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3
NIALL
I’ve been in a lot of fucking bad situations—but I’m not sure I’ve ever seen one go upside down quite so quickly. Maybe Liam’s ill-fated break-in at Alexandre Sartre’s apartment—but I didn’t see that firsthand, I just heard about it after the bloody fact. He didn’t bring me along on that jaunt because I didn’t fuckin’ approve. Since then, he’s seen the error of leaving me behind.
This party, though, is one I wish I’d never been invited to.
It takes all my skill to fight off the men trying to get to me. First, Ricardo’s men trying to keep me pinned until Santiago decides what he wants to do with me—have my head on my spike or marry me off to his wayward daughter would be my two guesses, no need for a third—and then when their attention is directed elsewhere, Diego Gonzalez’s men trying to kill me. Just outright bloody kill me, no question about it.
Me, Ricardo, and Ángel. Technically, my dalliance with his daughter aside, we have an alliance that I orchestrated. Once his men quit trying to fuck with me, I’d rather be fighting off Diego’s soldiers than trying to make a break for it with the rest of the ill-fated crowd, especially if it means I can get to Isabella in time. I might be furious with her, and I am–I want to have several words about the fucking hell of a situation she’s gotten us into–but I don’t want her raped or dead or worse, which is all that will happen to her under Diego Gonzalez’s control. And I know her father wants her back too.
But we can’t get to her. No matter how we fight—me and Ricardo’s considerable pseudo-army, essentially, since neither of the Santiago men seems to be much good in one—there’s a wall of Diego’s best surrounding him, clearly intent on getting him and Isabella out, even if it means slaughtering guests. The scent of blood fills the air in seconds, screams piercing all our ears, and I lose track of exactly what’s happening. All I know is staying alive, trying to keep the Santiago men alive, and trying to get to Isabella.
I succeed on the first two counts. At the last, we fail.
When the sound of roaring engines from outside mingles with the screams, most of the guests still capable of screaming have made it outside. The rest are on the floor, dead or injured and moaning, and I’m surrounded by a sea of bodies in black body armor and fatigues, a bloody knife in my hand. I couldn’t get to a gun, but god fucking knows I can do enough damage with my fist and a knife most days to not need one.
Some of the bodies on the floor are Santiago men, but far fewer than Gonzalez’s. The rest of his fled with him and Isabella, and I stand there heaving for breath, clutching the knife, as Ricardo and his son approach the remaining Santiago guards and me.
“Where are Lupé and Elena?” Ricardo asks breathlessly to one of his men, his voice rough and hoarse. “Are they—”
“We got them upstairs,” the man answers, looking as tired and bloodied as the rest of us. “They’re being guarded.”
“And Isabella?” His voice says clearly he already knows the answer, but needs to hear it out loud.
“Gonzalez got away with her, sir.”
“Mierda!” Ricardo curses loudly, the sound echoing in the ballroom and underlaid by the moaning of injured guests, a skin-crawling effect. “Get medical help for the guests,” he orders quickly. “A doctor, whatever can be done. My son and I need to speak with Niall.” He looks at me with an expression meant to be angry, I think, or stern, but can’t manage to be anything other than exhausted—and grieved.
His guards move to grab me, but I wave them away. “I’m capable of going to the office under my own power, I think,” I snap irritably. “I even know where it is. After you,Señor?”I gesture to Ricardo in an exaggerated show of respect. He narrows his eyes at my insolence but steps forward anyway. Ángel falls in behind him, and I follow, eager more than anything for this to be over with.
If they decide to shoot me, at least this day will be over, and I can get some fucking rest.
Once we’re inside the confines of Ricardo’s office, though, he doesn’t shoot me. He doesn’t even look particularly angry. He looks—beaten.
“I need your help getting Isabella back,” Ricardo says without preamble, sinking into one of the chairs. Ángel hovers nearby, his face a taut mask of worry, looking just as afraid as his father.
“I’m supposed to fly home in the morning.” My voice is flat, equally exhausted. I’d come to this fucking party intending to drink some fancy fucking tequila and put the final stamp on the alliance with the cartel, and then go home with good memories of Gabriela in my head and a renewed desire to start fresh in my soul, my place at the Kings’ table assured. I’d been ready to celebrate the success with Liam upon my return and enjoy the chagrin on Connor’s face when he realized I’d pulled the mission off, and he’d have to let me sit at his bloody table.
Instead, I’m bruised and covered in blood, some of it mine and some of it not, with Isabella’s betrayal fresh in my head and the entire job turned upside down. “The McGregor brothers made it clear that the alliance was contingent onnotstarting a war,” I tell Ricardo bluntly. “If I go and get Isabella back, don’t you think Diego will do just that? Are you prepared to fight him without the backing of the Irish?”
“Christ, man.” Ángel stares at me, shaking his head. “You took her fucking virginity. And you’re going to stand there and talk about this so coldly? He’ll punish her for this. He’ll take it out on her in unimaginable ways. And you stand there and talk about flying home while my sister is in that man’s clutches like this because of you—”
“My standing in the families will be damaged because of this,” Ricardo says, his voice as exhausted-sounding as the rest of him looks. “The wisest thing to do for the Santiago family reputation would be to let Diego wed Isabella. At least then, he’d be somewhat satisfied, and he might not drag us through the mud or start that war you seem so concerned about. But—” he shakes his head, slumping in his seat. “I can’t leave my daughter in that man’s hands, Niall. I know what he’ll do in revenge for her being ‘damaged,’ as my son just said. And you—”
“Didn’t know,” I say flatly. “You kept your daughter hidden, Ricardo, so I never saw her. At the bar, she gave me a fake name. I never knew who she was. I didn’t even know she was a virgin until the next day when I thought back and put some key details together.”
“The next day.” Ricardo rubs his hand over his mouth. “Was it more than once?”
I consider whether or not to tell him the truth, but as far as I can see, there’s no point in lying. It won’t help anyone now, and it would have saved everyone a great deal of grief if the truth had just been told from the start. “Yes,” I tell him plainly. “It was three separate nights, over the span of a week.”
“She must have snuck out,” Ángel says quietly. “I didn’t think she had it in her. Do you think Elena knew?”
Ricardo shakes his head. “No. I don’t think she would have involved her sister.”
“They’re so close, though—”
“Which is exactly why.” Ricardo lets out a long breath. “Isabella wouldn’t have wanted to make her sister keep such a dangerous secret.” He turns back to me then, standing with some effort so that we’re looking at each other more evenly. “I’m not a man who begs,” he says quietly, his dark eyes meeting mine unflinchingly. “But I’m begging you now, Niall Flanagan. Save my daughter from Diego Gonzalez. I’ll give the Irish anything they want. Money, drugs, a stake in my business. Anything. I’ll give you whatever you want, too. Money, my daughter’s hand in marriage if you want that—”
