Chapter 31
Connor
He sat there, his hands folded neatly on the desk before him, a laptop sitting off to the side.
“Amelia,”
he said, his voice cultured and controlled. “How disappointing to find you in such... compromised company.”
The operatives had their weapons trained on us but hadn’t fired—waiting for Matheson’s command. I kept my gun steady, aiming at the closest threat while keeping Matheson in my peripheral vision.
“It’s over, Matheson,”
Mia said, her voice cold and steady. “Call off your men.”
He smiled thinly. “I think not. You seem to have miscalculated the situation rather severely.”
He gestured toward a laptop open on the desk beside him. “Would you like to see your sister? She’s quite comfortable for now.”
The screen showed a live feed of a woman—Lily, I presumed—sitting at what appeared to be a classroom desk, grading papers. She seemed completely unaware of the surveillance or the danger.
“She has approximately,”
Matheson checked his watch with exaggerated care, “twenty minutes to live. Unless, of course, you complete your original assignment.”
Mia’s expression didn’t change, but I felt rather than saw the tension ripple through her. “You’re lying,”
she said flatly. “Your men never made it to Vancouver.”
A flicker of surprise crossed Matheson’s face before he masked it. “A bluff, Amelia? How disappointing. I trained you better than that.”
“No bluff,”
I said, keeping my voice steady. “Your men were intercepted. Lily is under our protection now.”
Matheson’s eyes narrowed as he studied me. “The younger MacGallan brother. Connor, isn’t it? I’ve heard so much about you.”
His gaze shifted between us. “How touching that you’ve developed feelings for one another, especially your assassin. Though I must say, it’s a rather cliché way for her to fail her mission.”
“The only one failing here is you,”
Mia replied, taking a step forward. “Your operation is falling apart downstairs. Your men are dying for nothing.”
“For nothing?”
Matheson laughed softly. “Hardly. Tomas MacGallan’s black book contains enough sensitive information to bring down half the power structure in the country. With it, I’ll have leverage over ministers, judges, intelligence officials—the government.” His smile turned predatory. “Worth a few expendable assets, wouldn’t you say?”
As he spoke, I noticed Mia shifting slightly to my left, creating a better angle for herself. I maintained my position, keeping the guards’ attention while she maneuvered.
“You won’t find what you’re looking for,”
I said, drawing Matheson’s focus to me. “Even if you kill every person in this house.”
Matheson leaned back in his chair, unperturbed. “Oh? And why is that Mr. MacGallan?”
“Because the black book isn’t here,”
I bluffed, buying time as Mia continued her subtle repositioning. “It was moved yesterday. As soon as we learned of your attack.”
A flicker of doubt crossed Matheson’s face. “You’re lying.”
“Am I?”
I challenged. “You’ve underestimated us from the beginning. You sent one assassin—” I nodded toward Mia “—to eliminate the leadership of a clan that has survived for centuries. Did you really think we wouldn’t have a back up plan?”
One of the guards shifted nervously, his eyes darting to Matheson for reassurance. That momentary lapse in attention was all Mia needed.
She moved with lightning speed, firing twice in rapid succession. Two guards dropped before the others could react. I took advantage of the chaos, diving behind a bookshelf as the remaining guards opened fire.
Wood splintered around me as bullets tore through the antique shelving. I rolled to a better position, returning fire and catching the third guard in the shoulder. He staggered but remained standing, swinging his weapon toward me.
Mia was already moving, launching herself across the desk at Matheson, who had pulled a handgun from a drawer. They grappled briefly before tumbling to the floor behind the desk, out of my line of sight.
The wounded guard and his remaining companion split their attention—one focusing on me, the other moving toward where Mia and Matheson had disappeared. I couldn’t let him reach her.
I emerged from cover, firing three rounds that caught the approaching guard in the center of his chest. He collapsed, gun clattering to the floor. The wounded guard turned toward me, but his injury had slowed his reactions. I put him down with a clean headshot.
“Mia!”
I called, moving quickly toward the desk.
A shot rang out from behind it, followed by a pained grunt. My heart seized as I rounded the corner, weapon raised.
Mia was pinned beneath Matheson, his larger frame using weight as leverage. His right hand gripped a letter opener, pressing it toward her throat while his left restrained her gun hand. Blood stained his left side where she’d managed to wound him, but the injury hadn’t incapacitated him.
“Drop your weapon,”
Matheson snarled, pressing the improvised blade closer to Mia’s neck. “Or I’ll open her throat.”
I kept my gun trained on him, looking for a clean shot, but they were too entangled—any shot risked hitting Mia.
“Let her go,”
I said, keeping my voice steady despite the fear clawing at my chest. “It’s over, Matheson. Your men are dead or retreating. There’s no way out for you.”
“There’s always a way out,”
he replied, a cold smile twisting his features. “And she’s going to provide it.” His eyes, calculating and merciless, fixed on mine. “You care for her, don’t you? How quaint. The assassin and her target, falling in love.”
Mia’s eyes met mine, and I saw something there—not fear, but determination. She gave me the smallest nod, a signal I understood immediately.
Trust me.
“You’re right,”
I said, slowly lowering my weapon. “I do care for her. Which is why I can’t let you leave with her.” And then I did something that made Matheson’s eyes widen in surprise—I smiled. “But she doesn’t need my protection.”
In that moment of confusion, Mia struck. Her left hand, which had been pinned beneath her, emerged holding a small blade—one she must have concealed on her person. She drove it upward with brutal efficiency, burying it to the hilt in Matheson’s throat.
His eyes bulged as blood spurted from the wound. The letter opener clattered to the floor as his hands reflexively went to his neck, trying futilely to stem the flow. Mia heaved him off her, rolling away as he collapsed, making wet, choking sounds.
I rushed to her side, helping her to her feet. “Are you okay?”
She nodded, her eyes never leaving Matheson as he writhed on the floor, life draining from him with each heartbeat. “I’m fine.”
Matheson’s mouth worked silently, blood bubbling between his lips as he tried to speak. His hand stretched toward the desk, reaching for something—the laptop, I realized. With his final strength, he managed to press a key before his arm fell limply to his side.
The screen flashed once, then went black.
“What did he do?”
I asked, moving quickly to the computer.
“Fail-safe protocol,”
Mia said, her voice tight. “He’s activated something remotely.”
“How? We had eyes on the house at all times!”
“The men. They would be strapped with explosives.”
Just as the words slipped past her lips, the building shook with a massive explosion from below. The floor trembled beneath our feet as the sound of secondary blasts echoed through the house.
“Is he fucking nuts? Killing his own men!”
“He doesn’t care. He’s scuttling the operation,”
Mia realized, horror dawning on her face. “Destroying evidence—and witnesses.”
“Declan. Rory. Wren. Kat.”
Their names fell from my lips like a prayer as I turned toward the door. “We need to get to them. Now.”
We raced from the library, leaving Matheson’s cooling body behind. The hallway was filling with smoke, and I could hear the ominous crackle of flames from below. The heat was already becoming oppressive as we sprinted toward the main staircase, only to find it engulfed in flames.
“Servant’s stairs,”
Mia shouted over the roar of the fire, tugging me in the opposite direction.
We ran through thickening smoke, covering our mouths with our sleeves. The service stairwell was still passable, though smoke billowed up from below. We descended quickly, emerging into chaos.
The central hallway was a battleground—not just against Matheson’s remaining forces but against the spreading fire. I spotted Rory directing clan members who were helping the wounded toward the exit.
“Rory!”
I called, rushing to him. “What happened?”
“Explosions,”
he coughed, his face streaked with soot. “All over the house. These bastards were ready to sacrifice their own people.”
“Declan? Wren?”
I demanded, gripping his shoulder.
“Declan and Kat were in the study when it blew,”
he replied, his expression grim. “I’m heading there now. Wren’s still in the panic room—it’s reinforced, she should be safe, but we need to get her out before the structure fails.”
I turned to Mia. “Get to the panic room. Get Wren out.”
She nodded, determination flashing in her eyes. “What about you?”
“I’m going with Rory to find Declan,”
I replied, already moving. “Meet us at the east exit.”
“Connor,”
she called, catching my arm. For a heartbeat, we stood suspended in the chaos, eyes locked. “Be careful.”
I brushed my lips against hers, quick but fierce. “You too.”
We separated, each with our mission. Rory and I fought our way toward the study, navigating through burning debris and collapsing sections of ceiling. The air grew hotter, thicker with smoke that burned our lungs and stung our eyes.
The study door was partially blocked by a fallen beam. Together, Rory and I managed to shift it enough to create an opening. Inside, the scene was devastating. The explosion had torn through the room, scattering books and furniture like kindling. Part of the ceiling had collapsed, and flames licked at the exposed beams above.
“Declan!”
I shouted, scanning the wreckage. “Declan, answer me!”