved away from him, and when I walked toward the door, he called out softly, so softly that I felt the threat worse than if he’d pressed a knife to my throat. “Don’t think to run, Aela. If you do, the consequences will be a thousand times worse.”

The statement, and that he’d felt he had to repeat the warning, had me shoving the Velcro-ed sheets that acted as a doorway open, dashing out of the freaky clinic I was sitting in, and running to the bathroom so I could puke my guts out.

The place was beyond weird.

Situated in the middle of a warehouse, clear, see-through plastic had been rigged up to create a sterile space within a space.

Inside, there were two hospital beds surrounded by all the equipment you’d expect in an ER or ICU.

That was the clout the O’Donnellys had.

They didn’t need access to hospitals, they had their own. Anywhere, any time. With a team of nurses and doctors and surgeons on hand who’d jump to help, it was all the more disconcerting to be in the web again.

To know the spider was closing in on me, and I was the one stupid enough to come traipsing inside.

When my knees were aching, my body trembling as the aftereffects of fear, stress, and anxiety hit me, I leaned back and away from the toilet, pushing the lever so it flushed.

As I watched my meager stomach contents disappear down the drain, I tried to get my thoughts in order.

Obeying didn’t come easily to me.

I was known for my anarchist art, known for my feelings on the current government, and my anti-populist stances. It was all well-represented in my work, for God’s sake, and my art was internationally renowned.

I’d created pieces for bigwigs. Made works of art for billionaires and corporate sharks, even a few Saudi princes.

Why?

Because I bled them for all they were worth, for every inch they’d given me to have a piece of Aela O’Neill in their homes, and that money? I gave it back to the people.

I was a modern-day Robin Hood for a reason.

I knew what it was like to be controlled, to be under someone’s thumb, and I did my best to protect anyone else from that fate.

Of course, there was no one here to help me now.

My Maid Marian was a dude lying on a hospital bed who’d loathe me the second he opened his eyes, and who’d treat me like crap.

But my fate was entwined with his.

I should have known it would bring us back together— sometimes, wishful thinking just never got you far enough away.

I clambered to my feet, and I washed my hands and face with the soap provided. It cut through a day and night’s worth of grease, but I still needed a shower badly.

Blowing out a breath as I looked in the mirror, taking in the black curls, the blue streaks that were my rebellion, the elfin face that was too weak, and the eyes that were exhausted, I shook my head and pushed myself away from the spotted mirror and the chipped sink and headed on out.

Was I surprised when a couple of goons appeared at my side?

Maybe I was.

Maybe I wasn’t.

I’d thought Brennan was giving me a semblance of control, making it look like I had a say in this, even though I didn’t.

The goons?

Proof otherwise. Proof that I wasn’t to be trusted.

Pretty smart of them.

When I cast both men a look, I saw Eoghan in the background, Dec’s younger brother, eying me.

And I knew.

He’d sent the goons.

I gritted my teeth. I was grateful that Aidan Sr. and Lena O’Donnelly weren’t here anymore. After the old man had slapped Brennan for speaking up, for telling the old man to calm down because he was freaking the staff out with his wild temper, I was grateful that they’d gone to Finn O’Grady’s apartment to get some rest. Only having to deal with my babysitters was a boon, but I still ignored Eoghan and stormed out into the street.

There was nowhere to go, nowhere to run, but I had to make sure Seamus was prepared for the future that was coming our way.

Unfortunately for me, he was a teenager.

And teenagers were like mini mafiosos without the murdering power.

FML.