Page 30 of The Enforcer's Redemption

"I'll never tell you." My eyes lock with his, and all I see is pure, swirling hatred weaving its way through his irises until it finds the bullseye inside my chest it's aiming for. I swallow the lump in my throat, and he squeezes harder until my jaw hurts and I wince and whimper.

"If you don't tell me?—"

"What?" I snap, barely able to move my jaw to speak. "You'll do what? Kill me?" His nostrils flare as he loosens the grip on my face but doesn't let go. "The news will broadcast my nuptials to Declan O'Rourke and every family in this city will know I'm his wife. When they find out you've taken me, a war will ensue. Your alliances will go under. You'll go bankrupt. No one will work with you again, and you'll be lucky if you live a single day. Ronan will gut you like the filthy hog you are."

My threat seems to enrage him even more. His eyes flick to the man beside me, and I feel a hard blow to the back of my head, followed by the sensation of heat rushing down the back of my neck as my eyes shut.

Wincing, holding the back of my head, I blink my eyes open slowly. My body lies prone on the hard ground. It's dark in here, reeks of cigarette smoke and urine. I wish this were one of those instances where I woke not knowing where I was or what happened, wishing it were all a bad dream. But it's not.

The blow to my head in the car knocked me out but didn't erase the horror I know is true. Sebastian O’Reilly has come for what belongs to him, and I refused to give it to him. I don't know where I am, but I know it isn't a good place.

My eyes roam around the dark room and I see a streetlight outside the window. My shoulders scream at me as I push myself up off the filthy floor and attempt to stand up. I still smell like vomit, but the torn wedding gown is dry, at least. They cut my hands loose at some point, likely because they've locked me in this hellhole. I rub my wrists, and they feel raw, but not as raw as the spot in my heart that roils in regret.

A wave of nausea washes over me at the change of position and I creep to the window to peer out. I'm in some sort of house from what I can tell, but it feels like a prison. Iron bars guard the window, making it impossible for me to get out, but I manage to unlock it and slide it open enough to breathe some fresh air. That tamps the nausea down a bit, and I suck in air like it's a precious commodity.

What have I gotten myself into? And how will I manage to get myself out of this?

I shake my head and rub my eyes as I blink them into focus. The light outside leaves a ring on the sidewalk beneath it. A car rests in the glow, a mailbox, and a news stand with today's paper, probably announcing on the front page the wedding celebration of one of Dublin's most notorious criminal families. Little good it does me now.

"Someone!" I call out the window, "Help!" but I'm fearful if I scream too much, someone will come back and hit me again. Still, the chill of the air seeping in the window tempts me to try. "Someone!" I say again, but when I hear voices on the other side of the wall, I stop and hold my breath. I'm not alone here.

The voices pull me away from the window, and I touch the wall, sliding my hands along it up and down, groping for a light switch. The streetlamp outside isn't giving enough light to guide me, and I have no idea the condition of the floor here. The pads of my feet detect debris or trash. I don’t want to step on anything, so I slide them along the rough carpeting instead of walking properly until I find a doorknob.

My fingers wrap around the cold metal, but I pause and listen for those voices. They don't sound angry. They sound jovial, like they're playing a game. I picture a group of men smoking cigars, seated around a table, playing a game of cards and joking with each other. My heart hammers as I grip the knob more tightly, hoping it doesn’t squeak when I try to turn it. The bars on the windows keep me from fleeing that way, but surprisingly, the door isn't locked.

It clicks lightly when the knob is turned fully. The latch disengages and I pull the door back slightly, just enough to see out a crack. There is no table, no game of cards, but three men do sit in lounge chairs watching a sports show. They have openbeers, and one is smoking. They're here to make sure I don't leave, and there is no way I can get past three of them.

I'm ready to shut the door and try to find a different way out when a hand appears, pressing on the door hard. It clips my chin, and I yelp as I jump back, startled. The door swings open, and I gasp in shock, covering my face and cowering against the wall, and suddenly, I'm thrust into blinding light as someone turns the ceiling lamp on. My eyes scream at the surprise but slowly adjust.

"Well, then," I hear as I uncover my face to see who's talking. Sebastian stands in front of me next to an older man who's dressed in a white Polo and khaki pants with a grey cardigan open in the front. He holds a black medical bag and wears square-rimmed glasses. "Time to make sure our princess checks out. Doctor," he says turning to the man, "you know what to do. I need to make sure she's clean."

"What?" I ask, cowering against the wall farther. But Sebastian doesn't respond to me. He turns and walks out the door, shutting it harder than necessary. I'm shivering now, trembling with fear and the chilly air now drafting into the room more quickly. "What's happening?" I ask the man, glancing at the door. I feel much safer now that Sebastian is gone, but I don’t like what he said.

"You'll want to strip off, then," the man says, nodding at my gown. "I'll make sure you have something suitable to wear afterward, but I have a few exams to do." His eyes never leave my body as I shake my head in protest.

Exams? What the hell is this? And why do they keep calling me Princess?

23

DECLAN

The gates burst open with a deafening crash, a metallic groan that reverberates through the air, and we surge forward like a relentless storm unleashed. The first few shots crack through the tension, sharp and piercing, but we're already in motion, a coordinated force with no room for hesitation. We dive to the ground while the relentless roar of gunfire echoes off the compound walls like rolling thunder, a cacophony of chaos that electrifies the atmosphere.

I don’t even see the first guy coming at me—just feel the hot breath of him as he charges, eyes wide with panic. Too bad for him, I’m quicker. My fist meets his jaw, snapping his head back with a sickening crack. He stumbles, and I don’t waste a second. My knee drives into his ribs, then my foot slams into his gut, pushing him backward as his breath hitches.

“Keep pushing! Move in now!” Ronan roars, his voice cutting through the chaos, sending my blood racing faster. The man who tried to take me out is already crumpling at my feet. I kick him in the head once, just for good measure.

The compound’s a fucking labyrinth. It’s like we’re walking into a maze of stone and concrete. Gunshots ping off the walls, and every movement is sharp, brutal. You can hear the men running ahead, shouts and screams mixing with the heavy crack of rifle fire.

There’s no time to stop. We push forward, guns raised, the adrenaline pulsing through my veins like a fucking drug. I don’t even care that I can barely see through the smoke and dust. All I care about is getting to the heart of this place, tearing it apart if I have to.

I hear Ronan’s voice cutting through the madness again. “Declan! Take the left side! Don’t let them regroup!”

I nod, already shifting my weight and moving. A dozen men come at me from the shadows, and I don’t stop. My first shot is clean, a man down before he even realizes I’m there. The next one comes from the right. His gun cracks in the air, but I’ve already slid to the side, dodging it like I’ve done a thousand times before.

I’m on him in an instant, my fist crashing into his face with a sickening thud. His nose shatters beneath my knuckles, blood pouring like a fucking waterfall. He’s done before he hits the ground. I don’t even have time to breathe before another one’s in front of me, swinging his fist, trying to knock me down.

Not a chance.

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