Every step she’s pulled away from me feels like a blade driven deeper into my chest. But before I can yell out her name, her blonde hair flashes once over a guard’s shoulder before she disappears from sight.
“FIONA!” I roar.
Something feral claws its way up my throat, and I lash out, elbowing the guard behind me, but he doesn’t even flinch.
I continue to swing blindly at anything within reach, hoping that I’ll connect with something that will have him release his iron grip.
“Calm the fuck down!” he barks in my ear.
I don’t.
Ican’t.
Calm is a luxury for people who haven’t just watched the woman they love get ripped out of their arms inside a high-security prison full of men who make Adrian Smirnov look like a Care Bear.
I twist and finally land a punch that connects with the guard's ribs.
There’s a grunt, but it only earns me a brutal shove into the wall.
Concrete slams into my spine, and I rebound off it, swinging again, my teeth bared, and my vision tunneling.
I will tear this place apart if I have to, and I won’t stop until Fiona is safely back in my arms.
Another guard intercepts me mid-strike, wrenching my arms back with practiced efficiency. “Enough!”
I’m shoved through a metal door so hard my shoulder clips the frame, and I groan.
The door slams shut behind me with a deafening clang that rattles my skull, and before I can regain my footing, I’m forced into a chair by two men, my wrists slammed down and cuffed to the metal arms.
The click of the restraints is final, almost mocking.
My chest heaves, my breathing coming fast and ragged.
I thrash against the cuffs, the metal biting into my skin as adrenaline surges uselessly through my veins.
“Get me Fiona,” I growl.
The guards ignore me. They seem too preoccupied with what’s going on outside the door to pay me much attention, which only pisses me off more.
I can hear shouting outside over the sound of the alarm blaring.
My hands jerk against the restraints again, pain flaring up my arms, but I don’t stop. I won’t stop.
She’s out there, alone, and I’m stuck here, trapped and completely useless.
“I suggest you uncuff me.”
“Or what?” one of the guards asks, his mouth twitching as his hand hovers near a baton hanging from his belt.
“Trust me, you’re not going to want to know the answer?—”
Suddenly, the door flies open, and my head snaps to the side.
For a split second, I half-expect to see Lorcan in the doorway. This has him written all over it. But instead, I’m met with someone else. Someone I’m not sure is going to let me walk out of here alive.
Freddy.
Prison has stripped him down so that he barely resembles the man in the mugshot.
