Declan Prescott Novels & Stories

What walked through the door instead were two people who looked barely past thirty, and something about that surprised me enough that I had to school my expression quickly so it didn't show. Kian noticed anyway. He always did. The corner of his mouth moved and he leaned slightly toward me as they settled into the chairs across from us. "Don't let the age fool you," he said quietly. It didn't take long to understand what he meant. Declan Marsh was Kian's contact. British. Dark-haired, lean, with a quality of stillness about him that felt deliberate. The kind a person cultivates over years of learning that the less they move, the more other people reveal.

His nervousness was visible to trained eyes. If Declan noticed the tremor in his assistant, he gave no sign. Declan rose from behind his desk, six-foot-three of controlled dominance, and walked toward the towering glass wall. The city stretched below him, a colony of moving, insignificant dots. A king watches his subjects scurry. His suit jacket lay tossed across the sofa. His crisp white shirt was unbuttoned at the throat, sleeves rolled neatly to his elbows. “Then, Attorney Patterson,” he said quietly, “let the folder before you catch you up to speed.”

] Beta Kevin mind-linked Alsie. [Thank you, Beta. Cue up the footage, we will be over to the Pack Center in a few minutes.] Declan walked back into the living room, dressed in black pants and a button-down shirt, with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows and the collar open. Alsie took one look at Declan and laughed, “It’s 3:30 in the morning, someone tried to poison you and you’re going to watch the footage in black slacks and a button-down shirt. Only a King.” Alsie said as she continued to laugh.

he threw me a smile that was anything but pleasant. Declan wasn’t just any Irish lowlife, he was the underboss of the Westside crew. His father and mine had been at war more times than I could count. But we’d had a silent truce for the past two years. Cold, bitter, but bloodless. For him to walk in now... “What do you want Declan?” He sat up straighter, green eyes, black hair, Irish. “I'm here to pay my respects. Congratulations on the new wife.” his green eyes held mine, searching for any emotion, but I gave him none. He continued not withstanding.