Into the lions den

Quinn's POV

“Mr. Maryham?”

The doctor calls my name, breaking me out of my thoughts.

He exhales slowly. “Her kidneys are deteriorating faster than we expected.”

My jaw tightens. I heard him the first time.

I sit across from Mum's nephrologist, wearing that same look he has had on his face for years.

"The dialysis is helping," he continues, "but we can't keep relying on it. The transplant can't be delayed much longer."

The words settle heavily between us.

"How much longer?"

"A few months at most."

I nod once before asking the question that's haunted me since this all began.

"How much?"

He tells me.

“Soon,” he adds quietly. “We don’t have the luxury of time.”

The figure echoes in my head while I stare at the floor, trying to force the numbers to make sense.

"I see," I say quietly, even though I don't.

I stand, thanking him out of habit more than sincerity.

Just as I reach the door, his voice stops me.

"Quinn."

I turn back.

"There are charitable programmes that sometimes help families in situations like yours."

I hesitate a bit as I listen to him explain that several dialysis machines, patient assistance programmes, and transplant support funds have all come from private donations over the years.

"Who funds them?" I ask.

"The Siren Foundation."

I blink. "I'm sorry?"

"The Siren Foundation. Mr. Ronan Siren has personally funded many of these programmes."

For a long moment, I simply stare at him in disbelief.

Seriously?

How is this man everywhere? It's been two weeks since the whole club fiasco, and I've buried my head in work, ensuring I forget all about the experience.

But I've come to realize that if there was anyone who owned this city, it was this man.

The doctor mistakes my silence for surprise and smiles faintly.

"They've saved a lot of lives."

I manage a polite nod before excusing myself. I stop in front of Mum's room. Quincy is sitting beside her bed with a textbook balanced on her lap.

I should go in, but then what? My sister would want to know what's going on with Mum's treatment, and I have nothing for her.

So I step back, not able to look at my mother. The face of a woman dying. A huge shiver wrecks through me, and it feels hard to breathe.

I need out. I walk away, leaving my heart with them.

Sometimes I try to remember how she used to look when Dad was still alive, and I realize that version of her is starting to fade.

She was happy then. Happy and healthy. We all were, and now all that's left in our lives is a shadow of the family we once were.

As I push through the main entrance, something catches my eye. A brass plaque mounted beside one of the newer wings.

Renovated through the generosity of the Siren Foundation.

I keep walking, and just outside, not more than twenty steps away from the hospital—

Siren.

The billboard stands proud and mocking. His face isn’t there, but I see him anyway. Calm, confident, rich.

Full of himself… but who wouldn’t be with that kind of money?

If Ronan Siren really is running a syndicate...

How can someone capable of funding all this also be capable of ordering people killed?

I scoff. That's exactly how men like him survive.

Build hospitals.

Fund charities.

Become untouchable.

I sigh, my mood sinking further.

Money. Power. How does that feel?

I look away. Pointless thinking.

I joined the police force to find my father’s killer. That was the plan. That was the only plan.

Now I’m stuck.

Every lead cold.

Dead. Just like him.

Going home isn't an option.

Home means unopened bills sitting on the kitchen counter. Academy loans, Quincy's school, the mortgage, the transplant...

I don't want to think tonight.

I want noise.

The first upscale bar I pass looks busy enough, so I walk in.

I order a whiskey.

Then another.

Somewhere after the third, I stop keeping track. The music gets louder.

Or maybe my thoughts just get quieter. Either way, I'll take it.

I lean back slightly, staring at the crowd, my gaze falling on a group of women watching me.

Their eyes trail over me, interested.

When was the last time I let myself go? I can’t even remember.

I could walk up to one of them. Let something happen. Forget everything for one night.

I don’t move. There’s nothing there. No single interest.

My brain suggests something else, and I shut it down immediately.

Not now, not with everything else.

I close my eyes for a second.

Then I feel it again.

That shift.

My body stiffens as a quiet spark runs through me.

My eyes snap open.

And there he is.

Ronan.

Or at least... I think it’s him.

My vision blurs slightly.

“…nah,” I mumble, squinting as he stops in front of me.

There’s no way.

He’s dressed down this time, dark shirt, sleeves rolled up, still looking annoyingly put together.

My heart picks up.

“…are you real?” I slur, narrowing my eyes.

One of his brows lifts. “Do I not look real?”

“Nope.” I shake my head. “You’re... in my head. Which is weird because...” I lean forward, squinting.

“I can smell you.”

“And what do I smell like?” he asks, leaning on the counter.

I don’t answer.

I’m too busy staring.

His muscles shift under the fabric, and I don’t even try to look away.

Something flickers in his eyes when he catches me.

I lean in closer, tilting my head as I sniff his neck.

He goes still.

“Are you scared?” I whisper, even as a part of me wonders what the hell I’m doing.

He laughs, low, letting me do whatever I want.

“Someone’s in a mood tonight,” he says.

My gaze drops to his throat. His Adam’s apple moves.

I want to bite it.

So I do.

He exhales, his head tipping back slightly.

The sound settles somewhere deep in me.

I hum softly and pull back. His eyes are darker now.

“Are you playing games, Quinn?”

He’s trying to sound intimidating, but I can't find it in me to be scared.

I feel... something else.

“I was just checking if you’re real,” I say.

“And do I look real to you?” he asks, stepping closer.

I nod slightly, leaning back as his gaze moves over me.

“…that’s unfortunate.” I sigh.

He chuckles quietly.

“What are you doing here, Quinn?” he asks, his fingers brushing my face.

I blink.

“…how do you know my name?”

He ignores that.

“You’ve been drinking.”

“No shit.”

He studies me for a moment.

Then, “Let me take care of you.”

I laugh.

“You don’t even know me.”

His hand moves near my lips. My tongue slips out before I can stop it, brushing his skin.

A quiet sound leaves me.

“You’re wasted,” he murmurs, amused. “You can barely sit straight.”

“I’m sitting great,” I argue, trying to lean forward and immediately swaying.

His arm comes around me, steadying me.

I lean into him without thinking.

Warm and solid.

I freeze for a second.

Then look up at him.

“…okay, maybe a little help.”

His lips tilt slightly.

“Come on.”

He pulls me up.

I know this is a bad idea, but I don’t find it in me to care.

I want an escape.

And I know he can give me that.

I let him lead me out, not asking where we’re going, not asking anything at all.

The night air hits my face, but it does nothing to clear my head.

If anything, it makes everything sharper.

Him and the choice I’m making.

I’m walking straight into the lion’s den.

And for one night...

I think I’m ready to be devoured.