Chapter One
FIONA
Scout is gone.
Cormac’s voice carries across the estate, raw and frantic as he shouts Scout’s name again and again. Each time it echoes and there’s no answer, something inside me twists tighter.
He’s gone, and it’s all my fault.
If I hadn’t been sneaking around, if Cormac didn’t have a reason to confront me, we would have seen or heard something. I could have screamed, I could have warned someone or gotten in the way of whoever it was who took Scout.
Instead, while I was hijacking Cormac’s attention by pleading with him for forgiveness, his son was being snatched, and his brother was beaten half to death.
Logic tries to cut through the guilt.
I try to tell myself that there was a high chance that either Cormac or myself could have been hurt, or worse, but I’m not ready to hear that yet.
What I want is a way to undo this because I need Scout to be here safe and sound.
I love that boy, and the thought of him out there going through god knows what is killing me.
I know any chance I had of earning Cormac’s forgiveness has dissipated. There is no future for us, not after what I was forced to do.
But regardless, I can’t be the reason he loses Scout forever.
The grass beneath my knees is damp and cold, seeping through the fabric of my pants.
Brennan’s blood is on my hands, and no matter how many times I wipe them against my thighs, I can still feel the stickiness of it.
He hasn’t moved, and the pulse I obsessively feel for is weak, but I refuse to accept the possibility of losing Brennan too.
I keep hoping he’ll bolt upright and start cracking jokes, but he doesn’t. He stays crumpled on the ground, with blood streaked across his temple and matted into his hair.
“Please wake up,” I whisper as Cormac’s yells for his son echo beyond the tree line.
I want to join him, but I can’t leave Brennan, not when he’s so vulnerable.
All of the guards have been taken out, and Ronan and Kieran haven’t arrived yet, so it’s up to me to make sure he survives until then.
I alternate between holding Cormac’s jacket against the wound on his head to help slow the bleeding and feeling his neck for a pulse. “You better not die. Do you hear me? You’re Scout’s favorite uncle, and if you’re gone, that means Ronan or Kieran get the job, and you don’t want that?—”
Brennan groans, and the rush of relief nearly knocks the air out of my lungs.
“Brennan, can you hear me?”
He lets out a low, pained sound as his head lolls to the side.
I swallow hard and shift closer, sliding my hands carefully along his arms and his ribs. I’m not a doctor, but I know enough to look for any other signs of external injury.
His breathing is steady, if a little shallow, and aside from a few other shallow cuts and scrapes, he seems intact.
I think he’s going to be all right.
The thought doesn’t bring the relief it should because Scout is still missing. And every minute that passes, he could be slipping further out of reach.
My stomach twists violently, bile burning the back of my throat.
I squeeze my eyes shut, pressing my palm flat against the dirt as the weight of my reality crashes over me.
