Total pages in book: 120
Estimated words: 120240 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 601(@200wpm)___ 481(@250wpm)___ 401(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 120240 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 601(@200wpm)___ 481(@250wpm)___ 401(@300wpm)
Don't think I've ever heard Caitlin McCarthy curse in my life.
Bronwyn looks so fragile. So scared. And she doesn't even know that tonight could be the night she's taken again.
My god, I have to stop it. Christ, if she only knew what was really at stake.
“Where is he now?” Bronwyn asks quietly, her voice just above a whisper.
“Still sleeping,” I lie.
But he's not sleeping. He's barely conscious, still disoriented and fucked up from the concussion. When I checked on him twenty minutes ago, he didn't even know what day it was.
Bronwyn reaches for my hand and squeezes it. “You were so brave, Erin. I don't know how you did it. How did you?”
“I… I love your brother,” I say simply. It's the truth.
I tap my fingers on the table. One, two, three, four. But nothing soothes me now. Nothing except… except him.
I want my husband.
Today's the day the doctor's supposed to come. Cavin's supposed to bring him to see Bridget at the hospital. But Cavin can barely stand, let alone drive across the city and coordinate a medical consultation.
What the fuck am I going to do?
“Cavin said Dr. Rosenberg was coming today,” Caitlin says. “Your mam talked to me about it.”
“Aye,” I say. “Cavin was supposed to bring him to see my sister.” I clear my throat.
Caitlin looks at me, but nobody asks questions.
“We'll have somebody else bring him, lass.”
I nod. “Okay,” I whisper.
Kyla gives me a look but doesn't call me on anything. She doesn't trust me. I don't think I can blame her.
The kitchen door swings open, and Declan walks in, looking like he hasn't slept either. The McCarthy family may be brutal, but they love each other, and their loyalty runs something fierce.
Declan's jaw is tight, and there's something in his eyes that makes my stomach drop to my toes.
“Declan,” I say, standing up so fast my chair scrapes against the floor. I'm a bit dizzy. “Did you find out who hit him with the pipe?”
I tap my pocket. One, two, three, four.
He glances at Bronwyn and Kyla, then jerks his head toward the hallway.
I follow him out, my heart pounding. Truth be told, I don't trust the McCarthy family unless my husband's in on it. But I have to now.
“Tell me you found something,” I say the second we're alone. “Tell me you know who the fuck sent that bastard after my husband.”
“I got intel this morning,” Declan says, pulling out his phone, his voice taut. “Ran the prints from the pipe. Got a name, location, the whole fuckin' lot.”
And then he stops, staring at his phone.
“What?” I demand. “What is it, Declan?”
“It's gone.”
“What do you mean, gone?”
“I mean, it's fuckin' gone, Erin. The file, the intel, all of it.” He swipes through his phone, his jaw clenching tighter with every passing second. “It was here an hour ago. I had everything, and now… now it's gone.”
“How the hell did that happen?”
“Someone deleted it.” His eyes snap up to mine, and there's something in them I don't like—suspicion, distrust. “You were the first person to ask me about it, weren't you?”
“Of course I was. I was the one who saw my fuckin' husband get hit with a fuckin' pipe.”
“Someone with access deleted this, Erin.”
My blood runs cold. “Do you think I—”
“I don't know what to think,” he says gruffly. “It's a hell of a coincidence, isn't it? You show up, and everything goes sideways. Your da fucked us over.”
“My da?” My voice rises. “What the hell are you on about?”
Declan's expression doesn't change. “You don't know? Sure you don't.”
“Know what?”
He studies me for a long moment, like he's trying to decide if I'm lying. “Your father. The deal he made with Cavin. He didn't hold up his end. Cost us a shite ton of money.”
“What?”
“He ghosted us, Erin. Didn't give us the West Coast connections he promised. There is no West Coast connection.”
The floor drops out from under me. My father? No. He wouldn't.
But even as I think it, I know it's possible. My father would sell his own damn daughter if the price was right.
He sold me, didn't he?
“I didn't know,” I say, my voice breaking. “I swear to Christ, I didn't know.”
He doesn't look convinced.
“Listen, we need to get Cavin to the hospital. Dr. Rosenberg is coming today for my sister, and Cavin can barely stand. He's disoriented and sick, and if he doesn't get to the doctor, he's not going anywhere—”
“He's not going,” Declan says flatly. “Not with you.”
“What?”
“You heard me. He's not leaving this house. Not until we figure out what the fuck is going on. Not with that concussion. Doc says he needs to rest.”
“But… but today's the day. Dr. Rosenberg's coming,” I say, trembling. “This is important—”
“Then we'll reschedule the doctor,” he says. “Another day won't kill her.”
But the words sit like an anvil in my chest.