Chapter 43

CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

DECLAN

I drive my fist through the liftgate window of the Suburban and don't so much as flinch when the glass tears through my flesh. My fists drive dents into the metal as I curse God.

Benevolent my ass.

There is nothing benevolent about wrenching those I love from me. Forcing me to watch Sarah endure grueling rounds of chemo for a year, only to watch her die a slow and painful death, wasn't kind. There is nothing compassionate about letting the Bratva steal Quinn from me—on our wedding day, no less. I can only imagine what they plan to do to her; it cannot even remotely be described as humane.

Blood trickles over my fingers as I continue to split the skin of my knuckles, pounding my anger and guilt into the vehicle before me.

"Dec." Conor rests his hand on my shoulder, trying to reel me back in. I shove him away from me and am ready to throw my next punch into his face. He takes a step back and lifts his good hand into the air in atruce. "You need to stop, Dec."

I slam my fist into the dented metal once more and find myself ensnared in a tight embrace. Gripping his own wrists in front of my chest, Liam tightens his hold. "For fuck's sake!" he snarls. "Breaking your fucking hands isn't going to do a fucking thing to bring her back home."

"Let go of me, you fucking prick," I shout, trying to free myself from his hold. "Liam, let the fuck go of me."

"Yell at me," Liam demands.

Continuing to fight against his encircled arms, I cause us both to topple backward to the hard pavement. We land on our asses with a thud, but Liam maintains the firm hold he has around me. "I swear to Christ, I'll fucking kill you if you don't let go of me."

"That's it. Fucking yell. Shout at me," Liam insists as he wrestles his legs around me to subdue me. "Yell at us. Be fucking mad. Get it all fucking out!"

I wrestle against him, my rage-fueled roars laced with fear and grief-filled sobs slowly fading. He holds me until the violent screams subside. "I won't fucking lose her. I can't," I growl, shaking my head.

I already lost her once. I can't grieve her again. It will break me.

Liam releases his grip on me and lets his arms fall from my chest as Finn stretches his hand out. "Now, get your arse off the ground, old man, so we can go bring your wife fucking home." Blinking back angry tears, I slap my hand into his, and he helps me from the pavement.

Turning, I forward the favor to Liam. I grip the back of his neck and pull him into me when he reaches his feet. He hugs me back as I thank him.

" Rud ar bith do mo dheartháir ," Liam shares the motto that has kept us strong our whole lives. For my brother . All of us are extensions of each other, willing to do or sacrifice anything for them that we would do for ourselves. "Let's go find this asshole and rescue Quinn."

The four of us push through the growing crowd around the accident to my SUV, still sitting in the middle of the intersection. We ignore the police officer shouting at us as we approach it. Liam takes the driver's seat, and I climb into the back with Conor. "You're going to need to get this looked at," I feel his shoulder, confirming that it is, in fact, dislocated.

"The fuck I am," he huffs. "This isn't shit. Just pop it back in."

"You can't be serious." Liam cranes his head between the front seats.

"Just fucking do it," Conor confirms.

Turning in my seat, I lift his arm and wedge my foot under his armpit. "On three. This is going to hu?—"

I yank hard, the pop of the joint realigning—and Conor roaring in pain—fills the tight confines. "Mother fucking, cocksucker!" he exclaims. "I'd rather be fucking shot next time."

"Don't be a little bitch," Finn huffs from the front seat.

"A little bitch?" Conor swiftly reaches around the seat and slaps Finn in the forehead. His palm lands right on the cut above his eye, and he winces in pain. "I'll show you a little bitch."

My phone buzzes, and I pull it from my pocket, expecting it to be a text from Tristan, confirming that he has arrived home safely with a stóirín . Instead, it's a text message from an unknown number. When I swipe it open, I don't need a name to know who it's from.

UNKNOWN

Don't worry, Declan.

I'll send you plenty of pictures so you know exactly what you're missing.

Enraged, I kick the back of Liam's seat. "FUCK!" Expelling my anger as another message pops up, and I see my bride for the first time.

She would've been fucking gorgeous walking down the aisle.

Dried blood mats her disheveled hair to her forehead and side of her face. Her face has been wiped clean, but the trails of blood running under her chin and to the delicate lace of her dress are impossible to miss. While it's obvious she's afraid, I know that look in her eyes. She's fucking mad.

Stay mad, mo chéadsearc.

Fucking fight them with everything you've got.

I'm coming.

I won't fail you again.

Another message comes through, and I fight back a villainous chuckle.

For her sake, I hope she learns how to behave.

Not fucking likely.