Taking Tessa (Syndicate Kings #6)

Prologue

PROLOGUE

S ix years ago…

RONAN

F uck.

I hate this country.

If I see one more scorpion, I might pull out my gun and actually shoot it. I’m not scared of many things, but those fucking creatures are one of them. Apparently, they make up a third of the population here. At least, that’s what it feels like. Why the fuck do we need creatures with snappers and a stinging tail? What the hell was God’s purpose for them? To torture me?

And on top of that, the air is so thick with humidity that it feels like I’m swimming in sweat. My skin sticks to the fabric of my shirt like glue, and my all-black Armani suit is suffocating the life out of me. I live in suits. It’s part of my image. The mafia armor. But for the first time in my life, I crave a pair of shorts and a T-shirt. The thought almost makes me laugh. Almost. Too bad summer wear won’t conceal the arsenal strapped to my body. Glocks, knives, and explosives. All things I’m going to need shortly. So I’ll deal with sweating my fucking balls off for now.

I wipe my brow with the back of my hand, cursing under my breath as sweat streaks down my temple. Humidity is starting to rank up there with my hatred for scorpions. Every step feels heavier, every breath harder to take, but I push forward. Because I’m close. I can feel it.

The trail has gone cold so many times I’ve lost count. Dozens of countries. Countless sleepless nights. Dead ends and false leads. Every time, we’ve been forced to go back home empty-handed, dragging the weight of failure behind us. And every time, I’ve had to look my little sister in the eye and tell her the same thing. We still haven’t found her best friend.

Tessa Murphy.

Her name is a permanent echo in my mind. She’s been missing for nearly three months. In that time, we’ve burned through millions of dollars hiring teams, informants, and paying anyone with half a lead to offer.

And now? Now, I’m standing in this miserable hellscape, drenched in my own body odor, baking under a scorching sun that, living in Seattle, I’m not used to. I hate every second of it, but I’ll endure it because I refuse to give up on finding one of our own. Tessa Murphy might not be mafia by blood, but she might as well be. She’s one of us by association with my sister, so we’ll do whatever it takes.

Dozens of my men fan out, approaching the enormous compound from different directions. Stone walls surround the perimeter, giving the false idea that the property is impenetrable. Add in the snipers, dogs, and security, and I’m pretty sure whoever owns this place thinks they’re safe. Yet they’re so fucking wrong. I’m going to enjoy proving just how mistaken they are. They might think they’re scary, but I’m scarier. I’m also smarter and deadlier.

Wiping my brow again, I listen as my men call out various codes over our radio that tell me what step they’re on in breaching the compound. Their job is to eliminate anything that might stop me from getting inside or having my head blown off before I get to her.

The information we have indicates that Tessa and a dozen other girls are being held underground, but the only way to get there is from inside the house. We cannot do this without making ourselves known to the entire area, but we aren’t trying to stay hidden. The only thing we care about is getting Tessa and the other girls out of here.

“Go, go, go,” one of the men calls over the radio.

With a gun in my hand, I follow four men through a French gate. The blueprint I got of this compound was old and possibly out of date, so I have no way of knowing how accurate it is. Building codes in this country are lacking, so the only thing we can do is hope for the best. We have a route planned, but that’s the thing about plans: They never really go how you want them to in a situation like this.

Keeping ourselves in formation, we move down a wide walkway, with pillars towering up to the roof, that leads to another set of doors to get us inside the mansion. Bodies that have already been dropped by bullet litter the way. Pools of crimson on the dusty concrete give me a sense of satisfaction that is probably a sign of how fucked up I am.The thought makes me smile. Do I need therapy? Yes. Will I ever get it? Fuck no. I like the person I am just fine. Besides, it’s times like this that I find so much pleasure in being as unhinged as I am.

Seconds feel like minutes. We move as one through the immaculate home, gunshots echoing the entire way. We look all around as we move, already knowing which direction we’re headed and what corridors to go down. Thank fuck, the blueprints were accurate. The layout is exactly what we were expecting. We’re about to walk through the door that leads to the underground cells where the pieces of shit we just killed are keeping the girls. I don’t know how many we’ll find, but my priority is Tessa. My men will take care of the rest.

Keeping my eyes open and my gun steady, I silently pray that Tessa is alive. Now that I’m in this house, I know she’s here. I feel her. I’m not typically a believer in telepathy, but as soon as I walked in, the hairs on my arms stood on end, and my heart began to race. She's here, and I'm going to bring her home. I just hope it's not in a body bag.

TESSA

P ain. Darkness. Cold stone against my bare, battered skin, scraping the dried blood from my cuts. I try to stay as still as possible because every movement causes my body to scream in protest.

As I blink awake, my head throbs. My mouth is so dry that I can barely move my tongue. I can’t remember the last time I had water. Days, maybe? There's no way to be sure. It's pitch black in here, making it impossible to guess how much time has passed. I try to sit up, but metal bites into my wrists. Chains rattle, the weight too heavy to lift. I'm too weak. Too close to death. If only it would happen before they come down here again.

The same memories flood through me every time I regain consciousness. Being grabbed off the street. A tattoo of a red dragon on one of the men. A bag over my head. Voices shouting in a language I don't understand. My best friend screaming my name, her voice so fearful it’s painful to think about. The prick of a needle in my arm before everything went numb and the world faded away from me.

The same muffled sobs and whimpers I’ve heard since I've been here continue from beyond the heavy metal door. Other girls. I don't know how many of us there are.Our cells are closed off, other than a small opening for our captors to look in on us, and the chains that restrain us are so short that it’s impossible to communicate with each other.

Loud, rapid thudding fills the space around me. It's muffled but unmistakable. Wherever I am, the walls are thick, and outside noises rarely make it through. But I’ve heard those kinds of noises before. Gunshots.

Several others hear them, too, because their cries turn into shouts.

“Help!” I try to call out, my voice hoarse and weak, barely more than a whisper. “Someone help us!”

It's useless. No one is coming. I’m just another girl who disappeared without a trace. My parents must be sick with worry. My best friend Paigewas with me when I was snatched, but I was walking closest to the street. We both tried to run when the van pulled up next to us, but they were fast and grabbed me. It makes me sick to think how this must be affecting her. We aren't related by blood, but we might as well be. I miss her so much.

I miss my life in Seattle. Classes, parties, movie nights, eating ice cream on Paige's couch, talking about our future, and pranking her bodyguards whenever we get the chance. It feels like a lifetime ago. Now I’m here, chained up like an animal, sitting in my own urine, my body no longer my own. I know what fate awaits girls like us. I’ve heard the sick and evil things the men who took us have said to each other. It’s why I wish death would just take me because that is the better outcome than being sold, raped, and who knows what else by those monsters.

The noises grow louder, one right after another. Shouting fills the space, but I can’t process anything that’s being said.

I hold my breath, straining to hear past the pounding of my own heart. The gunfire gets closer. The ground shakes as something explodes. Dust rains down from the ceiling.

I curl into a ball, the heavy chain dragging against the floor as I move, cutting even deeper into my skin. A whimper escapes as I squeeze my eyes shut. Suddenly, the heavy lock on the door screeches, metal against metal. I shrink back against the wall, my pulse racing. A figure steps into the cell, his features obscured by the darkness, but he’s large. Very large. Tall and broad and looming.

“Tessa.” It’s the only word he says, but the smooth, deep tone is like a blanket of comfort. This isn’t one of the men who have been down here before.

I can't find my voice to respond. The man takes a step closer, and with the streak of light coming through the open door, I see he’s holding a gun. He’s not pointing it at me, though.

“I’m not going to hurt you.”

It’s still too dark to see his face, but his masculine, steady voice sounds familiar. It’s a voice that has always made me feel safe, but I can’t place it.

The man comes to my side, his footsteps echoing against the stone floor. My heart pounds against my ribs as he kneels beside me, the metallic scent of fresh blood clinging to his clothes.

“I’m getting you out of here. Can you walk?”

I try to nod, but my head spins. Everything feels surreal, like I'm watching the entire scene unfold from a distance. The lack of food and water has left me weak, my limbs heavy and unresponsive.

“P-please,” I manage to croak out. “Help the others.”

“My men are already on it, baby girl. We’re getting everyone out.”

Another large man approaches. For some reason, I reach for the first man. The one who says he's saving me.

“It’s okay. He's just going to cut you free from the chains. I'm Ronan. Paige’s brother.”

Tears burn my eyes.

Ronan Gilroy.

“Ronan?” I know it’s him, but I need to hear it again.

“Aye, lass. I’ve been looking for you for a long time. I'm going to pick you up now. If I hurt you, tell me. I can’t tell how bad of shape you’re in yet, but I need to get you out of here.”

He slides an arm under my knees and another behind my back, lifting me like I weigh nothing. My head lolls against his chest as he carries me from the cell. The area outside is chaos. Men in tactical gear shouting and moving from door to door, the sounds of locks breaking and chains falling.

Gunfire erupts somewhere above us. I flinch, curling closer to Ronan’s chest.

“Keep your head down,” he orders, his pace quickening. We pass other cells where girls are being freed, their faces streaked with tears. Some can barely stand. Others have to be carried like me.

The stairs are a blur of motion and sound. More gunshots. Loud voices. The humid air hits me like a wall as we emerge into the blinding sunlight. I squeeze my eyes shut and bury my face in Ronan's neck, the brightness stabbing into my skull after so long in darkness.

“The chopper is waiting,” someone shouts.

Ronan yells something back, then breaks into a run, his breathing heavy. The whump-whump of helicopter blades grows louder until it’s deafening. Wind whips at my hair and filthy, torn dress as we approach.

“You’re safe now,” he says into my ear, his voice barely audible over the noise. “I’m taking you home.”

Home. The word echoes in my mind as he climbs into the helicopter with me still cradled in his arms. Home to Seattle. To my family. To Paige.

I’ve been saved. I’m not going to die.

I repeat the words in my head, yet despite being in a helicopter that’s rising higher and higher over a large compound that looks to be on fire, I’m not able to truly believe it.

I drift in and out of consciousness, catching fragments of reality. The vibration of the helicopter. Ronan’s deep voice speaking quietly above me. Someone draping a blanket over my shivering body even though I’m pretty sure the temperatures are in the nineties.Sharp, stinging pain radiating through me.

The next time I open my eyes, we’re in a hotel suite. Everything is too bright, too clean, too normal after months in that dark cell. I’m lying on a plush, king-sized bed, wrapped in a white down comforter. My dirty dress feels wrong against the crisp white sheets.

“The doctor will be here in ten minutes,” Ronan says from somewhere nearby.

I try to sit up, but my arms shake with the effort. Ronan comes to my side, helping me lean back against the headboard. His face comes into focus, sharp features and dark emerald eyes filled with concern.

“Where...” My voice cracks.

Ronan hands me a bottle of water, removing the cap first. When I can’t raise it to my mouth, he takes it back and does it for me.

“Small sips, baby,” he instructs. “We're in Texas. I wanted to make sure my business was complete at the compound before we got too far away. Also, I need to get you checked out. Then we’ll get on a jet and fly home.”

The water feels like heaven on my parched throat. I want to drain the whole bottle but force myself to take tiny sips like he said.

“Business?” I ask, unsure if I want to know. Or if he’ll tell me.

The corner of Ronan’s mouth quirks up. “According to the news, there was a gas leak at a home in Argentina, causing an explosion. We’ll stick with that story.”

In other words, Ronan and his men are somehow responsible for the explosion. I can’t say I’m surprised. I’m not a mafia princess like Paige, but my father has worked as an accountant for the Gilroy family nearly my entire life. While my parents have never been in the thick of the mafia lifestyle, I’ve spent enough time with Paige to know that her brothers are some of the most dangerous men in the world. And I’ve always felt safe around them.

“Thank you,” I whisper.

Ronan could have just saved me from that hell hole, but he went beyond that and destroyed the place that tried to break me. That nearly killed me and took every ounce of my dignity.

A knock at the door makes me flinch. Ronan’s hand moves to the gun at his hip as he approaches, checking through the peephole before opening it.

A woman in her fifties enters, carrying a medical bag. Her kind face is all it takes for tears to spring to my eyes.

“Hello, Tessa, I’m Dr. James,” she says gently. “I’m going to examine you and treat any injuries, okay?”

I nod, clutching the blanket tighter.

“I’ll wait outside,” Ronan offers, heading for the door.

“No!” I croak as I reach for him, clawing at the air like it will keep him from going. “Please... stay?”

He pauses, looking to the doctor who gives a small nod.

“Aye, lass. I’ll stay right here.” He settles into a chair by the window, keeping his back turned slightly to give me privacy as Dr. James begins her examination.

Dr. James's gentle hands move carefully over my bruised skin as she documents every mark and injury. The clinical nature of the exam helps me disconnect, pretend I’m somewhere else. But when she asks me to describe what happened, my throat closes up.

“You don't have to talk about it now,” she says softly. “I just need you to nod or shake your head to the next question so I know how to go about treating you further. Can you do that?”

Keeping my gaze directed to my bloody wrists, I let out a deep breath. “Yes.”

“Were you raped or sexually assaulted in any way?”

My eyes burn with tears, and the lump that’s lodged in my throat is painful. Ronan doesn’t move, doesn’t even flinch, but he’s holding his breath as if he’s waiting for the answer, too.

“No,” I whisper.

Dr. James pats my hand. “Okay, dear. That’s good to know. Let’s work on getting your physical wounds healed for now, then. Sound good?”

I nod gratefully, watching as she pulls supplies from her bag. The sting of antiseptic makes me wince as she cleans the raw marks on my wrists where the chains were digging in.

“The IV will help with dehydration,” she explains, inserting the needle into my arm. “And I’m giving you some antibiotics to prevent infection as well as a pain medication to help you relax and sleep comfortably for a bit.”

Ronan remains by the window, his broad shoulders tense. He hasn’t moved or spoken, but his presence calms me and makes me feel safe.

“When can I call my parents?” My voice sounds small—foreign to my own ears. “And Paige?”

“Soon,” Ronan answers without turning around. “We need to make sure it’s secure first. But they know you’re safe.”

The doctor finishes bandaging my wrists and checks the IV. “Try to rest now. Your body needs time to recover.”

“The other girls...” I start to ask.

“All rescued,” Ronan says. “They’re being cared for.”

Relief floods through me, making my eyes heavy. The combination of medication and exhaustion pulls at me. I fight it, afraid to close my eyes. Afraid I’ll wake up back in that cell.

“Sleep, lass,” Ronan’s deep voice rumbles. “It’s all okay, baby girl. I got you. You’re safe.”

Something in his tone helps me believe him, and I let myself drift off without fear.Ronan Gilroy won’t let anything happen to me.