Chapter 51
AOIFE
Ijolt awake, dragging my cheek from the cold steel I’m curled against. I try to lift my hands, praying I had some sort of fucking nightmare, but I can’t.
My wrists are bound behind my back, the ties cinched so tight my fingers tingle and burn.
Every ragged breath is a struggle through the hood.
Every inhale tastes like sweat and fear.
I have no idea how long we’ve been travelling for, but it feels like hours. I must have passed out.
I feel around for something, anything to cut the ties at my wrist on but there’s nothing, not within my limited reach at least. Panic pools in my stomach, clawing at my insides like a wild beast. I cry out, scream, but it’s futile.
Where the hell are they taking me?
Where the hell is Dominic?
I force myself to concentrate on my breathing. In. Out. In. Out. The minutes tick by agonisingly slowly.
Finally, the car comes to a stop. The doors slam, and I’m torn between relief of escaping this boot and the terror of what they might to do me.
A sound cuts through the fog—boots, close, scuffing against concrete. Voices approach. My pulse accelerates immediately and my heart feels like it’s in my mouth. The boot pops open and rough hands grab me, hauling me up like I’m weightless, like I’m nothing.
My bare feet hit concrete. It’s gritty and damp, and every tiny pebble scrapes my soles as they drag me somewhere.
I stumble. Someone jerks me upright by the ties at my wrists, and pain flashes white behind my eyes.
‘Move,’ a voice says in that same accented English—flat, impatient.
I bite down on a scream, refusing to give them the satisfaction of hearing my fear.
Only the brave survive, I remind myself as they steer me forward.
Metal creaks, and I think it’s a door opening.
The ground beneath my feet feels different, dry.
We’re inside somewhere big if the echo of their voices is anything to go on.
Something hums. Strip lights maybe, or machinery idling somewhere nearby.
There’s a smell too. Not just sweat and cigarettes—something sharper.
Salt on the air, faint but present, like we’re close to the sea.
A second door squeals open, and they push me through.
The air changes again inside—stale and metallic, like a closed box that hasn’t been opened in weeks.
Rough hands shove me down, and my knees hit the floor.
Pain rockets up my legs. I swallow hard, trying to keep my breathing quiet, trying to abate the blinding panic swirling like a storm inside me.
A hand yanks the hood up and off my head.
Sharp light slashes my eyes. I blink, struggling to make out where the hell I am.
The walls are bare metal, scuffed and stained.
A single light buzzes overhead, too bright, too harsh.
The floor is ridged steel, cold through my skin.
Looks like I’m inside a shipping container.
Three men tower in front of me—and a woman.
The two in black are the men from the house.
The third is dressed in a sharp grey suit.
His expression is cold, calm, controlled.
And his eyes… they’re dead looking. The woman is elegantly dressed in a sharp, fitted suit and a cream chiffon blouse.
Her sharp eyes assess me in a way that assures me she’s every bit as lethal as the men.
It hits me then like a sledgehammer.
They’re not wearing their masks.
They have no intention of letting me out of here—ever.
The man in the suit crouches close enough that I can smell mint and smoke on his breath. He studies me with sharp, curious black eyes. ‘Mrs Kincaid,’ he drawls softly, his voice heavily accented.
My throat tightens. I turn my face away, refusing to look at him as my heart thumps double time in my chest. The man’s smile widens a fraction, like he can smell my fear.
One of the other men steps behind me and grabs my hair, forcing my head back, forcing me to look at him.
Pain blooms at my scalp. I gasp, and the man in the suit leans closer.
‘Listen carefully. When your husband arrives, you will be quiet. You will not scream. You will not attempt to run. If you do…’ He glances at the plastic canister in the corner, then back at me. ‘I will put a bullet in his head, then yours.’
My stomach churns as a new sound cuts in—engines outside. Multiple engines.
He straightens suddenly, his attention shifting towards the warehouse doors. My pulse kicks violently as the men exchange quick words in Spanish.
The one in the suit brushes invisible dust from his jacket. ‘You! Come with me,’ he says to one of the guards. Then he turns and steps out of the container, the other guard following close behind him.
The heavy metal door slams shut.
Silence crashes down around me.
The remaining guard leans against the wall near the door, rifle hanging lazily from one shoulder.
My wrists ache behind my back as I start pacing the narrow space, the ridged steel floor cold beneath my bare feet. ‘You could untie me,’ I say quietly, turning towards the guard. ‘It’s not like I can go anywhere.’
He snorts. ‘As if, princesa.’
I hold his gaze. ‘You’re scared of me?’
He laughs then, a rough, barking sound. ‘Of you?’ He shakes his head. ‘No.’ His eyes flick briefly to the door. ‘Of him.’
My chest tightens. The muffled sound of voices echoes in the distance, but they’re too low to make out what they’re saying. The air inside the container grows thick and stale, every breath echoing softly against the metal walls.
The guard pushes himself off the wall slowly and steps closer to me, lifting the rifle slightly.
Then a single gunshot splits through the silence.