36. Cormac
Chapter Thirty-Six
CORMAC
“Fiona!”
An arm hooks around my chest, crushing the breath from my lungs, while another slams into my shoulders hard enough to knock me sideways.
The impact jars my teeth together, and white-hot rage explodes through me as I watch Fiona get dragged deeper into the sea of inmates storming the corridor.
Someone shouts something over the speaker system, but the thunder of blood in my ears is too loud for me to catch it.
“Let me go!” It isn’t a request. It’s a command ripped straight from instinct.
I don’t care where I am. I don’t care who’s touching me. I don’t care what the consequences are.
Because Fiona is gone.
My eyes lock onto her, my chest cracking at the sight of the sheer panic in her eyes.
Every step she’s pulled away from me feels like a blade driven deeper into my chest. But before I can yell out her name, her blonde hair flashes once over a guard’s shoulder before she disappears from sight.
“FIONA!” I roar.
Something feral claws its way up my throat, and I lash out, elbowing the guard behind me, but he doesn’t even flinch.
I continue to swing blindly at anything within reach, hoping that I’ll connect with something that will have him release his iron grip.
“Calm the fuck down!” he barks in my ear.
I don’t.
I can’t.
Calm is a luxury for people who haven’t just watched the woman they love get ripped out of their arms inside a high-security prison full of men who make Adrian Smirnov look like a Care Bear.
I twist and finally land a punch that connects with the guard's ribs.
There’s a grunt, but it only earns me a brutal shove into the wall.
Concrete slams into my spine, and I rebound off it, swinging again, my teeth bared, and my vision tunneling.
I will tear this place apart if I have to, and I won’t stop until Fiona is safely back in my arms.
Another guard intercepts me mid-strike, wrenching my arms back with practiced efficiency. “Enough!”
I’m shoved through a metal door so hard my shoulder clips the frame, and I groan.
The door slams shut behind me with a deafening clang that rattles my skull, and before I can regain my footing, I’m forced into a chair by two men, my wrists slammed down and cuffed to the metal arms.
The click of the restraints is final, almost mocking.
My chest heaves, my breathing coming fast and ragged.
I thrash against the cuffs, the metal biting into my skin as adrenaline surges uselessly through my veins.
“Get me Fiona,” I growl.
The guards ignore me. They seem too preoccupied with what’s going on outside the door to pay me much attention, which only pisses me off more.
I can hear shouting outside over the sound of the alarm blaring.
My hands jerk against the restraints again, pain flaring up my arms, but I don’t stop. I won’t stop.
She’s out there, alone, and I’m stuck here, trapped and completely useless.
“I suggest you uncuff me.”
“Or what?” one of the guards asks, his mouth twitching as his hand hovers near a baton hanging from his belt.
“Trust me, you’re not going to want to know the answer—”
Suddenly, the door flies open, and my head snaps to the side.
For a split second, I half-expect to see Lorcan in the doorway. This has him written all over it. But instead, I’m met with someone else. Someone I’m not sure is going to let me walk out of here alive.
Freddy.
Prison has stripped him down so that he barely resembles the man in the mugshot.
He’s thinner now, his frame all sharp angles beneath the orange jumpsuit, like the weight has been carved off him rather than lost. His cheeks are hollow, and his skin is almost gray under the harsh fluorescent lights, and there are shadows under his eyes that no amount of sleep could fix.
They make him look older than someone in their mid-to-late twenties has any right to look.
His dark hair is cropped short and uneven in places, like it was hacked away without much care, and there’s a faint scar cutting through his eyebrow that isn’t in any of the photos I’ve seen.
The rage hits me all at once.
“You have got to be fucking kidding me,” I spit.
I surge forward, only for the cuffs binding my wrists to bite into my skin hard enough to draw blood.
Pain flares, hot and blinding, but it barely registers through the roar in my head at the sight of Fiona’s ex-boyfriend.
I bare my teeth. “I swear to God, if you lay a single fucking hand on Fiona—”
Freddy holds his hands up. “Cormac, calm down.”
“Calm down?” I roar, the sound ripping out of my chest. “I should have known something like this would happen. I never should have brought her here.”
“Fiona is perfectly safe.” Freddy jerks his head at the guards to leave.
I bark out a laugh. “As she’s sucked into a riot at a high-security prison with men who will do a lot worse than kill her? Fuck, you’re dumber than I thought.”
Freddy doesn’t rise to it. He doesn’t even flinch.
The door clicks shut behind the guards.
“The sooner you stop throwing around insults, the sooner we can talk.”
“Talk,” I scoff, straining against the cuffs again.
The metal scrapes my skin, and my hands are already slick with sweat and blood. “You think I want to have a conversation with you while Fiona is caught in the middle of a riot?”
He leans back against the wall and folds his arms over his chest. “That’s exactly why you came here, isn’t it? To talk?”
The calm tone of his voice feels off, considering what is going on outside this room.
And then it clicks as a cold realization washes over me.
“You did this. You orchestrated the riot.”
Freddy exhales through his nose as he presses his lips together. “I had to talk to you.”
“Who the fuck does that?” I thrash against the restraints again, and my wrists scream in protest. “Do you have any idea what you just put Fiona through?”
And for the first time, there’s something like regret in his eyes. “I do. Which is why she’s locked in a secure room with guards on the door. None of the inmates will get anywhere near her.”
“That’s supposed to make me feel better? I’m pretty sure prison guards tend to lack a certain moral compass.”
“Would you rather I let her wander around unsupervised? Believe me, this way is better. It means we can talk without interruptions. Trust me.”
I sneer. “Trust you?”
“I know how it looks, but Lorcan forced my hand.”
My jaw tightens at the name. “I suggest you better start talking.”
Freddy studies me for a long moment, his head tilting slightly to the side. “You don’t scare easily.”
I bare my teeth. “You’d be surprised.”
A faint, humorless smile tugs at the corners of his mouth.
“Lorcan’s always been patient. That’s what makes him dangerous. He waits until people get comfortable, until they start believing the silence means safety, and that’s exactly what he’s doing now. He’s letting you think he’s disappeared long enough for you to lower your guard.”
“We haven’t.”
Freddy lifts a brow. “You willingly brought Fiona into a high-security prison.”
The words land harder than I expect.
I yank against the cuffs again, the metal biting into my wrists. “Watch your fucking mouth.”
“I’m not judging. I’m stating facts. Lorcan studies patterns, and he knows you protect what you love. He knows exactly how far you’ll go for her.”
My blood runs cold.
“What are you saying?”
“I’m saying he’s building pressure. He wants you reacting, not thinking.”
I growl. “You think I’m fucking reacting?”
“I think you’re holding it together by sheer force of will,” he says evenly. “And Lorcan is betting on how long that lasts.”
I lean back in the chair, the metal cold against my spine. “So what? This was your way of warning me? Start a riot, nearly get Fiona trampled, and pass along a message?”
“I needed your attention. And I needed you alone.”
“You could have sent word.”
“And risk Lorcan intercepting it?” He shakes his head. “No. He has eyes everywhere. This was the only place I knew he couldn’t listen in real time.”
“You assume a lot.”
“I survive by doing exactly that.”
There’s a beat of silence, broken only by distant shouting in the corridors.
“Lorcan is planning on targeting Brennan’s international network,” Freddy explains.
“He plans on destroying it. And if he's successful, Brennan’s operations will collapse, leaving every one of his contacts vulnerable. Your entire family will also be vulnerable to their enemies and will likely be killed by them. Something Lorcan has no doubt already considered.”
“Fuck.”
“He wants to tear down the entire structure your father built.”
My gaze snaps back to him.
“What do you know about my father?”
“I know enough. Lorcan believes your father betrayed him, cut him out, and left him exposed. Everything Lorcan’s done since has been about correcting that imbalance.”
“And killing him was part of that?”
“Yes, but it wasn’t the end goal. It was the opening move.”
My hands curl into fists despite the restraints. “You think he wants to replace my father?”
“I think he wants to erase him,” Freddy replies. “And everything tied to him. Including you.”
The words settle heavy in my chest.
I frown. “You’re still not answering the important question. Why bother helping us?”
Freddy exhales slowly, his shoulders sagging just a fraction.
“Because Lorcan doesn’t win. Not this time.”
“How do I know you’re not feeding me bullshit to buy yourself leverage?”
Freddy’s eyes sharpen. “Because I’ve already paid for backing the wrong man once, and prison has a way of clarifying your priorities.”
“What else do you know?”
“I’ve told you everything I can safely disclose. If I find out more, I’ll make sure the information gets back to you,” he says before knocking on the door.
It swings open, and my pulse spikes as the two guards step back inside.
I watch as something like regret flickers across Freddy’s face.
I frown. “So, what now?”
“You pretend this conversation never happened. You were caught up in the riot and separated from Fiona, and that’s it.”
“Fine. So let me go.”
“I will, after I make sure you look convincing.”
“Convincing?” I ask, confused.
“I’m sorry, Cormac.”
“Sorry for what?”
I don’t get an answer.
The first blow crashes into my ribs, driving the air from my lungs.
Pain detonates through my side, but before I can gasp, another strike lands across my jaw, my head snapping sideways as white light explodes behind my eyes.
I roar, the sound tearing my throat raw.
The guards don’t rush it. They take their time, making sure each hit lands with bone-deep precision, calculated to bruise, to swell, to leave marks that will tell a convincing story.
My body jerks against the restraints, the metal biting into already-raw skin.
Blood fills my mouth, and my ears ring, the world narrowing to nothing but pain.
But through the haze, I see Freddy watching.
Finally, the hits stop, and I slump forward in the chair, my chest burning and my limbs shaking uncontrollably as the adrenaline drains away and leaves only exhaustion behind.
Every inch of me aches, and my face throbs in time with my pulse.
Freddy turns to leave. “They’ll let you out when it’s safe.”
I don’t respond.
As the door closes behind him, I keep my head bowed and watch as the blood from my lip drips onto the floor.
My body might be wrecked, but my fury is intact. And when this is over, someone is going to pay.