Page 41 of His Obsession

“Understood,” Tiernan replied, though his hesitation was almost tangible.

Callum forced himself to inhale slowly, the rhythm measured and deliberate. His fury wouldn’t help her now—not unless he could control it. He turned his attention back to the monitors, flipping through camera angles until he caught sight of Padraig in the gallery’s security room.

“Padraig,” he barked, “give me audio. I want to hear everything.”

The line clicked, static hissing before the sound of muffled voices filtered through. He caught fragments of conversation—Bradford’s sickly sweet charm, Isolde’s measured replies. Then, clearer than anything else, her voice.

“I’m not sure what you mean.”

Defiance laced her words, and Callum’s chest tightened. God, she was brave, but this wasn’t the time for courage. Bradford wouldn’t hesitate to break her if he thought it would serve his ends.

“She’s holding her own,” Tiernan murmured through the comms, clearly trying to reassure his boss. “Bradford’s got her rattled, but she’s not giving him much.”

“She’s given him too much already,” Callum growled. “I’m done waiting. Be ready to move.”

“No,” Padraig interrupted, his voice steady. “She’s wired. Every word they’re saying is intel. You go in now, we lose whatever edge we’ve got.”

Callum bristled but stayed silent, his gaze snapping back to the monitors. His heart stopped as he spotted a new figure entering the frame—tall, sharp, and unmistakably dangerous.Eoin Lynch.

The man who had taken so much from him. The man who had killed Isolde’s mother. The man who now stood mere feet away from her.

Callum’s teeth ground together so hard he thought they might shatter. Every nerve in his body screamed to move, to crush Lynch beneath his boot and drag Isolde away from this nightmare. But he couldn’t risk it—not yet.

“She’s about to be in the same room as Lynch,” he bit out, his voice low and lethal. “Tiernan, Quinn, get into position. I want her out the second this goes south.”

“Yes, boss,” came Quinn’s clipped reply.

On the screen, Isolde was led into a small, lavishly furnished office. Her spine was ramrod straight, her shoulders squared as if she were marching to her own execution but determined to do it on her terms. Her chin lifted, defiance blazing in her eyes even as Lynch’s predatory smile cut through her composure like a knife.

Callum’s chest ached at the sight. She didn’t belong in this world—his world. She was light, fierce and untouchable, yet here she was, standing her ground in front of monsters.

“Padraig,” Callum barked, his tone icy. “Seal the exits. No one gets in or out without my say-so.”

“You’ve got it,” Padraig replied, the sound of rapid typing in the background.

Callum shifted in his seat, his gaze glued to the screen. Lynch stepped closer to Isolde, his words inaudible but his intent unmistakable. Callum’s vision tunneled as his hand went to the Glock holstered at his side, the cool metal grounding him.

“She’s still wired,” Tiernan said softly, as if reading his thoughts. “We’ll have the proof we need against Bradford and Lynch if we hold our ground just a little longer.”

“I don’t give a damn about proof,” Callum growled. “If either of them touches her?—”

“She’s playing her part,” Padraig interrupted, his tone calm but firm. “You go in guns blazing now, she’ll never forgive you.”

Callum closed his eyes briefly, the significance of Padraig’s words settling over him. He didn’t care about forgiveness. He cared abouther. About the way the room suddenly felt too small whenever she was near. About the realization that everything he’d built—the Syndicate, his alliances, even his loyalty to O’Neill—paled in comparison to the need to keep her safe.

On the screen, Lynch reached for her arm. Isolde flinched but didn’t retreat, her chin lifting higher.

“Defiant to the end,” Callum muttered, his lips curving into a faint, humorless smile. She was going to be the death of him.

His earpiece crackled with Tiernan’s voice. “We’re in position, boss. Say the word.”

The pressure in Callum’s chest wound tighter. He leaned forward, his voice a low growl. “Wait for my signal.”

The room seemed to still as the feed showed Bradford pouring himself a glass of whiskey, his posture casual but his expression anything but. Lynch leaned in closer to Isolde, his lips moving as he spoke words Callum couldn’t hear. But he saw the way her fists clenched, the way her jaw tightened.

She was terrified. And still, she didn’t back down.

The sight of her courage made something inside him shift. It wasn’t just fury driving him anymore. It was something deeper, darker, and far more dangerous.

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