47. Candy
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
CANDY
S tilettos are a bitch to run in. More than once, I nearly eat the ground in my pursuit of O’Conall. I stop at the foot of the stairs for a second to yank them off. No sooner do I have the heels in each of my hands when a person grabs me roughly from behind.
My reflexes have me elbowing them in the gut before spinning in their hold to face them, plunging one on the heels against the side of my attacker’s neck. I’m not strong enough to break skin, but the asshole lets go of me, choking as he grabs at his neck.
With my heart in my throat, I stagger away from him before turning on my bare feet to run in the other direction.
A woman screams bloody murder straight ahead, near the back of the estate. It must be Jolie. All the other women held up in the pen were being protected by our team.
I don’t think, running toward the call for help.
In my pursuit, I pass a bloated body. I look away when I see the lifeless eyes of Duffy staring back at me. I don’t have time to process how I feel about seeing the abusive pig dead with a bullet hole between his eyes. All I know is if Duffy’s body is in this area, O’Conall is sure to be close. Where O’Conall walked, Duffy followed. I pick up my pace .
Ahead of me, I spot two armed guards firing down another hallway and Jolie being held at gunpoint by O’Conall. He grips her hair tightly to control her, forcing Jolie to walk where he leads.
Thank God. She’s alive.
My hatred for the man holding her hostage mars my relief.
“ Cú Sidhe !”
His head swings my way, his murky eyes narrowing in on me. A sinister smile breaks across O’Conall’s pale face. “Leslie. Care to join me?”
My body might be as rigid as a board, but my adrenaline and feet slowly propel me forward.
“Let her go.”
O’Conall purses his lips, looking up at the ceiling like he’s deciding. His eyes return to mine, that sickening smile back on his face. “No, mo pheata . That’s not how this works. You for her. That’s the deal.”
Jolie doesn’t deserve to live under O’Conall’s cruelty. She has a bright future ahead of her, finishing nursing school so she can help others. I don’t deserve this deal either. But out of the two of us, I can endure this. I’ve lived it once and escaped. I can do it again. No amount of beatings or rapes are going to stop me from getting back to Butch and our family. Not ever.
I’m a survivor, and a damn good one. My will to survive trumps all other senses.
Oh, how fate likes to fuck with me, dealing me another shitty hand. However, this time, I will play the cards I’m dealt and either cheat or bluff for the win. Because there’s no other option if I want to return to the man I love.
In all my years of freedom, I never thought a scenario existed where I’d be willing to turn myself over to O’Conall. But here I am, padding barefoot toward my enemy without a second thought.
Opening my hands at my sides, my other stiletto slips from my grip, clattering on the marble floor. “You have me. Let her go.”
When I’m within grabbing distance, O’Conall shoves Jolie into the corridor next to us. “RUN!” he roars at her.
Like a spooked cat, the woman jumps before she takes off in a wild sprint down the corridor. O’Conall grabs me in a bruising hold around my wrist and makes a mad dash across the hallway Jolie had run down with his two guards close on our heels. I barely have time to notice Chase and Punk at the end of the hallway as Jolie comes barreling down on them. They holler for her to stop, but she runs right by them, too scared to realize they’re there to save her.
Chase runs after Jolie, while Punk follows them with his eyes from where he remains. He must catch our movements in his peripheral vision as we cross the hallway at the other end. Like he’s functioning on autopilot, Punk raises his gun to take aim. Our eyes lock for a second, enough for me to see him register what’s happening and the fear in his face.
“PUNK!” I scream, fighting hard against O’Conall’s hold.
My biker brother’s face contorts from fear into one of crazed possession. Punk charges down the corridor, gun raised and ready to shoot anyone dead. He’s frightening to see in action.
Punk gets off a shot right as we pass out of his sight, taking out one of O’Conall’s guards behind us. The guard falls to the floor, wailing in pain.
It doesn’t slow down O’Conall. If anything, it spurs him to run faster.
No. He can’t get away, and certainly not with me.
My survival instincts kick into high gear. I plant my bare feet into the marble tiles, the abrupt stop halting O’Conall’s forward trajectory. He yanks, and I lean back on my heels, my center of gravity keeping me low to the ground and impossible to move unless he wanted to pull me behind him on my ass. I was dead weight.
Baring his teeth, he grabs me low on my thighs and tosses me over his shoulder like I wasn’t a five-foot-seven woman, but a small child. It frightens me into action, pounding against O’Conall’s back, taking extra measures to hit him square in his kidneys. He grunts and curses at my punches, his hold losing purchase. Yet he keeps moving forward.
“Fuck you, you fucking sick bastard!” I rage, kicking out my legs and pounding with my fists everywhere on O’Conall.
By this point, Punk has rounded the corner and is charging toward us. O’Conall’s remaining guard fires off several shots, forcing Punk to take cover behind a pillar.
“Hold on, Candy! I’m coming!”
Punk’s words encourage me to keep fighting—to fight harder. Using my core muscles, I throw my body around on his shoulder, trying to throw off O’Conall’s balance. It works. He slows his jog.
Frustrated with my antics, O’Conall cracks me hard on my ass with the butt of his Glock.
“GAH!” I scream in pain. This fucker is only giving me a taste of the pain he’ll inflict if given the opportunity. Hell, he may use his gun to hurt me, too.
I need to be on my feet if I’m going to fight my way out of his hold.
Before I can react with another attack, a loud pop goes off, followed by shards of glass raining down on us, cutting against my exposed arms. My body bounces uncomfortably on O’Conall’s shoulder as he jumps down onto a blanket of snow. Cold wind whips around us, chilling me to the bone. The banging of the shootout fades against the howling of the harsh mountain winds.
O’Conall has shot his way out of the estate through a window. He’s one step closer to disappearing with me, disappearing from my freedom and the man who made me feel alive again.
Volatile thoughts enter my head, wishing for an avalanche to stop him from escaping or snowstorm to come on all at once, anything to stop him. Nowhere in my thoughts do I dwell on what those natural catastrophes would mean for my well-being. It doesn’t matter what happens to me as long as it takes this fucker down for good.
“But I do matter,” a small voice whispers. It takes me a moment to realize I said those words out loud .
I do matter. I matter to my biker brothers. I matter to my chosen sisters. I matter to all the lost and stolen girls of the world.
And I matter to Butch—the man who’s been my quiet protector, my empathetic supporter, my lover. My love. My everything .
No. I will not let O’Conall win. I will defend myself or go down fighting.
Releasing a warrior cry, I plant my palms on the small of O’Conall’s back and push my arms straight. My back knifes upward, forcing my body parallel with O’Conall’s. The combination of the snow-covered earth, rushing to escape, and top-heavy effect forces O’Conall to lose his balance. He trips on the uneven ground, falling to his side. I hit the hard ground with a huff—the snow being more ice packed than powder. It hurts, but I ignore the pain, scrambling on hands and knees to get away.
A heavy hand locks on to my ankle, yanking me backwards across the sharp ice crystals. My nails dig into the packed snow in my desperation to flee, clawing and grasping for purchase. It’s futile, doing nothing to slow my return into my enemy’s hands.
“NO!” I scream when O’Conall’s arm snakes around my waist, pinning my arms at my sides in his tight embrace. He lifts me off the ground, feet dangling. Again, I’m put at a disadvantage. I helplessly thrash in his arms as he moves us further away from the estate and closer to the summit.
As panic descends over me, I recall lesson twelve.
“Don’t panic,” I mouth the words. If I have a chance in hell of making it out of this mess, I need to focus my attention on my training and keep my head in the game.
Using all the tools in my arsenal from my countless hours of counseling and short stint of defensive training, I take a deep, calming breath and look inward. If I could break out of Triple’s impossible to escape hold, there’s nothing stopping me from doing the same with this piece of shit.
Pushing my fears aside, I concentrate on the now, how O’Conall has me restrained against him. He has his arms around me in a crushing hug. My back is flush to his front and my arms pinned to my sides.
Oh. I’ve practiced this. I know what to do.
My heart may beat behind my ribcage at an alarming rate, but my mind is steady as I execute my moves.
In my head, my movements are unhurried as I walk myself through the steps. Reality is anything but slow.
Firmly taking hold of O’Conall’s forearms wrapped across my arms and sternum, I promptly drop my weight and stomp with all my weight on his left foot as soon as my feet touch the ground.
O’Conall cries out a curse, but it’s only white noise. My head is only focused on the next step in this counterattack.
Pivoting on my right foot to the side, I have enough room to swing back and hit the prick in the balls with my fist. He immediately releases me, allowing me to spin away from his reach.
While he’s distracted, coughing and holding his junk, I use my left foot to kick out high, contacting O’Conall’s chest. He stumbles back, his eyes wide with shock. He’s probably never had a woman fight back like I am.
Goddamn, it feels good to knock him down.
Someone roars my name behind us, penetrating through the howl of the wind. “CANDY!”
Hope floods my system hearing that guttural, hard, raspy voice I find comfort in. Butch has come for me.