CHAPTER SIXTY-SIX
Balor
R iordan storms up to Wesley first. “ On your fucking knees .”
Griffin Quinlan cracks him on the head with his Smith and Wesson.
The prick’s trembling jaw scans the room and all the guns pointed at him. Wisely, he drops his gun and lowers to the cement.
More shouting dissolves into the background as I take in Ella. My brain tries to process everything. She’s half-naked, covered in blood, both her own and from the other victim. A guy who tortured her on this table is dead on the floor with his head blown off.
All her tattoos are now a graveyard of bloodied, chewed-up skin. Her wrists are raw from the coarse ropes. Cursing, I cut her free with a knife, but I don’t know what to address next.
With her arms no longer bound, she grabs me and cries. “Balor, I’m sorry.”
“Jesus fucking Christ, for what?” I hug her so hard.
“I had no idea. About anything. All the trouble I’ve caused.”
I push my lips against hers. “You’re not trouble. You’re mine.”
I scoop her up into my arms, but she’s shivering so hard, I press her body to mine and try to warm her.
“I need a blanket!” I yell. “Get Darragh in here. Now! ”
I’m responsible for what happened to Ella. Bringing the women we love into our family’s world puts them in danger. I sat on the Wesley connection to us. I should have told Lachlan to kill him the second I figured out Ella’s abusive ex was Riordan’s informant.
After kissing her, I draw our eyes together. “Listen carefully, Petra did not answer my phone. I was nowhere near her.”
I debate telling Ella that her father set me up, too. Connor Quinlan has him in his car out front. My eyes will never unsee how my psycho brother, Lachlan, dropped onto Snow’s hood and got him to pull over. My heart was pounding out of my chest, and all I could think was one wrong move, and we are breaking Katya and Ma’s hearts.
“I should have known that call was fake or staged.” Ella shakes her head. “I was stupid and upset.”
“No. That’s a sophisticated ghosting trick. No regular person would—”
“Are you calling me regular?” The humor in her voice eases the tension as tears gush from my eyes.
I lower her into a nearby chair and kneel in front of her as Darragh rushes in with his medical bag and a warming blanket.
“Ella, my brother, Darragh, is here. He came all this way just to take care of you. Can he do that? Examine you?”
“Really?” She nods, her eyes flooded with tears. “I’m so sorry for leaving with my dad Friday morning.”
“It’s okay,” I say, kissing Ella’s forehead. “None of this was supposed to happen. We were supposed to—”
“I went to a doctor, Balor. Alone.” She lowers her head. “I know you wanted to be there. I should have waited for you.”
Darragh and I gently wrap a blanket around her. My brother begins checking her vitals and dressing her wounds. Ella’s teeth continue to chatter, but her eyes stay on mine.
“And what did the doctor say?” I hold her hand, smiling softly at her. Even though I know about the doctor, she’s fragile, and I want her to know I’m in support of any decision she made because she’s done nothing but act in good faith.
“We’re having twins.” The we in her response wrecks me.
Right here, I know she’s mine.
“That’s perfect, baby. You’re perfect.” I kiss her forehead. “So perfect for me.”
When I rise to my feet, my clothes are blood-stained, mirroring all her wounds. It rocks me with a fury I’ve never felt before. These red splotches make what she’s been through real.
“I got her,” Darragh says, and I step back to let him take care of my woman.
A few feet away, Wes is tied up, and Riordan has his gun to the fucker’s head.
I walk up to him with the knife still in my hand. “Have anything to say to Ella?”
Pride is toxic. He’s struggling and decides with a shrug. “Do whatever the hell you’re going to do.”
I consider if Brennan has a tripwire, something that will go off if he’s killed. Evidence that will automatically be sent to the FBI about my family if he disappears.
“Oh, we will. You’re dying tonight.” After a glare, I point the knife at his throat. “How fucking dare you touch what’s mine.”
I look back to Ella. Darragh is focused on tending to her many, many wounds, Eoghan taking my place next to her. I hate that she’s exposed, and Wesley’s scummy eyes are looking at what belongs to me. That fucking quack we killed damaged so much of her sweet skin, we can’t even cover her up properly without putting her in more pain.
Watching her wince and seeing her squeeze Eoghan’s hands as Darragh treats her wounds, all I can think is I would take her pain from her a thousand times over if I could. There’s only one way to do that. I draw my fist and smash it into Brennan’s nose with a gratifying crunch. He falls over, screaming in pain, his blood splattering my aching hand.
I stomp his shoulder, feeling it dislocate with a satisfying pop, and when Wes tries to guard his face, he can’t. He can’t move that arm.
This isn’t me. This isn’t me.
I don’t have the stomach for this, but I will that nonsense away because it’s who I have to be for Ella. For our family. There can never be a shadow of doubt in her mind that I can’t protect them with my bare hands.
The scent of blood fills this disgusting basement and competes with mold and wet cement.
Wesley gurgles on his own blood. With my good hand, I squeeze his neck to crush his larynx.
“You choked her like this, didn’t you? How do you like it?”
I feel the air trying to pass my tightened fist around his neck. He kicks uselessly until his eyes roll into the back of his head.
I allow this scumbag one desperate gasp to watch him suffer more. My specialty. The more he whines and cries and pisses himself, the more it fuels me to keep going.
His suffering thrills me more than I ever thought it would. But it’s for her. Ella. The woman I love, who’s having my babies.
Every groan and screech from Wesley’s fucked-up face and shaky voice only ignites images of how he beat up Ella. How he caused her pain with no regret or remorse or mercy.
My hand is on fire, but I keep hitting him, even when he stops moving.
Griffin Quinlan pulls me away. “Mate, the plan.”
My right hand’s a bloodied mess and with crimson splatter all over my clothes, I turn back to Ella.
Jaw dropped, she breathes heavily. But I see no fear in her face witnessing what I’m capable of.
This is for you, butterfly.
Only you.
Wesley is a wheezing puddle, and to kill him would put him out of his misery. I won’t. Not yet. I want him to suffer even more.
And Griffin is right, we have a plan.
“Bring him in,” I say, wiping the sweat from my forehead, feeling blood smear across my skin like a warrior.
“Bring who in?” Ella says, looking around.
Connor Quinlan drags in her father, his wrists chained up. Snow’s dark hair is all over the place, a mess, but without a single bruise on his body.
A purposeful move. A courtesy for the woman I love. I have something worse for Snow. Something much more painful.
“Dad!” Ella cries out. “Balor, what are you doing?”
“Tell her, Iceman.” I glare at him. “Tell her everything .”