Chapter 14
CHAPTER 14
DARAGH
D aragh knew.
The second he stepped into the hallway leading to their bedroom, his stomach twisted, his instincts roaring a warning so sharp it nearly took his breath. He opened the door to find the bed was empty. The sheets undisturbed. The robe she had wrapped around herself earlier hung off the chair by the vanity.
Siobhan was gone. A growl vibrated through his chest, low and deadly. Stupid, reckless kitten.
Her note indicated she believed an old contact had answers but would only deliver them to her if she met at an old meeting place. She thought she could take matters into her own hands, slip past his guards, and hunt for her own answers?
Daragh had spent his entire life tracking, eliminating, and destroying threats before they ever saw him coming. If she thought she could disappear without him noticing, she was about to learn exactly how mistaken she was.
"Murphy!" His voice echoed through the manor like a gunshot.
Murphy appeared almost instantly, his ever-watchful gaze assessing the fury burning in Daragh’s eyes. "She’s gone," he said flatly, not a question.
Daragh nodded once, his jaw tightening. "She got past our men. I want eyes on every camera feed we have. I want to know which direction she went, and I want our fastest drivers on it."
Murphy turned on his heel, barking orders into his comm as he strode down the hall. Daragh forced his breathing steady, his thoughts cold, sharp, lethal. Siobhan was his, and he would send all of Dublin up in flames to get her back.
The bar was a cesspool of criminals, half-drunk mercenaries, and desperate men looking for a payday. The moment Daragh stepped inside, silence rippled through the room like a shockwave.
They knew him. They feared him. Finn moved in beside him. "This is where she came?"
Daragh nodded once, his nostrils flaring as he caught the faintest trace of her scent. She had been here; so had Wolfe. Recently.
"In the back," Daragh murmured, his grip tightening around the knife at his hip.
They moved as one, making their way toward the back hall, past the bar, past the stunned patrons who dared not meet their eyes. Then he heard it. A familiar, mocking voice that made his skin burn with rage.
"Did you really think you could escape me?"
Daragh stopped, every muscle in his body coiling—ready to strike—as he strained to catch every word. His heart hammered in his chest, each beat a drum of fury, a battle cry held in check by the thin sliver of wood between him and the scene unfolding inside.
Siobhán’s voice was steady, but he could hear the tension beneath it, the way she fought to keep the tremor from slipping through. “Not really, but then I’m not the one you should be worried about.”
“You don’t really think Daragh O’Neill would settle for a disinherited and tarnished heiress, do you?”
The bastard.
“I do, and I have the claiming bite to prove it.”
Daragh clenched his jaw so hard his teeth ached, rage pooling hot in his gut. He could almost see the sneer on the man’s face, the way he’d be looking at her like she was nothing, like she was just another pawn in whatever game he thought he was playing.
Daragh’s breath caught. She wasn’t speaking just to Sebastian, she was speaking to him—claiming him as surely as he had claimed her.
“You may kill me…” her voice rose, carrying a weight that sent a shiver down his spine. He knew then she was no longer speaking just to Sebastian, but to the men surrounding him. “But Daragh will come for you—all of you, and he’ll have the Devil of Galway at his back. Make no mistake, the O’Neills will come for you. When Daragh finds out what has happened, he will rain hellfire down on all of your heads, and Con O’Neill will have the matches.”
A slow, wicked smile curved Daragh’s lips. Aye, mo chroí. They would.
Daragh didn't think. He moved. He kicked the door open; the force sending it crashing against the wall.
Siobhan stood in the center of the room, her body tense, her hands clenched into fists at her sides, and standing beside her, gripping her chin in a mockery of possession, was Sebastian Wolfe.
Daragh saw red. His vision blurred, every muscle coiled with the need to tear the bastard apart limb by limb.
Sebastian turned his head slightly, his blue eyes gleaming with amusement. "Ah, the devoted husband finally arrives. You took your time, O’Neill. I was beginning to think you might not care about her as much as she seems to care about you."
Siobhan’s gaze snapped to his, her chest rising and falling too fast, her pulse hammering beneath the delicate skin of her throat. Daragh forced himself to stay still, forced himself to shove down the lethal rage threatening to overtake him.
Sebastian wasn’t just a man. He was a game player. A tactician. He wanted Daragh to lose control. Wanted him to act without thinking, and Daragh wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction.
"Let her go."
Sebastian chuckled, his fingers tightening just slightly on Siobhan’s jaw. "Come now, Daragh. You must have known this was inevitable. She came looking for answers. I simply provided them."
Siobhan jerked her chin from his grip, her glare venomous. "You set a trap."
Sebastian sighed, shaking his head. "Darling, everything in your life has been a trap. You just never realized it." He glanced at Daragh, his smile widening. "Did she ever tell you why MI5 was so desperate to get her back?"
Daragh stilled.
Sebastian took that as an invitation to continue. "They don’t just want her for what she knows. They want her for what she is. You think you claimed her, O’Neill? That’s adorable. But she was never yours to claim. She was always meant to be a weapon."
Siobhan flinched, her entire body rigid. "Shut up, Sebastian."
Daragh’s fingers twitched against the hilt of his blade. "Explain."
Sebastian grinned. "Oh, I think your pretty little mate should be the one to do that. After all, she was the one who made a deal with the devil, wasn’t she?"
Daragh barely kept his rage contained. Siobhan’s lips parted, a shadow crossing her face.
Sebastian tsked. "MI5 doesn’t want her just to keep her from me. They want her because they made her. She didn’t just stumble into my world, Daragh. She was placed in it. Conditioned for it. Molded into the perfect spy, the perfect infiltrator. And they sent her to me."
Daragh's gaze snapped to Siobhan. Her silence spoke volumes.
Sebastian laughed softly. "But they underestimated me, didn’t they, darling? They thought you’d destroy me, but instead, I made you mine. And now, well… we both know you belong to me."
Siobhan’s body trembled, her breath coming faster. Daragh had heard enough. His knife was in his hand before he even registered the movement. He threw it, the blade slicing through the air, embedding itself into the wall just inches from Sebastian’s head.
The smug bastard barely flinched. "Ever the dramatic one," Sebastian mused.
Daragh took a step forward, his voice cold. "You won’t leave this room alive."
Sebastian arched an eyebrow. "Won’t I?"
Siobhan sucked in a sharp breath, her fingers twitching at her sides. Sebastian noticed. And then, faster than Daragh expected, he moved. He yanked Siobhan against him, his arm wrapping around her waist, his other hand pressing a knife to her throat.
Daragh’s entire body went rigid.
Sebastian’s breath ghosted over Siobhan’s ear. "See, the thing is, O’Neill, you’re predictable. You think you’re in control, but you’re not. You never were." His grip tightened. "I don’t need to kill her. I just need to remind her who she belongs to."
Daragh’s hands fisted. "If you hurt her, I will carve you apart, piece by piece, and feed you to my panther."
Sebastian smiled. "Then I suppose we’re at an impasse."
Daragh forced his breathing steady, his vision narrowing to a single point—Sebastian’s throat. He could kill him now. Could end this with a single movement. But he needed Sebastian alive. For now. But before he could formulate a plan, the room erupted into a sea of chaos—men, guns, smoke bombs. The attack was vicious and meant to disorient and provide cover.
Daragh had just enough time to see men in gas masks make their way to Sebastian and Siobhan. They placed a mask over Sebastian’s face as Siobhan went limp in his arms. Daragh tried to shift, but his panther was inert and as he tried to get to her the blackness enveloped him.
Some time later, he stirred. It took him a while to realize he was on the floor of the pub, and only he and his men remained. He staggered to his feet, shaking his head. Siobhan was out there somewhere and he would find her. This wasn’t over, it was the beginning of the end.
SIOBHAN
The warehouse smelled of damp metal and rot, the air was thick with oil, mildew and mold. Siobhan’s wrists ached from the zip ties biting into her skin, the plastic cutting into her flesh as she twisted against them. She had been here before—not in this exact place, but in places like it. Cold, dark rooms where men thought they held the power, where she had learned to play the role they expected. Helpless. Weak.
She wasn’t that girl anymore.
Sebastian sat in a chair across from her, legs crossed, his fingers idly tapping against his knee. He looked entirely too pleased with himself, as if he had already won. As if he thought he could still own her. His men—half a dozen of them—hovered near the edges of the room, all armed, all watching her like she was some docile thing to be caged.
“Did you really think running to the O’Neills would save you?” Sebastian’s voice was silk and venom, a practiced blend of aristocratic arrogance and cruelty. “Did you think Daragh would be your knight in shining armor?”
Siobhan met his gaze, her lips curling in something close to amusement. “He’s not a knight,” she said. “If I’m the damsel in the story, he’s the dragon—a lethal predator.”
Sebastian chuckled, shaking his head. “And yet, here you are. Caught. Alone. Again.” He tsked, leaning forward. “Tell me, darling, was it worth it? Did you really think you could be more than a pawn?”
Siobhan shrugged, ignoring the pain that flared at the movement. She needed time, just a little more time. Daragh was coming. She knew that with the same certainty that she knew her own name. He would never let her be taken from him.
Sebastian sighed, as if disappointed. “It doesn’t matter now. In a few hours, MI5 will have you on a private jet, and we’ll be on our way back to London. They get their prize, and I get mine.”
Siobhan stilled. “What are you talking about?”
Sebastian smiled, the kind that made her stomach twist in disgust. “Did you really think MI5 wanted you for protection? That they wanted to keep you safe? Oh, love, you’re valuable because of what you know. Because of what you are.”
Her pulse spiked.
Sebastian leaned in. “They don’t care if you want to go back. They only care that you’re a weapon. And if you don’t cooperate? Well… we both know MI5 has ways of making people compliant.”
A sick feeling settled in her gut. She had known MI5 wanted her, but she hadn’t thought they would work with him to get her.
Sebastian’s grin widened, seeing her realization dawn. “That’s right. We have an understanding, they and I. You, my dear, were never meant to be free. You were meant to be used.”
Siobhan forced herself to remain still, to keep the rising fury in check. Let him think he still had control. Let him believe she was his captive. Because he had made a mistake—he had underestimated her.
A sharp sound echoed through the warehouse—static from a radio. One guard lifted it to his mouth, listening to the transmission. His face paled.
Siobhan’s heart pounded. Daragh was here.
The moment of distraction was all she needed. She didn’t hesitate. She slammed her heel into the floor, using the momentum to rock the chair back, sending her crashing onto the concrete. Pain lanced through her ribs and mouth, but she ignored it, twisting her body, yanking her arms forward.
The zip ties cut into her skin, but she forced her wrists apart, snapping the plastic with the force of her shifter strength. By the time she rolled to her feet, the first guard was already moving toward her.
Siobhan lunged. She went low, driving her shoulder into his gut, knocking the wind from his lungs. He stumbled, and she wrenched the gun from his belt, flipping it in her hands before pressing the barrel under his chin.
“Don’t,” she warned, her voice deadly.
Sebastian’s expression was no longer amused. “Kill her.”
Gunfire erupted. Siobhan dove for cover behind a stack of metal crates, bullets sparking against the rusted steel. The guards were mercenaries, not trained assassins, and Sebastian had paid them with his dwindling resources. That gave her an advantage.
The other, much larger advantage exploded through the main door—the sound deafening. A wall of bodies stormed inside—Daragh at the front, Murphy and Finn flanking his sides.
Siobhan barely had time to breathe before Daragh moved.
He was a blur, faster than any human, his panther instincts driving him forward. He didn’t fire his gun—he didn’t need to. The first man who got in his way was dead before he could react, Daragh’s hands closing around his throat, snapping it with effortless brutality.
Gunfire filled the air, Murphy and Finn cutting through the remaining guards with precision. Siobhan fired her stolen gun, taking out one of Sebastian’s men before he could aim at Daragh.
Sebastian, the coward, started to run. Siobhan pushed off the crates, ignoring the ache in her ribs. Her gaze locked on the man who had once controlled every aspect of her life. She sprinted, closing the distance between them as Sebastian reached the side door. He fumbled with the lock, cursing under his breath. Siobhan didn’t give him the chance to escape.
She tackled him from behind, sending them both to the ground.
Sebastian snarled, twisting beneath her. He was strong, but she was stronger. She drove her knee into his ribs, pinning him.
Daragh’s voice cut through the chaos. “Move, kitten.”
Siobhan rolled to the side just as Daragh loomed over them, his gun trained on Sebastian’s skull.
Sebastian’s lip curled, but for the first time, there was something close to fear in his eyes. “You won’t kill me.”
Daragh’s smile was slow, lethal. “You’re right. Not yet.” Siobhan wiped the blood from her mouth, glaring down at the man who had haunted her for years. Daragh’s voice was deadly calm. “But I will make you wish I had.”
Sebastian had always been a slippery bastard. Even now, with Daragh’s boot pressing against his chest, pinning him to the cold concrete floor, he still had that air of entitlement—the kind of arrogance that made him believe he could talk his way out of anything.
“You can’t kill me, O’Neill,” he spat, trying to mask the slight tremor in his voice. “You need me. And if you don’t, MI5 does. You think you can just execute me in the middle of this hellhole and walk away?”
Daragh cocked his head, his eyes glacial, devoid of any emotion beyond cold calculation. “Aye,” he murmured. “I do.”
Sebastian’s lips curled, his gaze flicking toward the side door where one of his remaining men was edging closer. The fool thought he could make a move, save his boss. Siobhan didn’t give him the chance. She raised the pistol she’d stolen, aimed, and fired. The man collapsed before he could even lift his gun, blood pooling beneath his body.
Flinching at the sound of the shot, Sebastian’s body jerked beneath Daragh’s boot. “She’s not who you thought she was is she? She’s far more lethal and intelligent than any of you will ever know.”
Sebastian let out a breathy chuckle, looking up at Siobhan as if she was still that scared girl he had once controlled. “You don’t have it in you, love. No matter how much you play at being his equal, you’ll never be like him.”
Siobhan tilted her head, considering the pathetic man beneath Daragh’s heel. “You’re right,” she said, keeping her voice steady, almost soft. “I’ll never be like him.”
Daragh met her gaze, his grip on the gun tightening, understanding exactly what she meant. She wouldn’t kill Sebastian herself because she understood that was Daragh’s right.
Sebastian had sealed his own fate the moment he put a bounty on her head. He had just been too stupid and delusional to realize it.
Daragh pressed down harder with his boot, grinding Sebastian’s ribs into the floor, forcing a choked gasp from his lips. “You made a mistake, Wolfe,” he said conversationally, his voice deceptively calm. “You thought you could own her. Thought you could use her. And then you had the balls to put a bounty on her head.”
Sebastian bared his teeth, but there was panic behind his defiance now. “You kill me, MI5 will never stop coming for her. They’ll hunt her down, and when they find her, she’ll be in a prison far worse than anything I would have put her in.”
Daragh bent down, his face inches from Sebastian’s. “You think I care about MI5? You think I haven’t spent my life dealing with men more powerful than you?” He let out a low laugh, dark and full of promise. “You’re a parasite, Wolfe. You’ve been bleeding this city for years. But tonight? It ends.”
Sebastian’s mouth opened, his throat working as if he wanted to beg. Siobhan never got to hear whatever pathetic plea he had been about to make.
Daragh pulled the trigger.
The gunshot echoed through the warehouse, reverberating against the steel walls. Sebastian’s head snapped back, a clean bullet hole between his eyes. His body slumped, lifeless, his blood seeping into the cracks of the floor.