Total pages in book: 128
Estimated words: 121310 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 607(@200wpm)___ 485(@250wpm)___ 404(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 121310 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 607(@200wpm)___ 485(@250wpm)___ 404(@300wpm)
“Phone!”
I curse and hand it over, dragging a hand through my hair again. Frustration wars with fear in my chest. I watch as she types something, her fingers moving rapidly over the screen. Then she hands it back and finally tells me where Mads is.
We both take off for the garage, feet pounding the floor. The sound echoes the drumming of my heart, frantic, desperate. Finally after all the waiting, there’s something to fucking do.
“Even if they’ve moved Mads,” she says as we run, “there could still be bad guys there. I texted Isaak and his security guys the address so you’ll have backup.”
I grunt in acknowledgment, mind already racing ahead to what I’ll do when I get there. I don’t care if I have to spill blood. I’ll do whatever it takes to get her back safe.
I’ve already fucked this up royally. I knew something was off with Mads. The way she was baiting me so intentionally. I should never have let her walk out that door.
“Buy a burner as soon as you’re done breaking the priest’s heart. Keep me up to date.”
As soon as we hit the garage, I point to the key box. “Keys.”
I don’t wait to see which car Moira chooses. I’m already sliding into my fastest car, adrenaline lighting through my veins.
I peel out of the garage, tires screeching, my entire focus narrowing to a single burning point: Mads. The love of my life. The woman I’ve failed to protect.
I’ll find her. I’ll save her. And God help anyone who stands in my way.
THIRTY-SEVEN
MADS
The new location is a far cry from the decrepit warehouse. They’ve moved me to what looks like a private, upscale club—the kind with mahogany paneling, leather chairs, and oil paintings of dead rich men staring down from the walls. The basement level has been converted into something more sinister, though the expensive veneer remains. Soundproofed walls. Reinforced doors. State-of-the-art surveillance equipment humming quietly in the corners.
My wrists are zip-tied to a heavy wooden chair that probably costs more than most people’s cars. The irony isn’t lost on me that I’m about to be tortured in luxury accommodations. At least if I’m going to die, it’ll be in style.
The door opens with a soft click, and Pavel strolls in like he owns the place. Which, knowing his connections, he probably does. His scarred face is split by a grin that makes my skin crawl.
“Your girl did it,” he announces, settling into the chair across from me like we’re about to have tea and crumpets.
Relief floods through me so suddenly that I nearly sag in my restraints. Moira actually went through with it. She broke things off with Bane. Moira is free, Domhnall is safe, and maybe—just maybe—this nightmare is finally over.
“Great,” I respond, keeping my voice level despite the euphoria coursing through my veins. “You’ll let me go now?”
Pavel throws back his head and laughs—a sound like gravel being crushed in a cement mixer. The laughter goes on too long, echoing off the expensive walls until it becomes something genuinely unnerving.
“Oh, pcholka,” he wheezes, wiping tears from his eyes. “You are funnier than I remember.”
Ice settles in my stomach, displacing the relief. I mean, I can’t really be surprised. But still. “We had a deal.”
“Da, we did. The Boss said not to touch Domhnall Callaghan.” Pavel’s grin widens, showing too many yellowed teeth. “But you? He said we could do whatever we wanted with you. As a bonus for a job well done.”
The words hit me like a physical blow, but I don’t let it show. Can’t let it show. Instead, I focus on the important part—Domhnall is safe. Whatever happens to me next, at least I kept him out of this mess. At least he gets to live.
“How generous of him,” I deadpan.
Pavel chuckles and rises from his chair. “I have business to attend to. But Mikalai has been looking forward to some alone time with you.” He heads for the door, then pauses to look back at me. “He has very specific tastes, our Mikalai, as you know. And such creative ideas about pain.”
The door closes behind him with a soft snick, leaving me alone with my thoughts and the steady hum of the surveillance equipment. I test my restraints again—still secure. The zip ties are the heavy-duty kind, probably rated for a couple of hundred pounds of pressure. My wrists are already raw from my earlier struggles.
I close my eyes and try to center myself. I’ve survived worse than this. I’ve endured horrors that would break most people. Whatever Mikalai has planned, I can handle it. I just have to hold on long enough for—
The door opens again.
Mikalai enters with the predatory grace of a man who’s done terrible things and enjoyed every second of it. He’s smaller than Pavel but far more dangerous; he’s got the kind of wiry muscles that comes from years of violence. His pale eyes are the color of dirty ice, and they light up when they settle on me.