Chapter 23
Chapter
Twenty-Three
DOMINIC
I ’m living on borrowed time. I always knew this day would come. I’m just surprised it’s not been done already, but I guess the Maguires want their pound of flesh. The basement air is thick with the smell of mildew and the metallic taint of blood. My wrists burn where zip ties dig into my skin, my arms wrenched behind my back, placing even more pressure on the gunshot wound in my shoulder, just like they undoubtedly planned.
I try to focus on my surroundings, the men in front of me, the physical pain.
Anything other than what's coming.
I’ve never feared death, it’s a given in this life. One you come to accept.
But why now, when I have so much to live for? When I’ve met a truly amazing woman who I can imagine a future with. One who’s carrying my child. A child I already love.
A child I’ll never get to see or hold.
A child who will grow up without a father, and likely without even as much as a memory of me, since Roisin and I have had so little time to make any.
Perhaps it’s better that way. Would I want my child to know they were conceived while I held their mother hostage?
Callum circles me like a shark, his eyes cold and predatory, while Ciaran leans against the far wall, arms crossed, watching impassively. They're taking their time, savoring the moment.
Ciaran steps forward suddenly, his eyes calculating. He's always been the more level-headed of the two brothers, but that doesn't make him any less dangerous. If anything, it makes him worse.
"I thought better of you, Dominic," he says conversationally. “Did you really think you'd get away with stalking our sister and it going unnoticed?"
I stay silent, meeting his gaze steadily. No point in begging or trying to explain. They won't believe me anyway. There's nothing I can say that will change what's about to happen.
Callum paces behind his brother, a predatory gleam in his eye. He's the hothead, the one who enjoys getting his hands dirty.
Ciaran sighs, as if disappointed by my lack of response. "Well then, shall we begin?"
He nods to Callum, who approaches with a wicked-looking knife. "I say we start with his fingers," Callum growls. "One by one. Nice and slow. So he never lays a hand on Roisin again. "
A chill runs down my spine, but I force myself to remain impassive. Show no fear. That's what they want. I close my eyes and brace myself. Resigned. Whatever pain is coming, I've earned it. I know I never should have touched Roisin, no matter how she begged me to. Let alone taken her virginity. She might have wanted it, but I knew it was wrong.
Fuck! They don’t even know about that .
A heavy hand clamping down on my injured shoulder brings me out of my reverie with a jolt of agony as a thumb is ground into my wound. My eyes snap open to find Callum leering at me, his face inches from mine. I grit my teeth against the pain radiating from my shoulder, but that’s not good enough for the Irish bastard, and he digs in until I can’t hold out any longer and I howl with pain, much to his twisted amusement.
My vision blurs and I’m left panting, beads of perspiration dotting my forehead. Ciaran steps closer, his voice deceptively calm. "So, Dominic. Tell us why you were following our sister. What were your intentions?"
I weigh my options. The truth would only make things worse, but lying seems pointless at this stage. Before I can decide, Callum's fist connects with my jaw, snapping my head to the side.
"Answer him!" he roars.
I spit blood onto the concrete floor. "I’ve never done anything but protect Roisin," I mutter, for all the good it’ll do me. They’re not really interested in hearing any of this. But it’s the truth. Even when I bedded her, it was because I truly believed I was protecting her from a worse experience. Although I doubt her brothers will see it that way.
Callum scoffs. "Protecting her? From what?"
And what the hell do I say to that?
Whatever I might have said, the words are stolen from me with a winding punch to the gut that almost topples both me and the chair I’m tied to. Would have done, if Ciaran hadn’t been holding it steady for maximum impact.
I wheeze and choke, struggling to draw breath. Callum's fist comes at me again, this time connecting with my ribs. I hear a sickening crack and a fresh wave of pain washes over me.
"Vito was making his own play," I finally manage to gasp out between labored breaths. “It wasn’t sanctioned. I did my best to keep her safe from him, but after everything that happened, Mika wanted eyes on you all to judge whether there would be any reprisals.”
Ciaran's eyes narrow at my words, a flicker of doubt crossing his face. Callum, however, doesn't miss a beat.
"Bullshit," he snarls, backhanding me across the face. My head flies back, the metallic taste of blood filling my mouth. "You expect us to believe Mika sent you to spy on us?"
I spit out a mouthful of blood, my vision swimming. "Believe what you want. It's the truth."
Ciaran holds up a hand, silencing his brother before he can strike again. "Let's say, for argument's sake, that's true. Why didn't you approach us directly? Why the secrecy?"
I laugh bitterly, wincing as pain lances through my ribs and wondering if my shortness of breath is because they’ve punctured a lung. "Would you have believed me? After everything that happened with Vito?"
The brothers exchange a glance, and I see a moment of uncertainty pass between them. It's fleeting, but it's there.
Callum recovers first, his face twisting into a sneer. "Even if that's true, it doesn't explain why you've been getting so... close to our sister."
My heart sinks. So, they know about that.
Before I can think of an answer that won’t get me shot on the spot, there’s a commotion in the hallway outside the cell I’m being held in. Shouts, running feet, hammering on the door.
“Boss! It’s Miss Roisin,” a panic-laced voice hollers, the sound echoing off the walls. “She’s collapsed. You need to get up here and take control. Miss Radaeva is trying to call an ambulance.”
“Feckin’ bollocks,” Callum growls angrily.
Everyone knows you don’t bring an ambulance to an organized crime compound, even Emylyah should know as much. That she’s trying to do it anyway has all my senses screaming.
Ciaran and Callum exchange a look of alarm before Ciaran rushes to the door, yanking it open.
"What happened?" he demands of the young soldier standing there, his voice sharp with worry.
"We don't know, boss," the man responds, breathless. "She was in her room. Then Miss Radaeva came barreling in, in hysterics. She said she tried to call but you weren’t picking up, so she contacted Miss Maricela.”
My ears prick up at the mention of Vito’s erstwhile fiancée. Did I really hear that right? Not that it matters, I’m more interested in finding out about Roisin. The twins glance at each other, the two of them powering up their phones which have obviously been switched off.
“We found her unconscious. Her breathing is shallow.”
“Ah, fuck!” Ciaran curses, checking his screen, before he turns back to me, his eyes narrowed with suspicion. "This isn't over," he growls, before taking off at a run.
Callum lingers, his fists clenched at his sides. He takes a menacing step towards me, but Ciaran's voice rings out from the hallway.
"Callum! Come on!"
With a final glare that promises nothing good, Callum follows his brother, slamming the door behind him.
The moment they're gone, I struggle against my bonds with renewed vigor. Roisin needs me. Our child needs me. The zip ties dig deeper into my wrists, blood trickling down my arms, but I don't care. I rock the chair, trying to tip it over, hoping to break it and free myself. Not that I have any idea how I’ll get out of this cell, let alone the compound. It might be futile, but I can’t just sit here doing nothing while the mother of my child is having a medical crisis.
The chair creaks and groans under my efforts, but it holds firm. Frustration and fear fuel my struggles, but logic tells me it's futile. Even if I could break free, there's no way out. All I’ve managed to accomplish is to renew the bleeding in my wound and cause more. Together with the lack of fluids, the blood loss is starting to make me feel woozy and it occurs to me I’m not in the best shape myself. And that if my lung isn’t already punctured, there’s a good chance my struggles will finish the job.
I force myself to stop, to take a breath, to think. Panic won't help Roisin or our baby. I need to stay calm, to conserve my strength. I close my eyes, trying to focus, to push past the pain and fear. The pain, I can handle. But my fear for Roisin’s wellbeing… that’s a different animal. One I haven’t encountered before.
My mind races with possibilities. What could have happened to her? Is it the baby? A complication? A consequence from getting knocked down earlier? Or something else entirely? The not knowing is almost worse than the physical pain throbbing through my body.
Minutes drag by like hours. I strain my ears for any sound, any clue about what's happening upstairs, but the basement is silent save for my own ragged breathing.
Whether I like it or not, all I can do is wait.
And hope.