Chapter 3
CHAPTER 3
SIOBHAN
D aragh Fucking O’Neill—The Devil of Galway’s chief fixer, enforcer and left hand—had her pinned against the cold metal of the storage unit wall. His grip was firm, immovable, and entirely too confident. He thought he had her.
He was wrong. She wasn’t going down without a fight. Her muscles burned with the need to shift and run.
The instincts buried deep in her bones screamed at her to shed her human skin, to let her panther take over and tear through him like the threat he was. But shifting in the middle of a city—inside a storage facility with no cover—would do nothing but expose her secret and give him, and the rest of them, even more power over her.
So she did the next best thing—the thing a man like him would expect. She feigned surrender and acceptance of the inevitable. She let her body go lax, just enough to make him think she was weak and giving up.
Daragh’s gaze flickered, studying her reaction, but his grip loosened just slightly. It was all she needed.
Siobhan moved, snatching her duffle bag from the floor. She swung the thing in a brutal arc—twisting her entire body for power—and straight into the side of his head. The impact sent a dull thud echoing through the storage facility’s yard. Not enough to knock him out completely, but enough to stagger him… enough for her to run.
Siobhan bolted. She barely registered the sharp curse he let out as she sprinted toward the storage unit’s back entrance. The emergency release bar shoved open with a screech of rusted metal, and she flew into the night, her heart hammering against her ribs.
The vehicle she had tucked away was just beyond the next row of units, hidden beneath a cover of dust and neglect—even though she had religiously started the motor with a remote control every month and let it run for thirty minutes. She tore the tarp free, tossing it aside, and yanked open the driver’s door.
She had seconds. Maybe less. She lunged inside, slamming the door shut behind her. She barely had time to sit herself upright before she heard the heavy thud of boots on the pavement.
Daragh. He was already moving, almost there.
Siobhan barely had time to lock the doors before the handle jerked violently. She hit the ignition switch—nothing. She cursed and slammed her palm against the dash, urging the engine to turn over faster.
Daragh’s growl of frustration carried through the glass. “Don’t do it, kitten.”
The engine roared to life. Siobhan’s fingers clenched around the gearshift. “Too late.”
She slammed the accelerator. Daragh barely twisted away in time, dodging the side mirror by inches as the tires screeched against the pavement.
Siobhan didn’t look back. She gunned it toward the warehouse’s security gate; her pulse was a wild, unsteady thing in her throat.
She needed distance. Needed to disappear before Daragh caught up.
The old metal gate loomed ahead standing slightly ajar even though the bars rusted from years of neglect. If she could just get through, she had a chance. Then she saw them. Two black SUVs parked just beyond the gate.
Siobhan’s breath stalled. Fuck. MI5.
They were already here. The realization hit her like a blow, but she didn’t slow down. If they thought she would roll over and surrender, they were about to be very disappointed. And if they didn’t move, they were about to be injured… severely.
Siobhan’s knuckles went white against the steering wheel as she barreled toward the security gate, heart pounding, mind calculating. The two black SUVs waiting beyond it were exactly what she had feared. MI5 had been watching. Waiting. And now, they were here to drag her back into a life she had burned to the ground.
Not happening. She kept her foot on the gas, eyes locked onto the narrowest gap between the two vehicles. A few more seconds, and she’d either break through or crash trying.
One of the SUV doors swung open. A man stepped out, hand raised, shouting something she couldn’t hear over the engine’s roar.
Siobhan didn’t hesitate. She jerked the wheel at the last second, aiming just off-center. The side of her car clipped the front bumper of one SUV, sending a sickening screech of metal through the night. The impact sent the vehicle rocking back, forcing the agent to jump out of the way as Siobhan’s vehicle fishtailed.
She barely recovered, tires screaming against the pavement as she veered left, dodging the second SUV by inches. Her heart slammed against her ribs as she gunned it down the street, darting through the industrial roads toward the only place she knew she could disappear.
She didn’t look back—didn’t care if Daragh was still in pursuit. All that mattered was getting out before it was too late.
The docks smelled of salt, damp wood, and diesel fuel—a scent she had always associated with escape. Not freedom, but escape. She wondered at the last time she’d ever felt free?
Siobhan drove her car through the maze of shipping containers and abandoned warehouses, taking extra turns and cutting down side streets to avoid being followed. She knew how to disappear.
Finally, she pulled into the shadows of a rusted-out warehouse she had secured for emergencies like this.
She killed the engine and let the silence settle around her, straining her ears for any sign she had been followed.
Nothing.
Still, she didn’t relax. She climbed out, scanning the area before slipping inside through a side entrance. The warehouse was small, bare bones, but it was safe.
Siobhan needed a plan.
She crouched near the metal locker in the back corner, yanking it open. Inside were the essentials—more burner phones, more fake IDs, more cash.
The duffle she had lost back at the storage unit had been a necessary sacrifice. It had held clothes, some weapons, a little extra money. Nothing she couldn’t replace.
What mattered was that she still had the tools she needed to disappear.
Her fingers traced over the edge of a black passport—French. She flipped it open, scanning the alias she had memorized years ago. It would do. She grabbed one of the burner phones, powering it on long enough to pull up the number she needed. A contact in Dublin’s underground—someone who owed her a favor.
She pressed the call button, bringing the phone to her ear. The line rang twice before a gruff voice answered. “Thought you were dead.”
Siobhan didn’t waste time. “I need a ferry ticket. Dublin to Paris. Cash drop.”
A pause. “When?”
“Tomorrow night.”
Another pause, longer this time. Then, “That’s a big ask for short notice.”
Siobhan’s lips pressed into a thin line. He wanted more money. Fine. “Double the usual rate.”
A beat of silence. Then, “Done.”
The line clicked dead.
She set the phone down, staring at it for a moment. Forty-eight hours. That was how long she had to stay hidden before she could get out. She could do it. She had no choice.
Siobhan counted the seconds. She sat cross-legged on the floor of the dimly lit warehouse, the burner phone and fake passport beside her, her mind racing while her body stayed perfectly still.
The letter she had been writing lay half-folded in her lap, the ink smudged from where she had gripped the paper too hard. She shouldn’t have written it, but some part of her had needed to.
Isolde. Siobhan swallowed hard, staring at the name she had scrawled at the top of the page.
She shouldn’t be doing this. She should have burned everything and disappeared. She had forty-eight hours to stay hidden before the ferry, and wasting time on goodbyes was a mistake. But the thought of leaving without a word—without at least trying to make Isolde understand—left an ache in her chest she couldn’t ignore.
Her fingers tightened around the edges of the page as she read the words she had written.
Isolde,
By the time you read this, I’ll be gone.
You were my only friend when I had no one, and you deserve better than the wreckage I would bring to your door.
If you ever cared for me, if I ever mattered, you’ll let this go. Do not come looking for me. Do not ask Callum to find me. I am not the same girl you knew, and I won’t be again.
I never wanted this life. But it’s the one I have.
She hesitated, fingers trembling slightly as she wrote the last line.
Goodbye,
Siobhan
The moment the words were down, she folded the letter and shoved it into an envelope. She would leave it in a dead drop, have it sent after she was across the Channel.
Once it was out of her hands, it was done.
Siobhan pushed to her feet, rolling her shoulders. Time to go.
She moved quickly, gathering what little evidence remained of her presence. The fake IDs and cash went into the pocket of her jacket. The burner phone got wiped and smashed under the heel of her boot before being tossed into a rusted barrel.
The letter stayed in her hand.
Finally, she struck a match, dropping it onto the pile of rags she had stuffed in the corner. Flames licked up the walls, smoke curling through the air as the last traces of her temporary shelter disappeared. When everything was ashes, she put out the fire with an extinguisher.
It was over.
She stepped toward the exit, heart steady, mind sharp. One last job. One last run. She just had to make it to the ferry.
Siobhan pushed the warehouse door open and stepped into the alley and stopped dead.
Daragh O’Neill stood against the wall, hands in his pockets, as calm and unreadable as ever.
She should have known.
Her breath stalled, every muscle in her body going tight. His eyes locked onto hers with that same dark certainty she had seen in him before.
She might be caught, but she wasn’t done.
Siobhan moved before he could speak. She dropped low, twisting to the side as she aimed a kick at his ribs. Daragh caught her ankle with infuriating ease.
His grip was iron, but she hadn’t given up. She used the leverage, twisting in mid-air to strike out with her other foot, aiming for his face.
He ducked, caught her wrist, and spun her with effortless precision until her back was against the brick wall, his body pinning her against the rough surface.
She snarled, trying to yank free, but he had her locked down tight.
His voice was low, even. “You done?”
Siobhan’s breath came fast and sharp.
“No,” she hissed, arching hard to break free.
His grip tightened. One powerful hand wrapped around her wrist, the other pressed against her hip, keeping her exactly where he wanted her.
She hated how easily he handled her.
How controlled he was.
How he didn’t even look like he was trying.
His breath brushed her ear, his voice edged with amusement. “I was hoping you’d say that.”
Her pulse kicked, but she refused to let him see it. She yanked at his grip, using every ounce of her strength—but it didn’t matter.
Daragh was stronger, and the worst part was that he knew it.
His fingers flexed, his hold shifting just enough to make her hyper-aware of the heat of his body, the solid muscle beneath the expensive fabric of his jacket.
Siobhan stilled, chest rising and falling too fast, her mind calculating. Waiting. Watching.
Daragh let the silence hang between them, his blue eyes sharp as a blade.
Then, finally, he spoke.
“You’re not going anywhere, kitten.”
Siobhan ground her teeth, fury spiking hot and electric in her veins.
This wasn’t over—not by any stretch of the imagination.