Chapter 52
DOMINIC
We reach the warehouse before nine a.m. I’m out of the BMW before the engine dies. Rage is the only thing keeping me upright.
She’s close.
I feel it with every fibre of my being.
Frankie catches my arm before I reach the entrance. ‘You lose your head now,’ he murmurs quietly, ‘and you lose her.’
I wrench free, but I slow just enough to let him walk beside me. Behind us, my brothers fall into formation. Ciaran, then Cathal. Owen. Tristan. And even Kai, who returned with Frankie, but went straight to Mama K’s place, while Frankie came to ours.
The whole fucking family shouldered together forming a united front.
Cruz won’t be expecting Frankie. It’s given us an edge.
We’re all armed. Pistols. Knives. Bulletproof vests beneath our suits.
We stalk inside the warehouse like one single military unit.
I’ve been here a hundred times before—shipments, deals, quiet meetings that never officially happened.
I know the place like the back of my hand.
My shoes thwack off the concrete floor to where Santiago Cruz waits in the centre of the warehouse. His men are spread around him, each of them armed with glocks. And his fucking sister.
He smiles as we approach—warm. Friendly even. Like he hasn’t got my wife tied up somewhere in this building. But I don’t miss the way his eyes dart to Frankie. A flicker of surprise registers but he blinks it away.
‘Dominic,’ he says smoothly. ‘Good of you to come so swiftly.’
My jaw tightens. ‘Where is my wife?’
‘Straight to business,’ he sighs, eyeing each of us in turn. ‘I respect that.’
Frankie steps slightly forward beside me. ‘You kidnapped a Kincaid,’ Frankie says calmly. ‘You’re lucky we’re talking at all.’
Cruz shrugs lightly. ‘If Dominic had agreed to push the heroin for us,’ he says, ‘we wouldn’t have needed to involve Mr Kavanagh. You wouldn’t have stolen my stock. And your wife wouldn’t be cooped up in a cosy container with one of my men.’
Rage ripples through my chest. ‘I made our stance on heroin crystal fucking clear,’ I spit.
‘Which is why I had no choice but to go behind your back and partner with Kavanagh,’ Cruz says casually. ‘The women were his contribution. A lucrative sweetener.’
My fists clench. ‘I want to see my wife. Now.’
Cruz gestures lazily across the warehouse to a metal container. My blood boils to molten lava in my veins. ‘You’ll get her,’ he says. ‘When I get my merchandise.’
Ciaran nudges the crate forward with his boot. Inside are bricks wrapped in identical packaging to the heroin we destroyed.
Cruz nods at two of his men. ‘Check it.’
I eye the container where they’re holding Aoife while they walk forward cautiously and pry the crate open. One of the men slices open a brick, and pale beige powder spills out.
For half a second, everything holds. Then the man dips a finger into the powder and rubs it between his fingers. His eyes narrow and he twists to Cruz. ‘It’s—’
The gunshot cracks before he finishes the word.
Frankie fired—exactly the way we planned it.
The man drops instantly and chaos detonates.
Gunfire explodes across the warehouse. Men dive for cover.
Ciaran unloads his pistol into the second Colombian before he can raise his rifle.
Cathal drags me behind a steel pillar as bullets rip through the crate where I was standing.
‘The container!’ I bark. Two of the Colombians sprint toward it. They don’t make it halfway. Owen drops one. Kai takes the other as I run. Another gunshot cracks behind me. Then another. Cruz shouts something in Spanish. I reach the container and rip the door open.
Inside, a guard spins toward me and points his weapon—he’s too slow. I don’t hesitate. He never stood a chance. Not when he is the only man left standing between me and my wife. I pull the trigger and he drops to the floor.
Then I see her, barefoot and bleeding, hands bound behind her back.
But she’s alive.
My chest finally unlocks. I feel like I can breathe for the first time in twelve hours.
‘Dom—’
I cross the container in two strides, pluck a knife from my pocket and cut the ties at her wrists.
She throws herself into my arms. I wrap them tightly around her, breathing in the scent of her hair, her skin, and squeezing her against my chest.
‘You’re okay,’ I murmur into her hair. ‘I’ve got you,’ I tell her, like I have done a hundred times before.
Her fingers clutch my shirt like she’s afraid I’ll disappear.
Gunfire echoes through the warehouse outside. I press my forehead to hers. ‘We need to get out of here.’ She nods quickly, still shaking. I grab her hand and pull her with me out of the container.
The warehouse is complete chaos. Smoke curls through the air from somewhere deeper in the building. The sharp crack of gunfire ricochets off the steel walls as my brothers exchange fire with the Colombians.
Frankie stands near the entrance, calm as ever, pistol raised. A Colombian bursts from behind a stack of pallets. Frankie drops him with a single shot.
‘Dominic!’ he barks. ‘Move!’
I drag Aoife across the concrete floor, keeping my body between her and the gunfire.
‘Stay behind me,’ I tell her. Her fingers tighten in my shirt.
We’re halfway to the door when another shot rings out behind us.
Ciaran. He stands near the crate, reloading calmly while Cathal covers him. Two more Colombians are already down.
A third bolts for the side exit. Kai appears from nowhere and slams him into the wall before finishing the job. ‘Clear!’ he shouts.
Frankie nods once. ‘Out. Now. The place is about to blow.’
I shove the warehouse door open and pull Aoife out into the sunshine, across the yard, and shove her behind one of the BMWs. ‘Stay here,’ I demand.
‘Don’t leave me,’ she begs, clinging on to my hand. Her voice cracks with raw fear. Sirens scream in the distance, closing in with every passing second.
We need to clean this shit up. It’s imperative we leave zero evidence that we were here. The cops can’t be left with anything concrete to link us to the Colombians. There are enough bodies in there to put the entire Syndicate behind bars for life.
Smoke pours from the open doors as flames begin licking up the steel walls, but it’s nowhere near quick enough to set an explosion.
The gunfire inside dies away one shot at a time until only the crackle of burning fuel fills the air.
Owen and Tristan rush towards us with Frankie at their heels.
Kai appears from nowhere and sprints past us toward a forklift parked near the entrance.
‘What are you doing?’ I snap.
He doesn’t slow. ‘Cleaning up.’ He yanks open a fuel drum and kicks it hard, spilling petrol across the concrete and under the warehouse door. Then he pulls a lighter from his trouser pocket, flicks and tosses it inside.
Flames roar instantly. A deep boom rips through the building as the fire catches inside.
Glass explodes outward, and the warehouse begins to burn.
Smoke pours from the roof. Cruz’s sister darts from the building.
The bitch needs to die. We don’t hurt women, but this one came for mine. That can’t go unpunished.
Ciaran and I exchange a look. He’s contemplating taking her out. It’s etched into every line of his, but he doesn’t pull the trigger.
She uses his hesitation to fire at him.
He must have anticipated because he darts to the left.
Frankie pushes us toward the cars. ‘Move!’
Something else catches my eye, crawling out of the warehouse doorway. A body dragging itself across the gravel. Cruz. The slippery cunt. He’s soaked in blood but still alive, clawing his way toward a fallen pistol a few feet away.
I can’t leave him alive.
Not after what he’s done.
Not when he’ll come for us again.
My stomach drops as his fingers scramble for it in slow motion, close around the handle. I point my own pistol. A shot cracks through the air a split second before I can pull the trigger.
Ciaran stands in front of the warehouse.
Cruz’s body jerks, his head cracking off the concrete before he goes limp.
Blue lights flash at the end of the road. Police.
‘Shit,’ Owen mutters.
Frankie grabs my shoulder. ‘Get her in the car.’
I pull Aoife against me, guiding her toward the BMW. But when I look back—Ciaran isn’t moving. He stands in the middle of the car park. Gun still in his hand. Cruz’s body lies motionless at his feet.
Police cars roar into the yard seconds later. Uniformed police officers hop out of the car. ‘ARMED POLICE! DROP THE WEAPON!’
I take a step forward.
‘Ciaran—’
Frankie grabs me hard. ‘Dominic. We have to leave him. He knew what he was doing. He did it for you.’
Ciaran’s eyes meet mine. ‘Go,’ he mouths, lowering the gun, then placing it at his feet.
I shove Aoife into the back seat of the BMW and hop in behind her. Frankie takes the passenger seat. Cathal drives. Tristan, Owen, and Kai hop into the second vehicle and speed off.
I watch helplessly out the back window as Police swarm him moments later. Cuffs snap around his wrists as the warehouse burns behind him.
Aoife’s clammy hand slips into mine.
But all I can see is my brother standing in the flashing blue lights.