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I glance around the desolate space, taking in the graffiti-covered walls and boarded-up windows. It’s not the kind of place anyone would choose to be, but it’s where we find ourselves.
As I continue to wait, the tension builds. I wonder what waits for us at the end of this journey to track down the would-be assassin and whether joining forces will truly bring the power and security the brothers crave. The future hangs in the balance, and all I can do is hope that we make the right decision.
My eyes are suddenly drawn to a figure emerging from the shadows and into the warehouse. My heart lurches, and my breath catches in my throat. The man’s stride is slow and calculated, his tall frame draped in a worn leather jacket that hangs open, revealing a faded t-shirt beneath. The warehouse gloom obscures his face, but there’s something about him – something familiar that sets my nerves on edge.
I squint, trying to get a better look, but the murky light refuses to reveal any more detail. My hands grip the knife as if it’s a lifeline, knuckles turning white with the force of my hold. A cold sweat breaks out along my brow, and I can’t dismiss the hunch that I know this man from somewhere.
He walks past the car, several meters away from me, face forward, not noticing me sitting here. Recognition slams into me like a freight train. I blink, unable to believe my eyes, but there’s no mistaking it: the sharp cheekbones, the piercing gray eyes – eyes that once looked upon me with love and warmth.
It’s him. It’s my father. My supposedly dead father.
Frozen, I watch as he strides deeper into the warehouse, oblivious to my presence. I struggle to reconcile the man before me with the one who had disappeared from my life so many years ago, leaving only questions and a gaping hole in my heart.
My mind races, trying to make sense of what I’m seeing. What is he doing here? How could he be alive when I’d spent so much time grieving for him, burying him in the ground and in my memories? My hands tremble on my lap, and I question everything I thought I knew about my past.
As my father passes by, I study him closely, searching for the man I remember. The one who used to hold me close and promise that everything would be alright. But all I see is a stranger – hardened by time, his eyes no longer filled with warmth but carrying a cold determination that twists my insides.
Doubt creeps in, heavy and suffocating. Could I be mistaken? Is it possible that this man just looks like my father – a cruel trick of fate meant to torment me further?
Taking a deep breath, trying to steady myself, I’ve learned to survive in this dark world, and I won’t let the ghosts of my past drag me down. No matter how much it hurts, I have to believe that this isn’t him – that my father is truly gone.
But as the figure disappears into the darkness behind me, a tiny part wonders if it is him and what that means for me and the dangerous path I now walk.
Biting my lip, trying to stifle the whirlwind of emotions about to overwhelm me, the possibility that my father is still alive feels like a cruel joke; it’s too much to process. My thoughts race, grasping at memories I thought I’d buried long ago.
“My Summer sunshine,” I mutter.
It’s been years since I last heard those words, but they still echo in my mind, taunting me.
Why did I end up with Aunt Margaret if he’s alive? What about my mother? What kind of parents would leave their child with someone so heartless and cruel?
The ache inside me intensifies as I remember the countless nights I spent huddled under thin blankets, shivering from the cold, crying, grieving, while Aunt Margaret glared down at me with disdain. She never let me forget that I was a burden – an unwanted reminder of her dead sister.
As much as I want to tell myself it’s not him, I know in my gut that it is. All those carefully constructed walls I built up carefully and meticulously begin to crumble, and the sting of betrayal hits me hard. If he truly has been alive all this time, why hasn’t he come for me? Why did he, they, abandon me to a life of pain and suffering?
“Fuck,” I whisper, tears pricking at the corners of my eyes. I can’t let myself break down. Not here, not now. If this really is my father, then I need answers. And I’ll be damned if I let anything, even my own emotions, stand in my way. I need answers, but I can’t bring myself to get out of the car to confront him. Not now. I need a minute, a day, a week, a year to process this. It hurts to breathe right now, and I don’t want to face him until I’m more stable. Exhaling slowly, my mind reeling, I decide that I need to talk to Ciarán and Cathal about this. They need to know. I just need to find the right time to bring it up, and that time is not now. We need to focus on the assassination attempt, which is more important right now, especially as I don’t even know for sure if it’s my dad.
It’s probably not. You’re scared. You’re overthinking everything.
“Yep,” I mutter. “Overthinking it. Right? Right.”
8
CIARÁN
The damp air clings to my skin as I stand in the heart of Manchester’s underworld, a place where shadows hold power and blood runs thicker than loyalty. The city is carved up like a pie, each slice marking the territory of rival gangs vying for control.
Cathal and I have survived in this world by leading our own gangs. But we’ve reached a point where survival isn’t enough; we want more – power, resources, respect. It’s a dangerous game we’re playing, but there’s no going back now. Our decision to merge our gangs has made us a force to be reckoned with, and the other players in this deadly game have taken notice.
That’s why Cathal was targeted, and why it means I’m next. I haven’t told Summer because I don’t want to worry her, and Cathal and I haven’t said it out loud, but he knows. He isn’t daft.
As we stride further into the murky, damp-smelling warehouse, I can feel the weight of expectation pressing down on me. This merger isn’t just about pooling our resources or bolstering our ranks; it’s about sending a message that the Gannon brothers are no longer rivals and we are a force to be reckoned with. A fleeting thought of Caden drifts through my head, but I can’t worry about him right now. He always was a wildcard. The youngest, and he felt it with every breath he took, with every time he tried to separate himself from me and Cathal. Maybe it’s time to make amends with him as well.
“Do you think this lead is solid?” Cathal asks as we stop in front of a group of men.
“Guess we’ll find out.”
The smell of smoke lingers in the air, making me want to light up a cigarette, but I don’t. I need my hands free in case shit gets real.
