21. Declan

A rolled-upnewspaper swats the back of my head.

"The fuck?"

"One of you go up there and make things right with her," my mother complains, tossing the newspaper on the coffee table.

"We're giving her time to cool off," Cillian says from where he is lazily slumped on the couch. He's been wearing the same sweatpants and shirt for three days. He looks like shit.

"You're giving her time to plot. What do you think women do when we're mad at men? The longer you wait to make things right, the worse off things will be."

"Tell me, Má. What should we do?"

"First and foremost, buy the girl some clothes. She looks like some sort of low-grade whore wearing Lorcán's donations. Then, maybe you can dig your heads out of your ass and apologize, maybe take her out to get some fresh fucking air. Why do we even have a pool and jacuzzi if none of you use it?" she rants, rolling her eyes and walking away.

"We should have hired outside help," Cillian mumbles.

"Hard to disagree. How do you want to handle this?"

He shrugs.

He hasn't been the same since that night at dinner when she absolutely lost her shit. It's clear the guilt has been consuming him whole, and while I definitely understand, part of me is fed up with the whole ordeal.

"I'll go check on her," I tell him, and he just nods, continuing to watch the TV.

Hopefully, they get this sad sack of shite off of crutches soon because I can't stand this pathetic version of Cillian.

"Take her this," my má orders, handing me what looks to be like a brownie with strawberries and whipped cream. "These omegas can't resist sweet things, and since you aren't particularly sweet, this should work."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence."

"Always, son," she says, going back into the kitchen.

Maybe I need to find her a new man or something, so she'll get the hell out of this house. Meddlesome woman.

Lorc's door is cracked, and I knock on it twice with my knuckles, making the door open wider.

Elena is on the bed, surrounded by pillows and blankets, while she watches some nerve-grating reality show on tv. She's wearing an overly large t-shirt, with her blonde hair in a massive bun on the top of her head.

Her blue eyes roll slightly as she looks at me.

"What do you want?"

"I have dessert," I coax stupidly, and her back gets a little straighter as she tries to peer into the bowl. "If you promise not to bite my head off, I'll give it to you, blondie."

She clicks her tongue and holds out her hand, and I give her the treat. She doesn't speak, just digs into the sugary goodness.

"My má seems to have taken a liking to you."

Crickets. So, I try again.

"Do you need anything?"

"A razor," she replies while holding out her leg that has barely visible blonde leg hair. I give her a look like she could ask for anything else. "I'm not going to take it and run off to slit my wrists."

"I'll shave your legs."

It's the first thing I could come up with, ‘cause I truly do not feel like asking Finn or Cillian permission to give this girl a god damn razor.

She flips the spoon upside down, licking the metal in a way that shouldn't be that seductive.

"I'd also like to have some things. I'm supposedly supposed to be cared for, but yet here I am in Lorcán's clothes and smelling like a man from using his products."

"I'm sure Cillian would have no issue with that."

"He hasn't come up here," she states in an irritated tone.

"I mean, the lad did just have a bullet taken out of his leg, the muscle shredded up in the process. He looks quite pathetic, hobbling on those crutches."

"You think that's a good enough excuse?"

"How about I think you scared the fucking shit out of him when you went all Godzilla at the dinner table?"

She looks away for a moment, eating her dessert. I swear she smiles.

"If it makes you feel any better, I quite love your fire, blondie."

"Why did you let Finn treat me that way? Why did you drug me, Declan?" she accuses.

"Let me get my razor, and I'll explain everything as best I can. Finish your dessert."

It's an excuse for me to figure out what I want to say. But it also gives me enough time to rummage through my bedroom and get my straight-edge blade before heading back to Lorcán's room. She's finished her food and follows me into the bathroom. I grab her by the hips and sit her on the vanity as I grab the small stool in the corner to sit on.

I rub the shaving cream on her legs, feeling the soft prickle of her hair. She doesn't speak, just watches me do this act of service.

"I'm better at actions than words, blondie. I know drugging you wasn't right, that it would upset you. But you grew up in your father's house. Did anyone ever act against his orders?" I ask her.

She watches me intently as I hold her foot against my chest while slowly and methodically shaving her leg for her.

"No, what my pápa said always went."

"I might be part of the O'Brien pack, well, not officially, I suppose," I smirk, running the blade towards her. We'd have to fully bond with her and register as a pack for that to happen. "But Seamus is in charge of the family, and he mostly handles things in Ireland and on the east coast. Here? Finn's in charge. His orders were to bring you back to the house by any means. You were already panicked from running into Lorcán, and I didn't think you'd come with me willingly. Plus, I think Finn was pissed with you for attempting to sell your heat at the High Roller."

"How did he—" she stops mid-sentence and sighs, shaking her head while making sure to keep her leg steady. "Travis."

"Aye."

"Was it all a job for you?" she asks, insecurity laced in her words.

"At first," I tell her honestly. "I never had any interest in an Omega. Never thought one would want me in the same way, not with Cillian and Lorc in the pack." Her head tilts, noticing my omission of Finn's name.

I sigh, the blade slowly making work of her toned, long legs.

"Then I saw you at the pharmacy, how you wanted to choke that woman out, and I wondered if maybe I was wrong. Cillian had to go to Boston to handle some business, and we got along so well. Everything I said and felt was real between us."

"Is that why you didn't sleep with me?"

I pause my shaving and look up at her.

"Don't give me too much credit, blondie. Maybe a part of me was holding back, wanting you to know the truth before we did that, but I can't deny I wanted to."

"I feel used," she says softly.

"I'm sorry for drugging you."

I kiss the newly shaved, smooth leg before moving to the other one.

"Would it be so bad to choose to stay and be with us?" I ask, not looking up, not daring to see the expression written on her face.

"All of you have hurt me in some way or another. Finn doesn't want me here, and I don't know how I'm supposed to trust the rest of you."

"What if I made a promise to be nothing but honest with you from here on out?"

"How could I even believe you?"

"I'll tell you something I never told anyone before," I taunt her with the possible information while continuing the steady process of dragging the razor up her leg.

I look up at her, and she seems too tempted to say no. Maybe she's only entertaining me because she's bored and has been alone, except during the nights with Lorcán.

"It better be good, not something stupid."

"I killed my dá."

She blinks wildly at me. "What?"

I sigh and look back down at her leg. "He was hitting my má, sleeping around. That was bad enough, but not worth killing someone over. That is… until I found out some of his other proclivities involved underage girls. I made the explosion look like a rivals doing. He was Seamus' right hand, after all."

"How old were you?" she asks softly.

"Sixteen."

"Does Maeve know?"

"She might suspect, but she never said anything. I think it's easier for her to still think of all of us as little boys instead of the men we turned out to be. She did her best to stay out of my dá's business as well, I think, because she knew she wouldn't like what she saw."

"Did you love him?" she asks, and I'm wondering if she's going through her own emotions over her father's passing.

"I think at one point I did. But when I had found out who he truly was, all that was left in my heart was hate."

Elena wipes a tear from her eye and nods.

"If you can be honest, I can try too," she offers up.

I finish shaving her leg and kiss the skin before I stand up.

"Then I'll go steal Cillian's credit card for you," I tell her as I stand up. She smiles, and it's the first one I've seen since that night at the High Roller.

"You might just work your way into my good graces yet, Declan."

I wink at her as I head down the stairs; the tv is off like Cillian was just waiting for a report.

"You were gone for a while."

"We came to an understanding. She wants to buy shit. What card do you want to give her?"

"She doesn't hate you?"

"Oh, there's still some hate there, but like I said, we came to an understanding. If you want to work your way into her good graces, I'd suggest coughing up some cash."

"Finn has already safe guarded the iPad from her going on there and contacting anyone she shouldn't. Give her the platinum card."

"You sure you don't want to go give it to her yourself?"

"Yeah," he sighs.

"She mentioned the fact you haven't been up to see her."

"I'm not letting her see me like this," he scoffs, gesturing down to his dirty clothes and broken leg.

"True, I'd be turned off seeing you, too. But Cillian?"

"What?" he snaps.

"The longer you hold this off, the worse it's going to get."