Page 39 of The Endless Want

The room is quiet again. But something inside me has shifted.

I set the phone down on the table and curl my knees up to my chest. My body aches everywhere—bruises, muscle tension, the ghost of fear. But beneath all that is a new ache.

From Declan’s absence. From the way he left without telling me. From the way he still doesn’t trust me enough to treat me as anything but a risk.

A liability.

I bury my face in my hands and let the tears come—quiet, shaking, impossible to hold back anymore.

Mackenzie is right. I’m exhausted. I’m traumatized. And I have no idea what comes next.

CHAPTER 11

Declan

Liam storms into the warehouse office before I even have a chance to take off my coat, and the moment the door slams behind him, I know he’s been waiting to corner me. He doesn’t bother with subtlety—never has. His footsteps echo across the concrete floor, each one heavy with the kind of anger that comes from fear he refuses to acknowledge in public.

“You disappeared with her.” No greeting. No buildup. Just accusation, sharp as a blade. “You took Ailish without clearance, without protocol, and without even telling Kellan what was happening.”

I keep my jaw tight, my hands still. If I move too fast, I’ll break something.

“Something happened,” I say simply.

“I don’t care if something happened,” Liam snaps. “You took one of my strategists—my second-in-command when Nadia’s not in the field—and vanished. And then you have the nerve to use your own loyalists like we’re divided again.” His voice edges into a threat. “We’re not doing that, Declan. Not again.”

My heartbeat slams once, hard. The violence that flashes through me is second nature, an instinct honed by years of survival, by watching betrayal carve the Irish mafia into factions.

For one terrifying second, I imagine my fist connecting with Liam’s jaw. I imagine the shock in his eyes. I imagine the relief I’d feel after.

My hand curls slowly into a fist.

Liam sees it. His eyes narrow.

That’s all I need to snap myself back to sanity. Ailish’s face flashes through my mind—bloody, terrified, fighting in that alley with a ferocity she shouldn’t have needed. The sound of her scream. The knowledge that if I had arrived thirty seconds later, she would’ve been dragged off and never seen again.

That memory douses my anger like a bucket of ice water. I unclench my hand. But only because of her.

“You want to know where I’ve been?” I say, voice low, controlled. “Fine. She was hunted last night. Stalked through the streets. Pulled into an alley by a male and female operative. Russian. Trained. Not random muscle. Someone wanted her taken out, Liam. And it wasn’t subtle.”

His expression flickers—first disbelief, then something he tries to hide but doesn’t quite manage: fear.

I press on. “She is becoming the replacement target for Nadia. You pulled Nadia off the board, so the Russians needed someone else to break you. Someone visible. Someone connected to you. Someone they can frame.”

Liam breathes out, slow and measured, arms tightening across his chest. “Or they didn’t need to frame her, because she already opened the door.” He says it flatly, without heat, which is worse. “You’ve given me five reasons they’d want her. Give me one that isn’t also a reason to suspect her.”

That question hits something low in my stomach, because I asked myself the same thing at four this morning and didn’t like how long it took to answer. “Because a plant doesn’t get jumped in an alley by her own people,” I say. “Because she is too close to your operations but not insulated by your last name. Because she is smart enough to be a threat and new enough to be doubted, and they know that about her as well as you do.”

He goes quiet. The fight drains out of him, replaced by something steadier, heavier. The weight of leadership. The cost of it. “You should have come to me,” he mutters. Softer. Not weak—just honest. “You shouldn’t have taken her off-grid.”

“Would you have acted fast enough?” I ask. “Would you have put her safety above the optics? Above the Italians? Above your perfect hierarchy?”

Liam stiffens. He knows the answer. He knows it, and that’s why the Russians moved. They saw the crack.

For the first time since he entered, Liam’s shoulders drop. Only a fraction. But enough to tell me he understands the severity. “Declan… mixing feelings with war strategy is a mistake. You know that.”

Hypocrite. The word surfaces before I can stop it.

“Nadia’s locked away because you can’t separate your fear from your decision-making,” I say quietly. “If she were free, she’d already have answers. Instead, she’s in a room pacing like an animal, waiting for news about a friend she thinks might be alive.”