Page 40 of His Obsession

Isolde’s breath caught as Bradford released her arm, leaving her standing in the center of the room like prey in a den of wolves. She could feel the hum of the tiny transmitter in her clutch, its presence a lifeline she desperately clung to.

“I’m not sure what you think you’re doing,” she said, forcing her voice to remain steady. “But this is highly inappropriate.”

Lynch chuckled, his eyes glinting with amusement. “Inappropriate? Oh, love, we’re far past worrying about propriety.”

Bradford moved to the desk, pouring himself a glass of whiskey as if he had all the time in the world. “Your father was smarter than this,” he said, his tone almost conversational. “He knew how to keep his head down. But you… you’re reckless. Stupid, even.”

Isolde’s pulse thundered in her ears. “Leave my father out of this.”

Lynch tilted his head, his gaze sweeping over her like a predator assessing its prey. “Your father’s very much in this, love. And so are you. The question is, how much are you willing to give to get out?”

Her stomach churned, but she held her ground, her voice sharp. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, I think you do,” Bradford said, his smile cold. “You’re just like him, you know. Willing to do whatever it takes to protect your little empire. The only difference is, you’re not half as clever.”

Lynch’s smile widened. “But don’t worry, love. We’re here to help you fix that.”

The air in the room was suffocating, the walls closing in as Isolde tried to think, to plan. The wire. Walsh and Tiernan were listening. They had to be. The room smelled of stale whiskey and cold, unyielding malice. Isolde was surprised when her head snapped to the side as Lynch cracked his hand across her face, splitting her lip, the sound reverberating through the dimly lit space. Pain bloomed hot and fast, her skin stinging where his ring had scraped her cheekbone. His cold, calculating eyes bore into hers, a predator's smirk tugging at the corners of his cruel mouth.

“You think this is about power or money, don’t you?” Lynch growled, his voice low and venomous.

Isolde forced herself to meet his gaze, despite the throbbing in her face. “What else could it possibly be?” she spat, her voice trembling but defiant.

Lynch’s smirk twisted into something darker, his fingers curling into fists at his sides. “It was never just business, you stupid girl. The Fitzwilliams stole from my family—humiliated us. Your father robbed us of land that was ours by right, and for that, I want blood. I would’ve had my vengeance years ago if the bullet meant for him hadn’t killed your mother instead.”

The words landed like a punch to the gut, knocking the air from her lungs. “My mother…” she whispered, her voice breaking. “You—you killed her?”

Lynch leaned closer, his breath hot against her skin as his voice dropped to a whisper. “She wasn’t supposed to die. That was on him—on your precious father. He should’ve taken that bullet, and you know it.”

Isolde’s hands trembled, but her fury burned brighter than her fear. “You murdered her. And now you want me to pay for it?”

“No, love,” Lynch sneered, straightening and adjusting the cuffs of his jacket. “I want your father to pay. And you… you’re just the perfect leverage to make that happen.”

The room swirled around her as the gravity of his words settled in her chest like a stone. But even as fear threatened to overwhelm her, a spark of defiance flickered in her heart.

“You’ll never win,” she said, her voice low but steady. “Not while I’m still standing.”

Lynch chuckled darkly, his eyes glinting with cruel amusement. “Oh, we’ll see about that.”

And with that, he turned away, leaving her to fight the storm raging inside her, she couldn’t fail to see the predatory glint in his eyes and wondered if help would come in time.

15

CALLUM

The dim glow of the monitors in Callum’s SUV bathed the cabin in eerie light, his dark eyes glued to the surveillance feed streaming from inside Siobhan’s gallery. The fundraiser bustled with activity—polished guests, flutes of champagne, the hum of laughter and conversation adding to the undercurrents of energy already there.

But none of that mattered.

All he could see washer.

Isolde, stunning in that emerald silk dress that clung to her curves like sin itself, moved through the crowd with a practiced poise that belied the danger she was in. Her every step made his jaw tighten, his fists clenching on his knees as he resisted the instinct to storm inside and drag her out of there, kicking and screaming if need be.

Through his earpiece, Tiernan’s voice crackled. “Bradford’s making a move. He’s got her near the east wing.”

Callum’s pulse roared in his ears, drowning out everything else. His gaze darted to the second monitor, where a camera feed captured Councilman Bradford’s smug smile as he gripped Isolde’s arm, steering her away from the gallery’s main floor. The sight made Callum’s blood run cold.

“Stay close, but don’t engage,” Callum growled into his comms, his voice a blade of barely restrained fury.

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