Page 92 of Dublin Brute

My hands shake as I grip the phone tighter, knuckles white.

Aiden takes another corner at breakneck speed, tires squealing against wet pavement. The SUV fishtails, but he controls it perfectly, accelerating through the slide as buildings pass by in a blur.

“They’re heading toward the container terminal.” My voice is strangled, tight and hoarse. “Those sick fucks are going to lock her in a…”

The thought of Nora trapped in a metal box, terrified and alone, makes me sick…

My chest constricts painfully. I haven’t even told her how I feel. Haven’t had the chance to show her that what’s between us is more than just attraction.

Tag’s hand grips my shoulder from the back seat, steady and grounding. “We’ll get there, B. I swear we’ll get her back. And as soon as we verify that they’re at the port, Bryan will call our guy in the worker’s union. No one will move any containers or any ships tonight.”

I nod, not trusting my voice. The dot continues moving along the harbor road, the rage inside me threatening to go nuclear. When I get my hands on those bastards…

The phone creaks in my grip, and I force myself to ease up before I crack the screen.

“Easy, brother.” Bryan’s voice is as dark and filled with the promise of violence as mine. “Your phone is our connection to her. Focus on us closing the distance and guiding Aiden in.”

He’s right—I know he’s right. I swallow and rein it in. “Take the next right. They turned down Alexandra. And then another right onto 3 Branch Rd.”

“There’s a warehouse down there on berth 35,” Tag says.

Bryan already has his phone at his ear. “On it.”

The green dot stops moving on my screen and a wash of panic hits so hard, I let off a primal scream and slam my fist sideways into the window. Glass shatters as the window of the SUV explodes into crumbling bits.

Tag and Bryan are shouting at me to calm down from the back seat, but there will be no calm until Nora is safe and in my arms.

Hold on, angel. I’m coming for you.

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

Nora

Iwake with a violent heave of my stomach. Rolling to the side, I throw up, the foul drug they used to knock me out tainting my system. A vile, acidic aftertaste coats my tongue and my head throbs worse than from any migraine or hangover I’ve ever suffered.

I close my eyes and the world spins, my stomach giving another lurch. After another round of ‘out-you-go’, I’m left panting, wiping my mouth and nose with my sleeve.

Where am I? Where is Kate?

My eyelids feel like lead weights, but I fight to open them and take stock of my surroundings. I’m in a holding cell, the floor to ceiling cage bars ensuring I’m not going anywhere fast.

I reach for my pocket, but my phone is gone. My purse, too.

A feminine groan behind me has me turning on a disgustingly filthy concrete floor to find Kate stirring.

“Kate, I’m here. Shhh.” I grab her hair and pull it back as she vomits onto the floor beside her. The sound of her retching tugs at my gag reflex and I fight not to join her.

“Damn, that was vile,” she sputters, lifting the front of her shirt to wipe the tears leaking from her eyes. “What happened?”

I give her a brief recap of what I saw as I rushed out the back door and saw her crumple and get stuffed into the car of the sex traffickers.

“What sex traffickers?”

I press my palms flat against the grimy floor, my head still spinning. “Remember those three guys in suits by the stage tonight?”

“They said they worked for an entertainment company and were in the city scouting talent for a new pilot about to be filmed.”

“No. They are working with the McGuire family, drugging and kidnapping women from the north side of the river, to make the Quinns look like they’re into sex trafficking.”

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