When Kings Fall (The O’Sullivan’s Brides #3)

CHAPTER TENAmira

CHAPTER TEN

Amira

IT'S SOMETHING I'VE been looking forward to since the moment Diarmuid made me the offer, since that night when I sent Wolfe to Hell. I still remember the way his face twisted in that final moment, the shock that someone like me could be his end. I don’t relish the memory, but it’s there, lodged in my mind, impossible to forget. Maybe that’s why I’m so eager to leave this place behind.

The tents are packed now. The makeshift camp that had been our temporary home is almost empty. Over the past few days, a few women drifted away, their faces tight with desperation as they clung to the hope that maybe, somewhere out there, someone from their old lives might still be waiting for them. I pity them. Wolfe never targeted anyone who would be missed. That was his way. Ruthless, calculated, always covering his tracks.

I turn my attention back to the yacht waiting for us. Diarmuid had arranged it—an elegant transport vessel that looks completely out of place in this grim setting. It’s supposed to take us across the Irish Sea and down to Saint-Brieuc in France. From there, we’ll be shuffled onto a series of trucks and trains until we reach the estate in the south of the country.

How someone like Diarmuid could arrange something like this, I have no idea. But I suspect his elevated position has something to do with it. Funny, the same organization that caused me so much pain is now handing me my freedom on a silver platter. The thought makes my stomach churn. I don’t want to owe them anything—least of all my freedom.

But what choice do I have? I swallow the bitterness that rises in my throat. I’ll take what’s being offered, for now. But I won’t forget what they’ve done. And I sure as hell won’t let them think I’m in their debt. Not now, not ever.

Sabre bumps into my elbow as I make my way toward the yacht, and I can feel the tension in her like a coiled spring. I glance down at her and see the uncertainty in her wide eyes. She’s been like this ever since that night—the night I turned Wolfe’s kingdom into ashes. Darkness has descended upon the docks, and this part of Dublin is unnervingly silent. Just a few blocks away, I know the city is alive with the sounds of laughter, music, and clinking glasses, but here, the quiet settles over everything like a cold dew, chilling me to the bone.

Sabre stays close to me, closer than she should, really, but I don’t push her away. I know her story or at least the parts she’s been able to tell. She was taken from her family when she was just a little girl. I’m not sure where she came from—somewhere far away, that much is clear—but I do know she’s the last of her family still alive. Her childhood was a nightmare of violence and fear, and when Wolfe bought her from that black-market ring, she was supposed to be one of his “exotic beauties.

Except Sabre was always too timid, too quiet, too broken to do what Wolfe wanted. No matter how much he beat her, she wouldn’t perform. To him, it was a weakness. To me, it was a sign of strength, a strength I never had. When I was in her position, I caved. I did what I was told, and I hated myself for it every day.

Maybe that’s why I’m patient with Sabre, even when she walks so close that I can feel her breath on my arm as we board the yacht. Ever since that night, she’s been my shadow, following me everywhere, clinging to me like I’m her lifeline. I don’t know what to do with her most of the time. I don’t know how to be her friend. Hell, I don’t even know how friendship works, not really. But I do care for her. She’s all I have left from that place, and maybe, in some twisted way, that makes her important to me.

Almost two dozen women and young girls follow us onto the yacht, carrying whatever little belongings they have. I know this vessel wasn’t made for passenger travel; it’s a luxury item meant for rich families on leisurely cruises, not for survivors of hellish lives. The space is going to be tight, uncomfortable even. But none of them will complain. Compared to the long days and nights under Wolfe’s control, this is paradise.

As we step onto the deck, Sabre finally speaks, her voice barely above a whisper. "Are we to steer this?"

"No," I say, trying to sound more confident than I feel. "Diarmuid’s message said there’s supposed to be a pilot to take us across the channel."

Sabre nods, but I can see the unease in her eyes as we make our way toward the interior of the yacht. The stern is quiet, almost too quiet, as we leave the open deck behind and step into the above-deck area. The first room we enter is obviously designed as a sitting room for guests. The windows offer sweeping views of the stern and both sides of the yacht. It’s clear that this yacht was made for cruising, not for the kind of escape we’re making.

I fumble through my coat pocket, fingers grazing the cold metal of the burner phone I bought after the fire. The thought of that night still sends a shiver down my spine, but I push it aside and focus on the task at hand. I turn on the flashlight, the small beam of light cutting through the darkness, and move toward the next door.

The light from my phone shines into the next room, revealing the helm and all the navigation equipment. But something’s wrong. There’s no pilot: just empty chairs and silent machines. My heart skips a beat as I swing the light to the left, searching for any sign of life.

Then, suddenly, the beam catches on something—a man. My breath catches in my throat as I realize he isn’t alone. There are more men with him, all standing in the shadows, their eyes locked on me.

I instinctively step back, reaching for the door, but it slams shut behind me with a loud, final thud. My heart races as Sabre’s voice pierces the silence, shouting my name, her fists pounding against the door. I try to open it, but it’s locked tight, separating me from her. I can hear her panicked cries, the sound of her desperation, but I’m trapped.

The lights flick on suddenly, blinding me for a moment. When my eyes adjust, I see them—strangers, surrounding me on all sides. I’ve walked right into a trap. My pulse pounds in my ears, and I start cursing Diarmuid under my breath. How could he have let this happen? How could I have been so stupid?

As I struggle to think of a way out, an older gentleman steps forward from the group. There’s something commanding in his presence, something that makes the others defer to him. His eyes meet mine, cold and calculating, and I know in that instant that this is far from over.

Victor steps forward, his presence imposing, yet there’s a strange calmness about him that sends a chill down my spine. He’s the kind of man who doesn’t need to raise his voice to command a room; the mere sound of his name can silence it. And now, here he is, standing before me, the reason this night has taken such a dark turn.

“I did not come to hurt you, Miss Reardon. Please, sit,” Victor says, his voice smooth, almost polite, as he gestures toward the only chair in the room. It’s on his side, of course. He wants to corner me, make me feel small and powerless. But I’m not stupid.

“I’m fine standing, thanks,” I reply, keeping my voice steady. I see the flicker in his eyes, a brief spark of fury that he quickly hides behind a mask of indifference. He’s not used to being disobeyed, and it’s clearly getting to him.

Victor’s face remains impassive, but I can feel the tension simmering beneath the surface. “I apologize for delaying your departure, but you must understand why I am here.”

Oh, I can think of a hundred reasons why he might be here. I pushed Wolfe over the edge, made him drown himself in booze and cocaine the night he tried to attack Victor. I burned down a brothel that brought the Hands of Kings more money than I care to think about. And now, I’m taking all of Wolfe’s prized "workers" out of the country, putting an end to their sick trade. Of course, Victor would seek me out. I’m just kicking myself for not being more careful, for not seeing this coming.

“Diarmuid’s offer was a ploy, wasn’t it?” I say, narrowing my eyes at him. “You just wanted to get us all in a compressed place.”

Judging by the relentless banging on the door, Sabre hasn’t given up or run off to warn the others. The thought gives me a sliver of hope, but it’s small, barely enough to cling to in this room full of enemies.

Victor’s eyes light up at my words, a twisted amusement playing on his lips. It’s a condescending look, one that makes my blood boil. I want to slap that smug expression off his face, despite the armed men surrounding us. But I hold back, knowing that it’s exactly what he wants—to provoke me, to make me lose control.

“Miss Reardon,” Victor begins, his voice unnervingly calm, “I must apologize for the journey you have experienced thus far. It was never my intention for you to suffer as you have. You must understand that my goal was to diminish the influence of your father, not cause your mother, your siblings, and you so much suffering.”

I stare at him, my heart a mix of rage and disbelief. The calm way he speaks, as if offering a simple apology could erase the hell he’s put me through—it’s infuriating. “Whatever you intended,” I say through gritted teeth, “it happened all the same.

Victor nods, a sorrowful expression on his face that I don’t buy for a second. “It did. I’m sorry. But Diarmuid did not betray you tonight. He sought to help you because he is a good King; he takes care of his Brides. Unfortunately for Diarmuid, my eyes are everywhere.”

“Eyes?” I ask, my voice sharp with suspicion. “Why would you be watching me?”

Victor’s gaze sharpens, and for a moment, there’s a hint of something dangerous in his eyes. “Because Diarmuid’s Brides have been quite interested in me and what they think are my secrets. I need to know what his Brides are after.”

I shake my head, trying to make sense of his words. “I wouldn’t know that. The three of us were not exactly friends.”

Victor’s expression changes—disappointment, maybe even frustration—and I see his eyes flick up toward a few of his men. They move without a word, one of them grabbing the chair that’s been looming in the room like a dark omen.

Panic shoots through me. I know what’s coming. They’re preparing to break me, to hold me down, just like my mother did, just like Wolfe did. A wild, feral instinct surges inside me, something primal that I haven’t felt in years, something that refuses to be caged again.

Before I can think twice, I reach into my jacket, fingers closing around the cold metal of the gun hidden there. In one swift motion, I pull it out and press the barrel against my temple, hard enough that I can feel the bruising pressure. The pain is sharp, but I embrace it—it keeps me grounded, keeps me from spiraling into the terror that’s threatening to consume me.

My heart is pounding so loudly in my ears that it drowns out the stunned silence that follows. I’m practically screaming as I speak, my voice raw with desperation. “Don’t you dare touch me! You think you can control me? You think you can make me relive that hell?”

“YOU WON’T BIND ME!” I scream, my voice raw and jagged, echoing off the cold walls. “You stay the fuck away, or I will fucking blow my brains out. I’M SERIOUS!” My hand shakes as I press the gun harder against my temple, the cold metal digging into my skin. I can feel the pressure building, the barrel practically vibrating with the force of my desperation. “This is not happening again. I can’t. I won’t!”

My free hand tangles in my hair, fingers clawing and pulling until I feel the sharp sting as strands rip free from my scalp. The pain is a welcome distraction, something real to focus on in the midst of this madness. I feel like I’m losing my mind, like something inside me is breaking apart and scattering into a thousand pieces.

The memories flood back, crashing over me like a dark wave—being held down, powerless, violated in every way imaginable. The terror, the humiliation, the helplessness. I can’t go through that again. I won’t let a man, any man, hold me down ever again. I’d rather die right here, right now, than be captured, caged like an animal.

But Victor… he doesn’t back away. He doesn’t even flinch. Instead, he steps forward, his head tilted slightly to the side, studying me with those cold, unblinking eyes. He gazes at me like I’m some kind of fascinating specimen, like a zoo visitor observing a caged beast rather than a man witnessing the mental breakdown of another human being.

“She doesn’t know anything,” he says, his voice smooth and detached, as if I’m not even here, as if I’m just a piece on his chessboard, insignificant in the grand scheme of things.

He nods to his men, and one by one, they begin to file out of the room. I can’t believe it. That’s it? He asks a question and then just gives up that easily? It doesn’t make sense. There has to be a trick, some kind of trap he’s setting. He can’t really be leaving.

Recklessly, without thinking, I whip the gun around and point it at Victor’s back, my finger hovering over the trigger. “What are you going to do to Diarmuid?” I shout, my voice shaking with rage and fear.

Victor stops and slowly turns to face me, his eyes locking onto the gun. He doesn’t seem afraid. If anything, there’s a glimmer of something almost like pity in his gaze, and it makes my blood boil even more.

“That was a foolish decision,” he says, his tone condescending, as if I’m a child who’s just made a silly mistake.

And then, without warning, the world goes dark.

When I finally come to, it’s like surfacing from the depths of a black ocean, every sense dulled, every thought sluggish. My head feels like it’s been split open, the pain radiating in sharp pulses from my skull. The first thing I see is Sabre’s face hovering above me, her eyes wide with fear, her hands trembling as she fusses over me like a frantic nurse with a dying patient.

“Amira!” she gasps, her voice trembling. “Thank God, you’re awake! I didn’t know what to do—I thought they—”

I push her hands away, trying to sit up, but my legs are unsteady, wobbling beneath me more from the head injury than the motion of the yacht as it cuts through the choppy waters of the Irish Sea. My vision blurs, the room spinning slightly as I stagger to my feet, ignoring Sabre’s protests.

“Amira, please, you need to rest—”

“I need to see,” I mutter, my voice hoarse as I make my way outside, stumbling onto the deck. The cold wind hits me like a slap, but I welcome it, anything to clear the fog in my mind. I lean against the railing, staring out at the endless expanse of water, the dark waves churning beneath a sky that’s as bleak and unforgiving as I feel.

Victor let me go. After everything, after I threatened him, he let me go. The realization hits me like a punch to the gut. This was a big deal; a man like him doesn’t just walk away from something like that. But why? What game is he playing? I can’t shake the feeling that I’m missing something, that there’s a piece of this puzzle I haven’t found yet.

And Diarmuid… what will happen to him? I feel a pang of worry, but I push it down. That life, that world, is over for me. I can’t afford to think about it, to care about it. I have all these women to take care of now. They’re my responsibility, and I can’t let anything distract me from that.

But as I stare out at the vast, unforgiving sea, I can’t help but wonder—if a King like Diarmuid couldn’t protect himself, who really could?