Chapter 18
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Fran
I stifle a cry as I see his name on my phone before it’s whisked away.
Tate.
The last time I messaged him, I broke up with him. He has no idea where I am or what I’ve done, and it makes me sick inside. But I had to do what it takes to not put my friends in any more danger.
Ever. Again.
I went where I was instructed. I followed every command to the letter.
I broke Tate’s heart.
I cancelled every contract with my publisher. All books had already been pulled from publication, I found out, but there’s no hope of any of them coming to print again.
This fills me with both relief and a terrible, abiding sadness I can’t even process yet.
My stomach twists with nausea as I see my friend, tied up in this book-filled warehouse. Poetic injustice, one might say. Whoever they know, they’ve managed to vacate this place so now it’s just the three of us and the lot of them.
I can barely distinguish between them as they stand in front of us, all masked.
“You son of a bitch,” Islan mutters. “You used me. You tricked me. You brought me here just so you could take advantage of my family.”
This is the one, then. The one she’s been secretly seeing in private, so her brothers didn’t lose their collective minds. I hate that she’s been taken advantage of. The arse.
My heart breaks for her. She deserves so much more than betrayal and threats. I wonder idly if she slept with him. Has he taken his betrayal that far?
A tall, muscular bloke with thick dark brown hair kneels on one knee beside her and lifts her chin between his fingers.
“You were such an easy target, love. Didn’t your father ever tell you not to trust the mob?
” He laughs mirthlessly. “Ah, that’s right.
Your family is the mob. You likely think they’re safe, then, don’t you? ”
She spits at him, and I want to tell her to stop, not to provoke him, but he only wipes his cheek and grins. He shakes his head.
Though his face is mostly covered by a mask, I don’t miss the way he stares at her, his eyes unencumbered by a shield.
“You know I love your kinky side, Izzy. Be careful what you do with that mouth of yours, darlin’, before I put it to much better use.”
Izzy? He dares to call her a nickname? I will castrate him myself, the motherfucker.
There’s something strange about the whole exchange, though. I observe both of them closely. She doesn’t seem as upset as I would have expected.
Why?
And I wonder if it’s my imagination, but his accent’s a bit off.
He rises and comes to me. “Now, here’s our little writer who started it all, hmm?
” He paces in front of me. “By now, I’d think your boyfriend—no, wait, husband—has made it to your publisher.
That was our plan, anyway. He’s a smart chap, isn’t he?
But not so smart that he didn’t know enough not to fall for the likes of you, eh? ”
He shakes his head. “Poor unsuspecting bloke.” He releases a breath. “Should’ve known better, but I suppose sometimes the fame gets to their head, doesn’t it?”
“He isn’t famous,” I whisper. “And you’re crazy. Those books are fiction. You all fancy yourselves the heroes but we only write the books because there are no real-life heroes.” It’s a flimsy excuse, and I know it, but I want to distract him.
He grins and shakes his head. “No, lassie. We know you painted us the villains.”
“What do you want from me?”
He leans back against a large box and lights up a smoke. I look around us, large “no smoking” signs plastered on every wall. It’s dangerous as fuck, in a warehouse of books.
“It’s fairly easy, darlin’, and you’re smart enough to know, aren’t you? We baited your mate because she was an easy target to the Clan.” He shrugs. “We took her sister as a little bit of insurance.” He smiles wickedly at me. “And you, we took to punish you for writing about our Clans.”
“I didn’t write about your Clans!”
These men are insane.
“Oh, but you did, didn’t you?”
“I wrote fictional books about fictional men. It’s your own pride that makes you think I wrote about you at all.”
He shakes his head. “You think we’re all that stupid, don’t you? We got ahold of your next book. Every woman and bloke in the UK knows these books by now, love, don’t they?”
I cringe.
He crouches down in front of me, takes a drag from his cigarette, and blows out the smoke in my face. I cough and sputter, and he chuckles.
“The next book painted our Captain as a fool,” he says. “Good job those didn’t go to publication. We’d have to punish you even more severely than we did.”
“Why do you think fictional books are about you?” I ask, trying to sidetrack him. He rises and jerks his head toward Islan.
“Because in the next book, the lass ends up with her secret lover, doesn’t she?”
My blood runs cold. Goddammit, she does.
Islan’s shocked eyes meet mine. “Fran,” she whispers. “You didn’t.”
“I just wanted to give you a fictional happily ever after,” I whisper.
He shakes his head. “Until you, no one even knew I was involved with Islan, did they?” He shakes his head. “Until you, my in with the Cowens was clear as fucking day. And you had to fuck it all up.”
Islan pales.
He shakes his head, tosses his cigarette to the floor, and stomps it under his foot.
“He’s here,” one of the men by the door says. I want to cry. I swallow the lump in my throat because I know exactly who’s here.
“Cowen?”
“Aye.”
Both hope and fear rise in me. Tate won’t just come barging in here… will he? Did he come alone? Will he be able to defend himself against this crew of guys who literally baited him?
Time ticks on, minute by minute. A bead of sweat trickles down my back. My mouth’s so dry I can’t swallow, and my eyes feel heavy from a night of no sleep.
Facing Tate, whatever violence that will ensue, is only the first stepping-stone. I have knowledge now that I’ve gleaned from my sources and brief observations here.
I decide to test my theory.
“Looks like Tate hasn’t come alone, has he?” I ask my captor. He turns and gives me a curious look, his body frozen.
“He has.”
“No,” I say, my tone casual. I want to throw him a curveball. “Leith’s here, too, isn’t he? Surely that wasn’t my mind playing tricks on me?”
“Leith isn’t here,” Islan says, shaking her head and giving me a look of confusion.
“He isn’t,” her captor agrees. Then his eyes dart above my head for a minute, before he looks back to me.
“You took him. I saw him with my own eyes. He’s here, and you’ll use him as bait.”
Islan stares at me, bewildered. The man in front of me doesn’t look surprised at all, but worried.
What the hell is this?
“Don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says, but it’s a blatant, bold-faced lie. Liar.
Rooms upon rooms are filled with boxes here, and we’re hidden in the very center of it all.
I feel like they’ve led Tate to a maze of sorts.
But he’s a smart bloke. Will he walk right into a hornet’s nest?
Even someone who’s a damn good fighter like him doesn’t stand a chance against however many people are here.
“Thought you said Cowen was here,” one bloke says, a large, oafish man by the door.
“I did.”
“Don’t bloody see him now, do we?”
My heart soars. Tate’s got the upper hand. He came, and already they lost him. He’s no bloody fool.
The men are preoccupied, their eyes darting around the massive warehouse, and I want to taunt them. Thought it would be easy, didn’t you, boys?
Not with my man. Never.
I feel guilty, though, so guilty. The last communication I had with Tate was telling him I had second thoughts. Did it hurt him? Did he believe me?
I know now that he wouldn’t believe what they made me tell him, that he wouldn’t fall for something as flimsy as a breakup text just after we’d married. Not after everything we’ve been through. Not after everything we are.
“Come, then, boys,” I taunt, unable to help myself. “Surely a bunch of blokes like you can take on one little measly Scot, eh?”
Islan’s lips quirk, and the men don’t even look my way.
“Fran.”
I look quickly to her, and she moves her eyes pointedly in the direction of a stack of books to her left. My heart skips in my chest when I see what she saw. Two gleaming silver box cutters. Hidden weapons, as it were.
She wriggles her chair over just a little. I’m close enough I can shove her a little further with my foot.
“Oh! There he is! At the window!” And the idiots are dumb enough to actually look there. It’s just a quick enough distraction for me to shove her even further, and my heart soars in triumph as her fingers slide over the blade. She’s Cowen Clan born and raised. She’s brave and innovative.
They pace the room as Islan quickly begins to scrape the blade against one length of rope.
Slowly, painstakingly at first, she gathers more freedom as the rope frays, moving more quickly now.
Sweat beads on her brow, and a few times she has to hide the blade in the palm of her hand when they look her way, but they are now fully preoccupied with looking for the disappearing Tate.
And then everything happens. At once.
There’s a loud crash and boom, and the boxes to the far right explode into flames.
The men at the door shoot and duck, as an entire army of men flood into the warehouse.
Islan openly cuts her bonds, her hands moving rapidly.
One rope falls to the floor. She tips her chair, catches herself on her shoulder, and manages to wriggle out of her bonds even as her hands are at my ropes, cutting me free.
Gunshots. Screams. Blood and carnage. I think the entire McCarthy Clan’s showed up for this ambush, with Tate and Keenan at the head.
The two men at the door, our guards, are quickly immobilized, and after my hands are free, I look about me in surprise.
No one’s killed. Every one of the men is bruised and bloodied, but merely incapacitated.
Keenan’s army stands guard, heavily armed and ready to fight, as Tate makes his way toward us.
They’ll bring them in for questioning. A shudder runs through me.
Then he’s here, in front of me, larger than life, reaching both of us at the same time. Islan snorts. “Go on, then. Don’t give me that ‘blood’s thicker than water’ crap. Hug your damn wife.”
He reaches for me.
“Break up with your husband, my arse,” he mutters, and before I can respond, his mouth is on mine and I’m melting into him.
“Didn’t think you’d fall for it,” I breathe, when he finally releases me. “But we have to move. There’s so much more we need to find.”
“Aye, lassie. Interpol’s been activated, thanks to the bloody betrayal, and they’re on their way here.”
Islan winces, eying her lover under Keenan’s brutal interrogation. She turns away. I hate that for her. I hate it so fucking much.
“So much to tell you, Tate,” she says.
“Not yet,” I interrupt. “Trust me, it has to wait.”
“Aye. We get you out of here first. Then we fix the damage that’s been done.” Tate’s eyes look grave, as he looks about the room.
“I don’t understand why they took you. I don’t understand what they wanted,” he says, shaking his head. Then he sighs. “But I’ll ask them soon enough.”
“Aye. You will,” I say grimly. “I’m sure Keenan will bring them to his interrogation room in his basement, and then—”
He eyes me sharply. I wince. “I know a lot more than you think I do,” I confess. “But in this case… just trust me, it’s going to come in very handy, very soon.”
He bends and kisses me.
“I trust you. Now get your pretty arse out of here before I have to throw you over my shoulder.”
That won’t be necessary.
We’ve come through one battle relatively unscathed, but we aren’t out of this yet.