Total pages in book: 92
Estimated words: 90211 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 451(@200wpm)___ 361(@250wpm)___ 301(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90211 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 451(@200wpm)___ 361(@250wpm)___ 301(@300wpm)
Grunting in anger, I look around for something to use to batter the fucking wall into submission—when my eyes land on Max’s corpse.
I’m laughing as I drag him over. “Heavy fucker,” I mutter, throwing him over my shoulder and lifting, the man’s dead weight making me stumble. I get myself under control and grab his wrist, holding his finger up to a small biometric fingerprint scanner beside the number pad. It’s a whim, but when I tap the unlock button, the lights on the front panel turn to green and there’s a satisfying thud as the door pops open.
“Hey, look at that, you were useful after all.” I let his corpse dump to the ground as I grab everything inside. Money, a few gold bars, another gun, and more files, dozens of them. I don’t have time to go through it all. I shove it into the bag as fire licks around the edges of the door, seeping into the room, creeping toward me.
I cough, hacking and run to a back window. I throw the chair through, smashing it, and leap out behind as all that lovely kindling in those beautiful leatherbound paper books catch at once with a roar. Cursing, I nearly fall off the fucking roof, only catching myself on a storm drain at the last second, my fingers digging into the pipe.
“I had total faith!” Finn calls from near the pool as I lower myself down. I land in an undignified heap.
“I bet you did,” I grumble and shove the bag of loot in his chest. “Call for the retreat.”
“Already did.”
“Then what are you doing here?”
“Believing.” He claps me hard on the shoulder. “You look like shit.”
“I’ll look worse if we don’t get out of here.”
He offers me a hand. I take it and he hauls me up. “You ready?”
We run like hell.
CHAPTER 35
LIAM
Six Months Later
I drop a pretty postcard with a picture of Dublin’s streets in front of Regan. She looks up at me, frowning. “What’s this?”
“Letter for you.”
She picks it up and laughs. “Oh god, not another.”
“How many more do you think she’ll write?”
“As many as it takes, I bet.” She reads it over and sighs. “Dear Regan, I hate you so much it hurts. I daydream about stabbing you in the guts and leaving you to be eaten by wild dogs. When can I come home? Sincerely, Vera Baranov. I don’t know what she thinks is going to happen, but this isn’t exactly going to convince me.”
“Maybe threatening death is her love language.”
“Not likely.” Regan gets up and tucks the postcard in a drawer. There are others stacked inside, one for every week since Vera was shipped off to stay with an affiliate Whelan family in Ireland.
“They’re treating her well though. She’s got a job, she’s making friends, and by all accounts, she’s happy.”
“By all accounts, except for her postcards.”
“Are you starting to feel sorry for her?”
“Yes and no.” She comes to me, puts a hand on my chest, and kisses me. “She guarantees the Baranovs keep to themselves. That’s the point of a hostage, right? But that doesn’t make it right.”
“Nothing’s ever right in our world. Except for maybe this.” I kiss her, holding it a few beats longer than I need. Her fingers brush the burn scars on my neck, but I can barely feel it. The doctors say the nerves there are dead and likely won’t come back.
Worth it, all things considered.
“Are you sure you have to go today?” She pouts and bats her eyelashes at me. “I’ve been so lonely, you know.”
“Don’t try to manipulate me because you’re bored.”
“What if I offered you sex?”
“I’d reject you with a hard dick.”
“I’m insulted!”
“And I still have to leave. Don’t worry, it’s only a day.” I kiss her again, tasting her lips. “Stay out of trouble?”
“I’ll see what I can do, but no promises.”
I reluctantly leave and head down to my car. It’s not a long drive. On the way, I think about Vera living in an unfamiliar country, surrounded by polite but not exactly friendly strangers. She knows the deal: if she tries to run, we’ll hunt her down and kill her. Her family knows too: if they try to bring her back, we’ll hunt her down and kill her. And if they try to restart the war?
A hostage is a nice thing to have.
But I haven’t thought about what it must feel like lingering there with no idea when her captivity will end. She has some freedom, but not too much, some ability to live, but not as much as she did before. I wonder if she loved Kieren the way he clearly loved her, and I guess it doesn’t matter.
Vera’s suffering means Regan is safe. And in the ledger of my heart, where there’s already enough murder and death to weigh me down to hell, that feels right on balance.