Chapter 12
CHAPTER TWELVE
Bryan
T he farmhouse isn’t what I expect.
I pictured something old and forgotten, a quiet place on the edge of nowhere where the authorities could stash a woman willing to spill her guts.
Instead, the structure standing at the end of the long dirt road is anything but abandoned.
Kieran and I crouch behind the thick line of trees that border the property, the scent of damp earth and leaves heavy in the air. From this vantage point—with the help of some high-powered binoculars—I take in the fortified building ahead. Strong brick walls, reinforced steel doors, and windows so dark I’d bet my last euro they’re bulletproof.
The place isn’t a hideout—it’s a fucking fortress.
Two armored SUVs are parked in the gravel drive, both the kind made to withstand more than just a few rounds of live fire, but to ram through whatever stands in their way.
Along the porch, three men stand in a loose formation, GPMG machine guns slung across their chests, casual but alert. And on foot patrol, there is another pair of guards walking the perimeter.
All of them trained men.
“Jesus,” Kieran mutters under his breath. “This isn’t just some safe house. This is a goddamn compound.”
My jaw tightens. “Harper said Sentinel is run by ex-military and cops. Looks like they take their reputation for security solutions seriously.”
“Unfortunately.”
Doesn’t matter. If they have Siobhan Daley in there, no army, no matter how threatening, will keep me from getting to her.
“Maybe a distance attack,” I whisper. “Do you know anyone with rocket launchers?”
Kieran looks at me and his brows arch. “It’s like that, is it, big boy?”
I chuckle. “It may be. I’m just brainstorming a way that might take her out from a distance.”
“And can you live with that? You’ve been fantasizing about snapping her neck since the moment we left home.”
“Aye, I have, but dead is dead.”
Kieran shifts his attention back to his binoculars and nods. “How do we confirm she’s here? Blowing up an international defector or something unrelated would be bad form.”
“Aye, it would.”
“We need more information.”
He’s right. The place is locked up tight, and with the number of bodies on site, we’re outgunned and outmanned. Charging in would be suicide. We need intel before we can do anything, and we need it before the McGuires catch up to us and ruin everything.
I exhale slowly, wondering how long it will take to confirm the bitch is in there?—
A crack echoes through the still night air.
Both Kieran and I freeze. The distinct snap of a branch breaking underfoot sends a jolt of adrenaline through my system.
We aren’t alone out here.
I jerk my chin toward the tree line, already backing away. Kieran doesn’t argue, moving in sync with me as we ease deeper into the shadow of the woods.
Every few steps we stop and listen, waiting for the telltale sounds of pursuit. There are none.
Still, I don’t relax until we reach the car.
Sliding behind the wheel, I clench my hands around the steering wheel, my mind already racing ahead. Kieran pulls out his phone. “All right. What are we going to need?”
* * *
Harper
I surface slowly, as though clawing my way through thick, murky water. My body is heavy, my limbs weighed down with exhaustion that clings like the worst hangover in the history of hangovers.
A dull ache pulses behind my eyes, and the remnants of whatever they jabbed me with still linger, wrapping around my thoughts like a woolly blanket of fog.
It’s not as bad as last night, though.
The nausea is still there, but has settled into a low churning in my stomach instead of relentless waves. The chills are still an issue, my muscles aching with a deep cold that no amount of blankets seems to keep at bay.
Except the hot water of a shower.
I close my eyes, the muffled memory of standing in the steam of a hot spray warming me. The playback in my mind is spotty at best, but I’m pretty sure Bryan washed my hair.
Bryan.
The tension in my chest loosens a fraction. He rescued me from that place, from those creepy, pervy assholes. I’m safe because he came for me.
If only Chantal and Macie had someone to come for them.
Movement rustles beyond the bedroom door, a soft shuffle of footsteps in the common area of the suite. I swallow, my throat dry, and try to call out.
My voice cracks before I form his name. I swallow again, wetting my lips, and try again.
“Bryan?”
A beat of silence follows, and then, instead of his deep, rough voice, I hear a woman’s voice. “Oh! You’re awake.”
The door cracks open, and a figure steps inside. She’s older, maybe in her early sixties, with short, dark curls peppered with gray and warm brown eyes that crinkle at the corners when she smiles.
“Good morning, Harper. I’m Fiona. How are you feeling, luv?”
I blink, my sluggish brain taking a moment to catch up. “Sorry. Who are you?”
“I’m an RN on call with some of the hotels in the area. I was hired to stay with you while your boyfriend and his mate step out for a bit. He didn’t want you waking up alone, with you feeling so poorly.”
I exhale slowly, shifting against the sheets. My muscles still ache, but I’m no longer drowning under the weight of the drugging effects.
“So, he’s out then?”
“He is. Been gone a few hours.” She steps into the bedroom and takes a stethoscope out of the pocket of her lavender cardigan. “Do you mind if I give you a quick once over?”
I lay back and wave her over. “I feel like sludge, but I’m sure I’ll live. Did Bryan say what was wrong with me? Does he know what I was drugged with?”
She presses the dial of the chest piece against my skin and sends a cold shiver through me as she listens and checks my vitals. “At his instruction, I drew a sample of your blood last night and the rugged one with the russet waves and I went to a local lab to have it tested.”
I close my eyes, pleading with any force in the universe for it not to be heroine or meth or something horrible. “And?”
“Mr. Bryan mentioned that you thought you’d been injected three times. Your bloodwork showed a high dosage of tranquilizer, and of gamma-hydroxybutyric acid specifically.”
I shake my head a little, but it does nothing to clear the fog. “What’s that?”
“It’s a depressant, commonly called GHB.”
“A depressant? So, it’s not addictive or anything?”
“No, luv. By tomorrow night or maybe the day after, you’ll be right as rain. You just need to rest and give your body what it needs to get rid of it.”
I let out a long sigh. “That’s amazing. Thanks.”
“I had nothing to do with it, but I’m pleased it was good news. Now, if you’re feeling up to it, we should get you up and moving for a bit. Maybe try some food?”
The idea isn’t that appealing, but she just finished saying I need to give my body what it needs to rebound. I nod slowly. “Yeah, I think I can eat something plain.”
“That’s the spirit.” She stands, unhooks her stethoscope and drops it back into the wide pocket of her sweater. “Let’s start with some toast and a bit of fruit. Nothing too heavy.”
Pushing myself up onto my elbows, I wince as the sheet slips lower and cool air whispers across my bare skin. I glance down and realize I’m barely wrapped in a bath towel beneath the blankets.
Heat rushes to my cheeks as I scan the room and find my suitcase and computer bag on the top of the dresser.
The man thinks of everything.
Fiona follows my gaze to the dresser, and gives me a knowing smile. “A courier brought that this morning. Would you like a moment to change?”
“Please.” I clear my throat. “Would you mind closing the door?”
“Of course, luv. Take your time. And if you feel dizzy or need help, just call out. I’m here to help.”
With that, she pulls the door shut behind her, leaving me alone with the first semblance of normalcy I’ve had in days.
It takes a bit to get moving but once I shuffle over to the dresser, I pull a fresh set of clothes from my suitcase—a pair of black stretch pants and a soft oversized sweater—then shuffle to the bathroom.
My legs are still unsteady beneath me and the sight in the mirror makes me wince.
It’s temporary. Fiona said that tomorrow night or maybe the day after, all this will be a bad memory.
My skin is pale, almost sallow, with dark smudges beneath my eyes. My hair is a tangled mess and still damp from last night’s shower.
I splash warm water on my face, brushing my fingers through my hair in a weak attempt at taming it.
It’ll have to do.
I leave the bedroom and step into the common area of the suite for the first time. The space is simple, with clean lines, neutral colors, and standard furnishings.
“Have a seat. Would you like some tea?”
I meet Fiona’s gaze and nod. “Thanks.”
The table has chairs on one side and a bench along the back. I slide onto the end of the bench and it feels so good to get off my feet.
Fiona stands at the small kitchenette, preparing a tray. She glances over her shoulder and smiles when she sees me. “Feeling a bit more human?”
I nod, though I’m not sure that’s entirely true. I still feel like I’ve been run over, but at least I’m upright.
That’s progress.
She carries the tray over to the table and sets it down in front of me. “We’ll start you off with this and see how you do.” She slides a cup of peppermint tea toward me, steam curling from the surface, then places a plate of dry toast beside it. “Nothing fancy, but it should be gentle on your stomach.”
“Thanks,” I murmur, wrapping my fingers around the warm mug. The first sip soothes the rawness in my throat, and I close my eyes for a moment, letting the heat seep into me.
I manage a few bites of toast before glancing up at her. “How long am I going to feel like cat hack?”
She chuckles, sitting down across from me. “You should be over the worst of it. The injection cocktail I gave you last night will counter the ill effects. I’ll give you another shot once you’ve finished your breakfast, and you’ll be well on your way.”
I frown, setting my toast down. “You gave me a shot?”
Fiona nods, completely unbothered. “You were in rough shape, luv. I’m not surprised you don’t remember.”
I blink, trying to recall anything from last night. There’s nothing but fog and flashes of Bryan—his steady hands, his low voice promising I was safe.
“Your boyfriend did all the right things, though,” she adds.
I nearly choke on my tea. “Bryan isn’t my boyfriend. He’s just a friend.”
Fiona raises a brow, a knowing glint in her warm brown eyes. “That so?”
“Yes.” I scowl at my toast, refusing to meet her gaze. “He’s just—he’s helping me. That’s all.”
She hums like she doesn’t quite believe me, then goes back to tidying at the counter.
I eat in silence and focus on every chew and swallow. It’s not pleasant but it’s necessary. When I’m finished my toast, I wipe my fingers on a napkin and sip down the last of my tea.
“How is the nausea?” she asks.
“No worse. Just kind of there.”
“Well, that’s a good sign. All right, up you get, then. Let’s get that second injection sorted.”
I hesitate, my knee-jerk reaction to getting a needle both violent and undeserved. “What’s in this cocktail you mentioned?”
She smiles. “It’s just a pick-me-up boost. A pain reliever for the aches, something to help with the nausea, and a high dose of vitamins to help you get back on your feet as quickly as possible.”
“And I already had one?”
“You did.”
“Where does it go?”
“In your tush, hon. Last night was your right cheek. This one will go in your left.”
Of course, it will.
I reach back to my right butt cheek and yep, there’s a tender spot. So, she’s telling the truth and it obviously didn’t kill me. In truth, I feel heaps better than I did last night.
In the back of my mind, I sort of remember Bryan saying that he had a nurse draw my blood so we could find out what Jamie and his friends injected me with.
I don’t know if I trust her…but I trust Bryan.
I don’t know him well, but I don’t believe he’d leave me alone and in the hands of anyone he didn’t believe would take good care of me. The Quinns are known to be protective of women and innocents.
Sighing, I push back my hesitation, stand, and tug down my stretch pants enough to expose the curve of my left butt cheek. Then I hook my fingers in the waistband of my underwear and pull it down for the shot.
I lean forward over the table, bracing myself. “Just make it quick, okay? Needles aren’t my favorite thing right now.”
And that’s when the door swings open.
I freeze, turning my head to look toward the door.
Bryan is standing in the doorway, his gaze locked directly onto my very exposed ass. His gaze flicks to Fiona, then back to me, one dark brow arching as the corners of his mouth twitch. “Should I come back?”
Fiona, to her credit, just chuckles and gives me the poke. “No. Perfect timing, lad. Give us one second…”
The sting is quick, and then the burn is smothered by a cool wash of antiseptic on a cotton ball as she finishes up. “All done, hon.”
I yank my pants up, straightening so fast the room spins. My face is on fire, my heart hammering as I spin away from him.
Fiona, completely unfazed, chuckles. “Oh, don’t be so dramatic, luv. It’s nothing he didn’t see last night when he brought you in.”
I groan, burying my face in my hands.
Kill me now.