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“What are you doing here?” I hiss.
His eyes slash right. Then left. Where the fuck are the henchmen who were on my ass five minutes ago? When he confirms we’re alone, he grips me by the jaw and pushes me deeper into the shadows until my back slams against a row of books. “I’m checking up on my favorite malishka,” he snarls, baring his yellowing teeth. “Can you imagine my surprise when I find her reading books with the sister of the man I expected her to kill a month ago?”
My jaw muscles flex against his fingertips. I want more than anything to scream in his face. Tell him to go fuck yourself. But I don’t, and it’s not because I care about breaking library etiquette. It’s because then he’ll know that I’ve made up my mind to defy him. And I can’t risk him getting to Mak before I do.
“I’m working on it,” I croak.
But Belsky doesn’t like the look of something in my eyes. Maybe it’s the flicker of defiance or the gaze of pure, unadulterated hatred toward him. He squeezes my jaw harder, threatening to crack my molars. “Don’t bail on me now, Romashka, because you won’t like the way I’ll destroy you.”
There’s a sudden movement in the shadows, and Belsky drops me like a hot potato. He staggers back, hand flying to his neck, and before I can make sense of what’s going on, somebody grabs my hand and yanks me from underneath him.
Aisling.
“Help!” she roars, dragging us out into the middle aisle. Then under her breath, she mutters, “Where are those fucking idiots when you need them?”
Right on cue, they rip around the corner, pushing the confused librarian out of the way. One dives past us while the other two grab Aisling and me by the shoulders and drag us out of the building so fast that my boots barely scrape the carpet.
Aisling’s voice seeps out from under a guard’s armpit. “I told you I do judo!” she squeals, “Did you see the chop I delivered to his neck? Did you see it?”
While she’s riding high on adrenaline, I’m drowning in dread.
We burst through the doors and into the low winter sun, where the guards lift us down the steps and pile us into a waiting van.
“Wait!”
When I look up at the sound of Aisling’s voice, I realize she’s being folded into a car in front. Before I can protest, there’s a hard shove in my back, and I stumble through the open car door, jeans skidding against the leather seat.
Disorientated, I struggle to sit upright before the van peels off, tires squealing against the slick roads.
“What the fuck is going on?” I grumble to myself, rubbing my cheeks.
“I was hoping you could tell me.”
My head shoots up, and I immediately lock eyes with Donnacha. He’s sitting opposite me, flanked by Ronan and Paddy.
Surprise washes over me, followed by a burst of relief at seeing him. Neither lasts long because it quickly becomes obvious from the darkness clouding his face that he’s not relieved to see me too. His jaw is set in stone, and each line carved into his scowl is deeper than the Grand Canyon.
“Don—”
Something glints in my peripheral vision, slicing off the rest of the sentence.
A syringe in Ronan’s hands. He flicks his beefy finger against the barrel, bursting a bubble that bobs in the clear liquid.
Survival instinct consumes me, and I lunge toward the door.
But Ronan is quicker. His hands shoot out and grab me, and the last thing I remember before the world goes black is the sharp prick against my neck and the haunting look of betrayal swirling in my husband’s eyes.
