Total pages in book: 128
Estimated words: 121310 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 607(@200wpm)___ 485(@250wpm)___ 404(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 121310 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 607(@200wpm)___ 485(@250wpm)___ 404(@300wpm)
It’s what I do best, after all.
Pretend.
THIRTY-FIVE
MADS
I come to in total darkness, my head throbbing like someone’s playing a death metal concert inside my skull. My mouth tastes like ass—remnants of the beer I chugged before everything went sideways.
My first coherent thought is: Pavel, you absolute fucking weasel.
I test my restraints, feeling the plastic zip ties biting into my wrists. Classic. They’ve restrained my arms behind my back, and from the cold seeping into my ass and thighs, we’re on a concrete floor. The hood over my head smells like burlap and motor oil—charming. Does that mean our impromptu dungeon is in the back of some repo shop?
“Fucking hell,” I mutter, rolling my shoulders to ease the ache. Every motion sends lightning bolts of pain through my temples. Whatever they dosed us with, it wasn’t the premium stuff.
“Mads? You alive?” Moira’s voice comes from beside me, too loud in the silence.
“Unfortunately,” I respond, irritation flaring. This is a goddamn nightmare. My perfectly orchestrated plan to get Moira to break up with Bane, keep her and Domhnall safe, and disappear back into the shadows has exploded spectacularly. And now I’ve dragged Donny’s baby sister into my mess. “Moira. You absolute disaster of a human being. This is one hundred percent your fault.”
It’s not, of course. It’s mine. All mine. But admitting that would be admitting weakness, and I need Moira angry, not weepy. I need her sharp and ready to fight.
She laughs, the sound harsh and slightly hysterical. “Oh, my fault? You were the one dragging me down the street like we were late for the fucking Oscars!”
“Yeah, because I was trying to save your life!” I hiss, the guilt grinding in my chest like broken glass. I’d been so focused on my objective that I hadn’t even noticed we were being followed. Rookie mistake. “Jesus Christ, I tell you to break up with your priest, and instead of listening like a reasonable person, you drop that little bombshell—Oh, by the way, we got married—and the next second, we’re getting thrown into a goddamn van!”
I feel her shifting beside me, testing her restraints. Good girl. At least one of us is thinking practically.
“That had nothing to do with this!” she snaps back. “Nobody even knows about that. He made sure the marriage certificate was confidential so it’s not a matter of public record.” She pauses, then adds with venom, “Nobody would have even known I was with him. This is about that stupid paparazzi picture because you had to go smoke a stupid fucking cigarette when you knew there were fucking photographers around!”
I let out a strangled noise, partly from frustration, partly from the tension in my shoulders. “Oh, fuck you, Moira. Fuck. You. I should’ve left you there. I should’ve just walked away and let you handle your own goddamn mess.”
The words taste sour because they’re lies. I would never have left her. I might be a monster, but I’m not that kind of monster. Not with Domhnall’s sister. She’s the only thing he’s ever loved in this whole world besides—
Besides me.
She snorts. “Uh-huh. Because you were the one who got dragged into my bullshit, not the other way around?”
My heart stutters. If only she knew. If she knew the blood on my hands, the bodies I’ve left behind, the lives I’ve ruined. If she knew the bargains I’ve made with devils.
“Oh my god, I hate you,” I say instead. I need to assess our situation, figure out where we are, and then map out escape routes. I have to fix this. “Where even are we?”
She’s quiet for a moment, listening. “Warehouse, maybe? Basement? Definitely somewhere creepy and murder-y.”
I sigh, letting my head drop back. “Fabulous. Just how I wanted to spend my night. Tied up next to you in a discount horror movie set.”
My mind is racing through scenarios, calculating odds, and identifying potential weapons. These aren’t amateurs we’re dealing with. Pavel’s men are ex-military, mercenaries with body counts in the double digits. The fact that we’re still alive means they want something. Leverage, maybe. Information. Or we’re bait for bigger fish.
“Would you rather they knocked you out again?” Moira threatens. “Because I could start screaming and see if they come back.”
“Don’t you fucking dare,” I snap. The last thing I need is those goons returning before I have a plan.
“Then shut up and let me think.”
“Oh, great, Moira’s gonna think. This is already going so well,” I mutter, but my heart isn’t in the insult. I’m actually impressed with how calm she is, how she’s not breaking down in hysterics. Domhnall’s sister has a spine of steel. Who knew?
“Why didn’t you go running to my billionaire brother if we’re all in so much danger?” she asks suddenly. “Domhnall could have an entire army of mercs to protect him and you.”