The sight of her running tears something inside me. My woman. My partner. Disappearing into darkness while I stay behind to face these animals.
I turn back to buy her time. My gun spits fire, keeping the shooters pinned while she escapes. A tactical team moves to flank me. I shift position, using vehicles for cover.
My ammunition runs low. Three rounds left. Two. One.
I drop the empty weapon and raise my hands as they close in. At least Sorcha got away with the evidence. At least she's safe.
"Eamon Kavanagh," one of them says, removing his tactical mask. I recognize him from surveillance photos—Moran's lieutenant. "You've caused considerable trouble."
"Just getting started, asshole."
He smiles coldly. "We'll see about that."
The warehouse stinks of rust and stagnant water. They've zip-tied me to a metal chair, restraints that bite into my wrists. Blood drips from my split lip onto the concrete floor.
Moran himself arrives an hour later, dressed in an expensive suit that makes him look more like a banker than the piece of garbage he is. But his eyes hold the coldness of a killer.
"The famous Kavanagh enforcer," he says, circling my chair. "Not so tough now."
"Your boys got lucky."
"Did they?" He sits across from me. "Agent Byrne provided excellent intelligence about your location. Told us exactly when you'd be reviewing those files."
The betrayal cuts deep. Byrne played us from the beginning, and I walked Sorcha right into it.
"Where's your girlfriend?" Moran asks.
The word 'girlfriend' doesn't begin to cover what Sorcha means to me. She's everything—partner, lover, the woman who owns my heart.
"Gone. With everything that proves your corruption."
His face darkens. "Agent Quinn escaped with evidence that could destroy my arrangement with certain federal officials. That creates problems."
"Good. I hope it destroys everything you've built."
Moran stands, nodding to his lieutenant. Pain explodes across my jaw as the man's fist connects. I taste blood but don't give them the satisfaction of crying out.
"She'll come for you," Moran says. "Women always try to save their men. When she does, we'll have the evidence and two bodies to dispose of."
"You don't know Sorcha." But even as I say it, I know he's right. She'll come. She'll risk everything for me, just like I'd do for her.
"I know enough." He checks his watch. "Agent Byrne is tracking her phone signal now. We'll have her location within the hour."
My blood runs ice cold. If they find her, the evidence dies with her. All our work, all the proof of corruption—gone. And worse, they'll hurt her. Kill her.
The thought of anyone touching Sorcha makes me want to rip these restraints apart with my bare hands.
"Good luck with that," I say, hoping she's smart enough to ditch the phone.
Moran's smile falters. He realizes I'm not afraid enough.
"Perhaps some motivation will help." He pulls out his phone, shows me a photo. Sorcha entering my apartment building two days ago. "We know where she lives. Where her mother works. Where her sister goes to school."
Rage builds in my chest like a wildfire. "Touch her and I'll hunt you down like the dog you are."
"Protective, aren't we?" Moran laughs. "She's federal law enforcement. The enemy. Yet you're willing to die for her."
"Without question."
