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Chapter Twenty-Two
Myhandsshake,takingin the state of Saoirse’s home. It’s completely ruined. The windows in the front of the house are shattered, bookshelves torn to the ground. And blood. Finn’s blood in the kitchen, Saoirse’s in the living room.
My stomach coils with fear that she’s been seriously injured. Yuliya steps over a pile of ruin, glass crunching under her boots. She’s not in her suit now. She’s dressed for combat. Black boots, black cargo pants, and a black long sleeve t-shirt.
“They’d keep her alive. They’ve got orders not to hurt her,” she says, in an attempt to keep me calm.
She senses my uneasiness. Probably knows that I’m ready to erupt.
Corbin says from behind me, “Every uniformed unit in the city is on the lookout for them.”
“Doesn’t matter. They’re underground,” I say over my shoulder. I pull my phone out, opening my tracking app.
My stomach bottoms out when I pull it up to see the white letters scrawled in all caps, highlighted in red. “OFFLINE.”
“Fucker,” I shout, shooting the coordinates to Sean to decipher. “Mother fucker. He found the chip.”
Yuliya draws a brow, her lips pursed with clear disappointment. “Didn’t think it necessary to mention you’re tracking her?”
I stuff my hands into my pockets. “That was need-to-know information.”
“You think?” Declan chimes in, stepping into the living room. “Why the fuck were you tracking her?”
I glare at him, seriously over this conversation. We’re wasting time sitting around talking about my tendencies to make sure Saoirse is always safe instead of actually tracking her and figuring out where the fuck she is. “How do you think I always found her when she ran away? Pure intuition?”
Declan shrugs. “I don’t know. Guess I figured you sniffed her out like a dog or something.”
I bite the inside of my lip, drawing blood. The pain helps me to keep my emotions level. I need my head on straight, so I can get to her. The way my heart beats too fast, the frustration that threatens to boil to the surface, I need to tamper it down before I let it take control.
Unhinged Scotty won’t be good for anyone. Especially not Saoirse.
Corbin crosses his arms, his gaze ping-ponging across the room between the three of us. From Yuliya, to me, to Declan. “What’s the plan?”
“The plan is we start where the GPS last hit and hope they were in a rush and left something behind,” I say. I make eye contact with him, pinning him with a stare that depicts everything I’m feeling about Corbin standing here with me.
She’s mine, not yours. I’ll kill you for her. I’ll kill anyone who tries to take her from me again. You. Can’t. Have. Her.
He dips his head in a slight movement that only I can notice. He’s reading the message loud and clear. “Tell me, Scotty,” he says, his green eyes sparkling with that stupid fucking amusement. “How’d you get that nasty wound on your hand?” He leans against the entrance frame of the room, his arms folded across his chest.
I don’t respond, so he pulls out his own hand, glancing at it. Then, his gaze meets Declan. “I heard of a little thing you Irish do.”
“You’re Irish too, McClellan,” Declan says, rolling his eyes. “What is it we do?”
“Slice your palms like fucking neanderthals. Join your blood, bind it with some fabric, and act like that’s a marriage decree.”
Heat rises to my cheeks. Fuck this. I don’t give a fuck if he’s the governor, if he’s Callum’s friend. He’s dead. I step forward to rush him, but Yuliya steps between us. She wags a finger at me, as if tsking a disobedient puppy who just pissed in the house.
“Whatever you’re planning can wait. Saoirse is on a timestamp,” she says.
I huff, but step back, stuffing my hands back into my pockets so I don’t reach out and grip Corbin by his throat.
“Blood oaths aren’t just for marriage,” Declan says. He lifts his hand, waving it in the air to show his own scar. “They’re for binding two people beyond their word. It’s more than a promise. It’s a decree of brotherhood, a vow of protection between husband and wife. It can even be between enemies who sign a treaty.”
“What’s yours?” Corbin asks, nodding at Declan’s hand.
Dec’s blue eyes darken, his shoulders tensing. “Doesn’t matter.”
“And yours, Scotty?”
