Page 153 of Forbidden Need

“Give it to me,” her father demanded, closer than before though still out of reach. The angle of the weapon shifted to point at Conn’s head. “Give me the phone.”

“He needs help!”

“Give me the fucking phone or I end him right now.”

Swallowing, eyes on Conn, she couldn’t believe he smiled as her shaking hand put the phone in her father’s. He threw it to the floor and stamped on the screen, then kicked the pieces toward the fireplace.

“Cushla Machree,” the murmur left her guy’s lips.

Heated tears streaked her cheeks. Her man. Her life. Her reason for breathing was in peril and she had no idea what to do. They needed Niall. Needed Strat. Needed a hospital. Life was seeping out of him, staining fabric and skin. The long, thick, red blot grew and sank, soaking the thin cotton of his shirt. Each second was valuable, they needed to get out of there before the damage was irreversible.

If her father didn’t let her get help, if he didn’t leave or release them, her guy wouldn’t survive. How many bullets were left in that gun? If she screamed at the top of her lungs, would their men hear from the street? Were Manzanis still out there? If they were, and rushed to the scene, would Silvio finish what her father started?

She couldn’t breathe; grief and panic swallowed her. Conn needed her to be strong, needed her support, like was her job, and she was helpless so long as that gun was aimed at her lover’s head.

“Mo Grá,” she whispered, seeking strength in him. “Mo Grá. Mo Grá. Please. I… Help me.”

When his next words were foreign, she closed her eyes, letting the tone of them wash over her, absorbing their power.

Her fire burned for her man. “I will not let you do this.” Pressing Conn’s hand to the fabric on his wound, she leaped up, putting herself against the barrel of her father’s gun. “I am taking him out of here. The only thing that will stop me is a bullet. So do it. If that’s what you’re going to do, do it.”

“You’re going to write the story, just like you said.”

“No,” she said, shaking her head. “McDade. I choose McDade and I will always choose McDade. You’re deranged! Insane! A complete—”

“You write it or he’s dead!”

“You’ll never get out of here! Our people are right outside. They’ll take you down and I’ll—” He grabbed her arm, muscling her aside as she fought for freedom. “Let me go!”

Again, his arm straightened and there was Conn, under threat.

“Stay down, McDade,” her father barked.

The gun blasted and she braced, though had no idea what the bullet hit.

“No! No, I’ll do it!” Getting between the men, the danger was too palpable to risk. “I’ll write the story! I’ll do anything you want.”

Anything to help her guy.

“Turn around.” Holding her breath, she did as he said. “Hands behind your back.” Cool metal and the snick of a lock, handcuffs. Her own father just cuffed her. “Go stand over there!” He gestured to the furthest door in the corner, one that led to the back of the house. “Go now!”

Hands at her back, she went that way, trying to be subtle about testing the restraints. They wouldn’t give. Her father knew what he was doing when it came to subduing prisoners.

All she could do was watch as he tossed another set of cuffs at Conn.

The gun swung around to point at her. “Put them on,” her father demanded of Connel. “Hands around the frame. Do it or I kill her.”

Growling words in his native language, Conn clipped a cuff to one wrist and then the other, following her father’s instructions.

The saturated fabric was gone from his wound, relieving the pressure, so the blood ran free.

Beads of sweat on her lover’s brow and the lack of color in his face triggered her own life force to dwindle. Without him, there would be nothing. She couldn’t lose him.

“Mo Grá? Mo Grá! Look at me! Baby, please!”

“He’s done,” Ronald said, marching over to block her view.

Throwing open the door, he shoved her into a short hallway. Desperate for hope, to help, anything, she screamed until her lungs burned.

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