“I want you to think about your next move very carefully, son.”

Duncan looks across the table at me.

I meet his gaze unflinchingly.

“I know what you’re thinking, and I know you think that emotion is loyalty, but It’s not, I can promise you.”

“I don’t put much stock in your promises, Duncan.”

He smiles, a hand coming up to stroke his silvered goatee.

“What exactly are the Saints to do you, anyways? Family?” He snorts. “You’re an outsider, Silas. You always have been and you always will be.”

Nothing he’s saying is anything I don’t know. I know what I am to the Dark Saints – I know my services are something due, something I owe Nolan for getting me over here and out of the hot water I could have found myself in if I’d stayed back home.

But I also know that the Saints respect loyalty. They respect hard work, dedication, and doing what must be done.

They respect me because I’ve given them my blood the last four years.

The Silas I was stayed back there in Shelter Harbor. Or on the docks in Dorchester, when I got on Declan’s boat to come over here, fake passport in hand and nothing else.

That Silas disappeared on the ride over, puking up fear, regret, rot-gut whiskey, and cold fish stew. Shaking, alone in the belly of a tanker until I stepped a foot on Irish soil.

The Silas I was died, and the man I am today is a new version of him.

Harder.

Colder.

Unflinching.

Shut off and shut away.

I might not be family to the Saints, but they have given me shelter from the storm. They’ve given me a lifeline when I shouldn’t have had one.

And for that, I’ll give them my loyalty. Unflinchingly.

Especially when it comes to sneaky, backstabbing, code-breaking pieces of trash like Duncan O’Brien.

“See, there it is,” he grins at me, fingering the pint in front of him. “There’s that little fighter inside you. There’s what you think is respect and honor making you think things you shouldn’t.”

The pub is empty save for the two of us sitting at the table, Nick behind the bar, and some old drunk slumped over asleep in the corner of the place.

“You know I can’t leave here without it, Duncan,” I say evenly.

He smiles, picking his Guinness up and taking a sip. “You can, boy-o, and you will.”

“Not gonna happen. What you took isn’t yours to take, Duncan.”

“Sure it is. Finders fucking keepers, kid. I’ve given enough to Nolan and the Kings, sitting up there in their glass fucking towers giving orders. I’ve given enough and I’ve taken enough fucking bullshit over the years. And this?” He pats his breast pocket, smiling. “This is mine now. This is my severance package.”

“It doesn’t work like that, and you know that.”

“It doesn’t work like that if you keep playing by their rules, son. But me? I’m done playing some other prick’s fuckin’ game.”

“Those other pricks gave you everything you have,” I hiss.

“See, there’s that thing you think is loyalty again.” He eyes me, smiling. “I know your story, kid. I know why you’re here.”

I tense.

“Some trouble back home was it? You dodging the law or some girl’s father to come over here and play gangster?” His smile fades. “Well this is the big leagues, Silas. This isn’t cops and robbers, and this isn’t you fucking finding yourself, okay? This is my life, and this,” he pats his breast pocket again. “This is mine too.”

“Seamus is going to live, if you give a shit.”

He nods. “Good, I do.”

“But not enough not to have shot him.”

Duncan’s face is grim. Seamus is a good lad, but he got in the way.” His eyes narrow. “Just like you are.”

I know he doesn’t have a gun, for the same reason I don’t. Because Nick’s pub is neutral territory, and his man Michael at the front door makes damn sure it stays gun-free in here.

That doesn’t mean I can’t or won’t jump this table and beat the shit out of Duncan to get what’s ours back for the Saints.

For Seamus.

“I’m going to ask you one last time, Duncan.”

His face sours. “And I’m going to tell you one last time. Fuck on off back your precious Saints, and tell them they can suck my white, Irish-”

I lunge across the table, our pints of beer smashing to pieces as I tackle Duncan to the ground. He bellows, shoving me away, his foot catching me in the ribs as he scrambles for his feet.

I snag a fallen chair as I lurch to mine, chucking it at him and catching him in the knees, knocking him down with a crash. I’m on my feet, fists clenched, eyes narrowed and teeth bared as I advance on him.

Suddenly, there’s the click of a hammer being drawn back.

I look up, and somehow I throw myself to the side as what I thought was the drunk guy in the corner throws off his coat, levels a gun at me, and squeezes the trigger.

White light and blinding heat explodes out of the barrel, and it takes me a full two seconds to look down and realize my shirt is red.

Oh, fuck.

There’s the sound of thunder, and the man goes hurling backwards against the wall, crumbling to the floor.

I manage to look behind me to see Nick lowering the rifle from behind the bar, staring at me.

“Silas-”

I ignore him, stumbling towards Duncan laying there on the ground. He makes a feeble attempt to get up, but my fist is crashing into his face once, twice, four times – ignoring the blinding pain in my shoulder before he slumps to the ground, out cold.

I reach inside his jacket, my vision fading as I pull out the pouch with sticky, wet finger. I turn, and I make it a full three steps to the front door of the place before my legs give out.

The room spins, and though it’s Nick and Michael’s faces that are leaning over me, yelling for someone as the lights go out, it’s not the last thing I see.

It’s her.

I see Ivy somehow, and then it all goes black.

* * *

We’re wrapped in each other’s arms, her breath against my skin, when she slowly raises her head from my chest. She blinks at me sleepily, like she’s been dozing.

“Shit, I should go.”

I frown. “Where?”

“Home.”

I scowl and she rolls her eyes at me. “I can’t stay here.”

“Sure you can.”

I almost want to tell her she can stay here forever. That she can stay right here with me in this bed for the rest of our damn lives - or at least until we make up for eight fucking years.

Then we can get up.

For food or something.

She grins at me. “I can’t, and you know that.”

I think of the implications of Rowan, or Jacob for that matter, putting two and two together somehow and coming looking for her here when she doesn’t come home.

It’s not a fun thought.

But at the same time, who cares? Ivy’s a grown woman, and capable of doing what she wants and making her own damn decisions. If those decisions just so happen to involve staying right here in my bed without any clothes on, all the better.

“I think you should get back in this bed, and let me worry about what the Hammond family thinks of it all later.”

She smiles, but shakes her head. “I need to go.”

“So when am I seeing you again?”

Her face darkens slightly the second I say it, and she looks away.

Yeah, there it is.

That nagging thought that’s been in my head since she stepped onto this boat tonight comes back with a vengeance, the same question on its lips: is this a reunion or a bookend.

She shakes her head, reading the look on my face.

“Look, Silas, I-”

“It’s complicated, I know.”

She laughs softly. “I don’t think that even begins to describe it.”

And she’s right of course, even if I hate that she is. As much as I tried to deny it, I spent eight damn years trying to come right back here - imagining it in my dreams. In the fantasy, it starts right back up again, like turning on en engine or pushing a button.

Except that’s not a thing.

We’ve both changed since then, we’re not the same kids we were. We’ve been bruised and battered by pain and suffering, battled demons and the memory of each other - her more than me on that last one.

“Look, Ivy, I don’t have any expectations of whatever this-”

“Good.”

We lock eyes for a second before she wrinkles her face. “Sorry, that came out harsh.”

“It’s fine.”

And it is.

“Look,” she slips her hand into mine, squeezing my fingers. “Can we just not label this? There’s a lot going on, and-”

“I know that.” I squeeze her hand back. “I’m here, just know that.”

She looks at me as I stand and put my arms around her.

“I wish you’d never left,” she whispers.

“Me too.”

“No, I mean…” she pulls away and looks down. “I mean I really wish you hadn’t left. It’d have been a lot easier.” She looks back up at me. “Who knows where or what we’d be today?”

“I was on a course for disaster and I was going to bring you down with me.”

“Silas, everyone knows what you did for Rowan.” She shakes her head. “But it doesn’t change that you left.”

I tighten my jaw. “Doesn’t change much for your dad.”

She nods, mulling it over. “Well, you know him.”

“I was responsible for that, Ivy.”

She bites her lip, her hands sliding into mine again. “He went on the job, after you told him not to, and after you weren’t going to.”

“He was there because of me though,” I growl, reliving that night again in my head. “I pulled him into all that. I never should have let him near Declan and his poison.”

I look away, glancing out the small round window of the bedroom at the dark ocean beyond. “I told you, I’m bad fucking news, Ivy,” I say quietly.

I turn back to her. “Well, or I was.”

She smirks. “Not bad news now?”

I shake my head. “No.”

“I want to believe that.”

“Do.”

I pull her against me, running my hand up and down the bare skin of her back, drinking in her scent.

“I need time.”

I nod. “I’ll be here, just know that.”

I pause, the grin spreading across my face before I whisper it in her ear.

“Wife.”

She pulls back and shoots me a look. “Watch it, buster.”

I grin.

She smirks at me as she pulls away and reaches for her clothes. “I do need to go.”

“I’ll walk you up the pier-”

“Hey captain Ahab, you home?”

We both freeze at the sound of the voice I know she damn well recognizes as well.

Fucking hell.

Declan.

Her eyes go wide as I whirl to her. “I need you to stay right in here and hide.”

“Excuse me?” she hisses.

“Look, just-” My eyes burn into hers, urging her.

"Let me get rid of him.”

“You told me you were done with-”

“And I am,” I growl. “I’ll explain, just stay the hell out of sight.”