Chapter Four
KIERAN
Bang!Bang! Bang!
I jolt awake, my hand already reaching under the pillow for my gun.
I glance at the glowing red numbers on the digital clock beside my bed.
2:04 A.M.
"Jesus Christ." I throw the covers off and climb out of bed, wincing at the sore muscles in my legs.
The knocking on my bedroom door comes again, and I quickly grab a pair of sweatpants that I slung over the chair beside my bed and pull them on.
I swear, whoever is banging on my bedroom door at this hour better be bleeding out or dying because there’s no excuse for waking me up this early. And if they’re not, they will be by the time I’m finished with them.
I yank the door open and groan at the sight of Ronan.
I shouldn’t be surprised, and yet I am, because he’s not alone. Beside him stands a girl with messy auburn curls and bright green eyes that I would recognize anywhere.
Declan Walsh’s daughter.
She regards me with little interest, despite the fact that I’m standing before her half-naked.
When my eyes dip to the suitcase in her hand, I attempt to slam the door in my brother’s face.
“Kieran!” He slams his hand against the wood to stop it from closing.
“Hell, no, Ronan. Whatever you’re about to ask me to do, forget it.”
“We need to talk.”
“No.”
“Kieran.”
My jaw tightens as I brace my hand against the edge of the doorframe.
When Ronan uses that tone, I know there’s no point in fighting him. He won’t stop until I’ve heard him out, so I might as well get it over with.
I rub a hand over my face. “This couldn’t wait until morning?”
“No. We need to talk,now.”
I glance at the girl again and this time, her green eyes meet mine, completely unflinching.
There’s something sharp in her gaze, like she’s daring me to say something.
“Get dressed and meet us in your study,” Ronan orders like he owns the place.
My only response is to slam the door in his face.
I really need to change the locks.
I stalk into my bathroom and quickly brush my teeth and splash some cold water on my face to try and calm me down. I’m beyond pissed at Ronan for bringing Declan Walsh’s spoiled brat into my apartment without even consulting me first.
But this is typical Ronan. He does whatever he wants and expects the rest of us to fall in line without question.