He’s right. Lochlan will come. Even knowing it could be a trap. Even after everything that happened this morning. Because that’s who he is.
Part of me is still furious at him. I’m still reeling from the betrayal of finding out he knew about the gala attack. But another part… the part I’ve been trying to ignore… knows that what we had wasn’t fake. The way he’d look at me and hold me, the way he’d tell me over and over how incredible and amazing I am, how I was the best thing that had ever happened to him… it was all so very real.
He lied about one thing, and it was a terrible thing. But Eamon has been lying about everything, to everyone, for years. His own sons don’t even know what a disgusting piece of shit he really is.
So I need to find a way out of this before Lochlan gets himself killed trying to save me. Because even though he betrayed me, he doesn’t deserve to die over it.
My mind races. I can’t move. And Eamon and the Russians are close enough to shoot me dead if they think I have a shot at escaping. Panic floods my insides. I’m helpless. Powerless.
I strain my ears, the sound of vehicles approaching makes my heart sink.
No. No, no, no!
Eamon smooths his jacket. “Right on time.”
One of the guards barks something out.
Eamon’s expression twists. “What?”
He says it again, his voice rising. The second guard moves to the window.
The vehicles aren’t slowing down.
Eamon’s jaw tightens. “Get her to the back. Now.”
The guards move toward me, but they’re too slow.
Right outside, gunfire erupts into the air, so loud, it scrambles my brain. Angry Russian voices follow. Tires squeal, glass shatters, metal crushes against the warehouse door. The guards jump back and dive to the floor, their guns in position to shoot at the intruders.
Tears slip down the sides of my face, a choked sob exploding out of my chest.
Because through it all is a voice I’d know anywhere.
Lochlan.
CHAPTER 32
LOCHLAN
I’ve never wantedto kill anyone as badly as I want to kill the motherfuckers who took my wife.
My truck screeches to a stop outside the abandoned warehouse. We jump out. Ronan and his guys run to the back of the building through the overgrown weeds surrounding the place and Cillian takes the front door with a shotgun blast to the lock. I shove through it before the echo of the gunfire dies out, gun in my outstretched hand as I scan the space. There are two Russians in my periphery. Shots to the chest and head send them crumpling to the ground before they can squeeze off any of their own.
“Ronan, we’re in,” I say into the comms. “Two Russians down. But the front is pretty empty.”
“Loading dock is hot. We’ve got a lot of company back here,” he says.
More gunfire erupts from the back of the building. Good. Ronan and his guys will take the focus off the inside while we search the place for Adriana and the bastards who snatched her.
“Come on,” I say to Cillian. “She’s gotta be here somewhere.” My chest constricts like a vise because while she might be here, she might also be…
Fuck. No. I grit my teeth. I won’t even allow myself tothink it. She’s too good, too strong, too perfect. I won’t lose her. I already did enough to push her away and make her vulnerable to these fuckheads. I need a chance to redeem myself; to tell her how much I need her, how I can’t live without her.
Squaring my shoulders, I take off toward a far corridor. We creep down the long, dark hallway, peering into doors leading to empty rooms. The whole place is a maze of shipping containers, rusted machine parts, and the occasional dead rat. I move fast, staying low to the ground, listening for any sounds—Russian or otherwise.
Then her voice floats into the air and I stop. “She’s here,” I rasp.
“Get your hands off me?—”
