Chapter 11 #2
Something dark and protective surged through me.
I remembered Aoife not just as the enemy, but as I'd first seen her two years ago at her father’s charity gala—simply a woman, her eyes meeting mine in a crowded ballroom, the electricity between us immediate and undeniable.
So much, we’d slipped away and given in to a desire that shook us to the core.
It had shaken me at least, and for those few hours, we created a world that fit just the two of us, consumed as we were by a connection that defied explanation.
That woman was still there, deep inside her. That connection we had couldn’t be severed.
"We have orders," I said firmly. "Beatrice wants her intact."
"Just a little fun," Mason insisted, his grip on Aoife tightening. "She's insignificant, after all."
I wanted to bash his head against a tree trunk for speaking out of turn, then cut his tongue out and feed it to him, but I would play this fucking game and get us out of here.
After this was over, I would speak to Coyne about the security which obviously wasn’t up to par, updated or not.
Someone had clearly overridden it with surprising ease.
Maybe they’d also timed it to a day when the staff would be off premises. Another mental note to check for bugs.
When Mason squeezed Aoife's face, I caught her wince in pain. I’d taken about as much as I could. My patience had been stretched to the limit.
"That's enough," I growled in warning.
Mason froze, then slowly turned to face me. "What did you say?"
"I said that's enough," I repeated, my hand moving instinctively toward the knife in my vest.
Mason stared at me for a long moment. "Since when does south team care about handling the merchandise?" he asked slowly. Then his eyes narrowed when I didn’t budge. "Wait a minute..."
In one swift motion, the bastard lunged forward and made a grab at my mask. I tried to dodge, but his fingers caught the edge of it and tore it off my face. I cursed out loud for I had let my anger get the better of me and I’d lowered my guard.
Time seemed to freeze as recognition dawned in Mason's eyes.
"You—" he began, reaching for his radio. "All units, it's—"
The butt of the rifle I carried connected with Mason's jaw before he could finish the transmission.
Mason staggered back but recovered quickly, tackling me to the ground and expertly disarming me of the rifle and also the Glock.
Dammit. We rolled in the dirt and soil, wrestling for dominance farther away from both weapons.
From the corner of my eye as I blocked a punch from Mason, I noticed Aoife working her wrists free from the loose bindings.
My opponent was good, a pro, but crossing me was a mistake.
A memory flashed through my mind—Ronan pummelling one of the twins who had laid hands on Cressida during our first and—so far—only hunt on these very grounds.
Those times seemed so very long ago for Ronan and Cressida were now playing house as if nothing had ever happened, and peace was restored among the Flanagans because family was family.
The same cold fury that had taken him over, making him see red when Cressida was in danger, gripped me now.
I managed to get on top of Mason, landing blow after blow.
Who needed a gun when I had these fists?
I would reduce him to a pulp, and none of his comrades would recognise the remains.
"I'm going to reach inside you and tear your heart out!
" I snarled, barely recognizing my own voice. “For touching what’s mine.”
For a while, not sure how long, it was like I was watching myself from afar. Mason's blood spattered across my knuckles as the man screamed into the night air.
That sound, coupled with the bastard’s interrupted transmission, drew the team’s attention. The radio in my ear suddenly erupted with voices: "Mason? Report!" "What's your position?" "Anyone else hear? All units converge on Mason's last known location!"
From far away, Aoife’s voice finally broke through the haze, urgently calling my name, begging me to stop.
I heard them before I saw them—boots pounding on the ground, approaching fast from multiple directions.
"Run!" I finally shouted to Aoife, who was watching in horror.
She hesitated only a moment before bolting toward the tree line. I scrambled to my feet, preparing to follow…
But I was too late. Three mercenaries burst into the clearing, weapons raised. The first tackle brought me crashing down. I fought viciously, managing to throw off one attacker, but the other two overwhelmed me. To be honest, I let them to give Aoife a head start.
A fist connected with my temple, dazing me. Through blurred vision, I saw more hunters go in the direction Aoife had gone and drag her back. Fuck. She fought like a wildcat, but one of them bested her, bringing a knife to her throat and finally subduing her.
"Alex!" she cried out as they subdued her. My name on her lips…
My last clear thought before another blow landed was that I had failed her again.
I regained consciousness in stages. First came sound—the creak of old wood, the distant cry of a night bird, the murmur of voices. Then sensation—my arms pulled tight behind me, binding me to a chair, the throb of pain where I'd been struck.
Finally, my vision cleared, and I took in my surroundings. We were in a barn—the same one where the twins had taken Cressida during that fateful hunting game I’d taken part in. The irony wasn't lost on me.
Across the spacious interior, Aoife hung suspended from chains that dangled from the ceiling, her feet barely touching the ground. My face felt caked with dirt and I tasted copper in my mouth, blood from a split lip, but her eyes—when they met mine—still burned with defiance.
Three men stood around us, masks removed now that their prey was secured. I recognised none of them, but their stances and builds suggested military backgrounds. These weren't amateurs playing a game; they were professionals.
"Look who's awake," said the tallest of the three, noticing my consciousness returning. "Thought we might have hit you too hard."
"What a shame that would have been," another added with a cruel smile.
The third stepped toward Aoife, circling her like a shark. "Boss lady said to keep you both alive until she arrives," he noted, his voice deceptively casual. "Didn't specify much beyond that." Another piece of shit like Mason.
I subtly tested my bonds. The cable ties bit into my wrists, offering no give. The chair was bolted to the floor. I looked around, taking in my surroundings, recording every detail.
"Leave her alone," I said, my voice hoarse.
The men laughed.
"Or what?" asked the tall one, coming to stand in front of me. "You'll glare us to death?"
I met his gaze steadily. "Have you been to the cottage by the way? When I get free—and I will get free—I'm going to make what happened to your friends seem like a caress."
The hunter's smile faltered slightly before he regained his composure. "Big talk from a man tied to a chair."
Turning, he joined his companion near Aoife.
"Pretty little thing, isn't she?" he commented, reaching out to slide a finger down her face. She flinched. "Kinda hot up close, if one likes small titties." His gaze fell to her chest, as if gauging the size through her sports bra.
Aoife spat in his face.
The man wiped the spittle away, then backhanded her across the face. Blood trickled from the corner of her mouth, where her split lip was now bleeding worse.
I seethed, burned with rage.
A primal emotion roared to life within my very bones. Again, despite everything—despite knowing who Aoife was and the fact she was up to no good by trespassing on this property—seeing her in pain awakened something visceral inside me.
I hated the sight of her now, fighting back tears, refusing to show fear even as the sorry excuses for men circled her like vultures.
"I will have your head for this," Alexander warned, trying to draw their attention back to him. "Or maybe Beatrice O’Brien will take care of that. She wants us alive, remember? She won’t take kindly to insubordination."
The tallest one turned back to him with a chuckle. "Alive doesn't mean untouched. And like this bitch here, she’s just a woman, no matter who she is."
“Seems you have never had a run-in with the O’Briens or the Flanagans, you fool,” I mocked.
One of the others approached me with a syringe in hand. What the fuck … really?
"What is that?" I demanded, struggling against my restraints.
"Just a little something to keep you compliant," the man replied, jabbing the needle into my upper arm. Shit. "Boss lady wants her prey docile when she arrives."
The effect was almost immediate. A wave of heaviness swept through my limbs, dulling my senses. I fought savagely against the feeling, desperately trying to remain alert.
"Aoife," I managed to say, my words slurring. "Stay... strong."
Her eyes met mine across the space and in that moment, something unspoken passed between us. A promise. An understanding that transcended our tangled history. I wasn’t even mad at her anymore for what she did, although she still had to answer for it.
And I’d punish her accordingly…
If I wasn’t losing my grip on reality, my cock would be hard at the thought.
As darkness crept in from the edges of my vision, I clung to that fantasy like a lifeline. But in the end, it couldn’t beat the numbness that spread through me.
Fucking hell, how many times would I get knocked out cold just tonight? This was getting tedious.
My last thought before consciousness slipped away was a vow—that somehow, some way, I would get us both out of this alive.
I’d cut these bastards to pieces.
And then I’d make sure Beatrice would never again be a problem for any of us.