"My brother," Ronan answers without a moment's hesitation, "is waiting in the BMW parked in the back alley. I'm texting him every fifteen minutes. If he doesn't hear from me, he'll put out a call to our muscle. They're in the bar across the street. They'll come in from the front. Declan will come in through the fire door."

The one on the other end of the locker room, propped open just an inch so it can be accessed from the outside. That's how it is when Ronan acts alone. He's never more than one text away from his brother. It's why he's still alive.

"He knows what you can do and he can stop you. He's also got a gun." A dispassionate warning. It doesn't seem to matter to Ronan, now, whether Declan rescues him or not. "It's been more than ten minutes since my last text."