Chapter 2
Swaddled in thick, silky material that obscured any light and limited oxygen, Ireland Vidal struggled for every labored breath.
Her tongue was thick and so dry it stuck to the roof of her mouth.
Her heart pounded inside her squeezed ribcage, blood roaring through her veins until she feared passing out.
Death metal blasted from the door speaker by her head, disorienting and disturbing in its rage and chaos.
Screams were trapped in her throat, echoing the shrieking alarm in her head.
Think!
She was paralyzed by terror that held her in its unrelenting grip.
She’d been shoved headfirst into the narrow footwell between the second row and the driver’s seat.
Her arms were twisted in the odorous velvet they’d smothered her with.
Her long hair was tangled all around her, strands cutting into her skin like razors and pulling back on her neck.
Ireland struggled against instinct to find reason.
The air smelled of old food and stale cigarettes. The door panel beside her head was thumping with the pounding percussion, but the SUV didn’t seem to be moving. They’d squealed out of the circular driveway in front of the Bellingham Hotel’s main entrance.
Why aren’t we moving? THINK!
It was Friday night. In summer. People would be out and about. Traffic.
Her phone, still strapped in the athletic holster on her thigh, vibrated and she shrieked, her nerves stretched so taut she feared a heart attack. The sudden jolt broke the grip of fear that immobilized her.
I can’t be far from the hotel.
Not far from Gideon. Or Dad.
Ronan.
How many others were in the SUV? One had followed her. The other had been in front. One was driving. Were there more in the third row?
Years of training…for what? She forgot to be aware. The most important rule of all.
Please God, let someone have seen what happened. Did anyone know she was missing? Would it be Monday before anyone searched for her?
No. Don’t think like that.
She usually drove home with Gideon and Eva at the end of the masquerade.
They wouldn’t just leave without her. A few more hours at most. She had to do what she could until then.
She wasn’t yet alone, and it wasn’t yet too late.
A flood of pedestrians had to be on the other side of the vehicle door, and cars surrounded them or they wouldn’t be gridlocked.
Her adrenaline surged higher as reason and instinct fused into a single goal. If you’ve got a chance, girl, the time is now.
She stretched out a leg, searching for a foothold that would give her leverage to pull herself upright enough to reach for her phone…
Someone kicked her viciously in the thigh. She cried out at the searing pain.
“Stay down!” a male voice barked.
The point of contact turned hot, then began to throb. The vehicle turned, then idled. One of the windows rolled down.
Ireland screamed at the top of her lungs, fighting to be heard over the death metal singer.
Another hard kick to the same spot had her writhing in pain, hot tears springing from her eyes.
“Shut the fuck up!”
The window closed, and they moved forward. The music volume lowered, though it was still thunderous.
“Don’t damage the goods.” The male voice came from the front passenger seat, and his tone was so easygoing, so damned unbothered, so fucking wrong, considering what they were doing to her. Ireland discovered a level of terror she hadn’t known could exist.
“Wasn’t told not to,” the other retorted, as they began turning right repeatedly, steadily climbing. Every turn threw her forward, her head hitting the door panel again and again, her shoulder wrenched by its angle in the footwell.
“She might be worth less injured.” There was something different about the smoothness of the voice, but she couldn’t grasp it.
“I don’t give a shit. She needs to stay down and keep her mouth shut. I’m not going back in for anyone. Especially not this rich bitch.” The second voice was coarser, more clipped.
Ireland bit her lip to stifle her sobs of pain. She wasn’t sure she could put weight on her leg. If she couldn’t stand on two feet, how the hell could she run?
Sweat drenched every inch of her skin, dampening her clothes.
The tires squealed as they made a sharp turn and came to an abrupt halt. The driver cut off the engine and opened his door. “Let’s move.”
The other two doors opened and closed. A nearby car beeped as its locks were disengaged.
We’re in a parking garage.
Changing cars.
And every move they made, every misdirection, put home and safety further out of reach.
Smelling her own terror, Ireland gagged as bile filled her dry mouth. It was the fear of suffocating in her own vomit that pushed her past caring what would happen when the door nearest her opened.
Wild with desperation, she kicked out for leverage.
Her stiletto heel ripped into the seat, and she launched out of the SUV into a hard, wide body.
They toppled to unforgiving cold concrete with a sickening thud.
Pain shot up her elbow, radiating like fire.
Battling through it but hindered by the suffocating velvet, Ireland’s punches and kicks lacked full power.
But her fist sank into a soft belly. Grazed a hard shoulder.
Clipped a rib. Her knee rammed between two hard legs.
“Fucking cunt!” the man shrieked, rolling them both so that her spine and head were slammed into the garage floor.
Her teeth clipped her tongue, and blood filled her mouth.
Consciousness began to spin away in a kaleidoscope of darkness and oppressive, heated air.
She tried to hold on but sank into oblivion.
Gideon was peripherally aware of the tornado of emotional chaos whipping through his office.
His brother Christopher, who stood with his palms flat on his desktop, threw out recommendations as if the security team—comprised of former special forces or intelligence agents—wasn’t best equipped to manage the situation.
But Gideon felt removed from the space, distanced by the shock of having everyone he cared for suffering at once.
The possibility that he was the reason his loved ones were in this horrific situation rocked him to the core.
Ireland. My god.
It was a struggle to remain standing still.
The drive to do something, anything, was so strong he felt maddened by it, as if he were clawing into himself to stay in his office.
All he wanted was to run after his sister, find the vehicle she was in, and rip apart the men inside it with his bare hands. His teeth. Anything.
Driven toward the edge of reason, Gideon found himself envying Boudreaux’s previous outbursts of anger and frustration because he couldn’t lose control. If he didn’t hold everything and everyone together—starting with himself—what little composure his family was holding on to would disintegrate.
Ireland. Was anyone as precious to him in quite the same way as his sister?
She was the only member of his family with whom his relationship wasn’t tainted in some way.
For a while, the age gap between them had been a distance too vast. Then, as she matured into adulthood, he’d feared ruining anything they might build between them just by being himself.
It was his wife who brought them together and made him believe he could be a worthy brother without completely fucking it up.
Damn it.
The feeling of inertia became unbearable.
And yet he knew the very best people were doing everything possible to recover his sister.
He couldn’t be there and here at once, and while he craved violence against the men who’d dared to attack his family this way, securing everyone else’s safety was what he had to do.
He wasn’t trained in tactical pursuit and recovery.
“Hey.” Eva startled him with her sudden appearance at his side.
Gideon realized he’d lost focus, something that never happened.
Being present, aware, and observant were tenets in his life.
He’d survived a sexual predator in his childhood, and from that, he’d learned to be vigilant always.
That he was so lost as to be disconnected from the situation around him made him wonder if he was up to the task ahead.
He turned to face his wife. She looked up at him with those lovely gray eyes, so stormy now with worry and fear.
He never wanted her to know a moment of distress, yet too many times he’d seen that look of apprehension on her beautiful face. And too many times, something in his life had caused her to look that way.
Unbuttoning his jacket, Eva parted the halves and slid her hand underneath to press her palm over his pounding heart. He saw determination in the set of her jaw. And in those expressive eyes reminiscent of overcast skies, he saw her love for him, warm and unwavering.
She cupped his nape and held his gaze, reading him. Connecting.
“Come here,” she said quietly, urging him against her.
He allowed her to draw him closer, bending to press his cheek to hers.
He breathed her in, so familiar and beloved.
His system recognized the feel of her body, the scent of her skin, and the pressure of her embrace as safety and comfort.
He felt some of the tension leave him, the vibrating agitation easing enough that he felt less overwhelmed.
Clutching her tightly, Gideon closed his eyes and paid attention to how she calmed him.
The feel of her fingertips sifting through his hair.
Her hand caressing his back beneath the weight of his jacket.
He wasn’t alone in whatever they faced. Eva would stand beside him always.
And if he faltered, she would help to secure his footing.