Page 41 of The Devil's Price

"Who are you? What is this? Why am I here?" I don't have ground to stand on here. Those men are strong enough that theycan snap my neck if they want, but lying down and being their punching bag isn't my style.

"Why, I'm Cormac Doyle," he says smoothly, running a hand through his hair. "I'd like to discuss the murder of Aiden Hughes and how the trial will go." He gestures again. "Sit."

My throat constricts. This is the man in charge of the entire Doyle crime syndicate? His son, the one alleged to have murdered Aiden Hughes, will be arrested and stand trial soon. A trial I have no desire to be any part of. My blood runs cold as I lower myself onto the chair and stare at him with wide eyes, no longer caring about my appearance, or my bloody knees, or even the unborn child I carry who alone gives me a will to live.

"Ms. Gallagher, we are going to arrange it so that you oversee Hagen's trial. I'm sure I don't have to tell you who Hagen is?" His eyes narrow at me, and I shake my head. I have no words for this monster. "Good. Now, what's going to happen is we are going to provide you with ample evidence, a few experts who will help you along, and we are going to pay you all a hefty sum to ensure my son stays out of prison. All you have to do is follow the script. Can you do that?"

I think of Finn again, begging me to do the right thing. He wasn't asking me to get Mick off because he had some nefarious plan of beating the system. He knew Mick was innocent. Finn was pressuring me to see the truth, to do the right thing. This man in front of me is asking me to lie and cheat and bury the truth. He wants me to be his dark messenger to tell the world he is above the law, that his son is untouchable, and I don't think I can do that.

"Sir, I think you've got the wrong woman." The words come out choked, stuttered. I'm shaking in this seat, praying he doesn't just slit my throat now.

"Oh?" He cocks his head and raises his eyebrows. "Are you not Siobhan Gallagher? The woman with a mission to bring down every underworld crime syndicate in Dublin? The woman whose cousin was murdered in cold blood after a deal gone wrong?" His eyes narrow on me, and I see the malice in them, hatred, hunger for some dark, senseless plan. "How did Trevor die again?" he asks, and I shudder.

I can't respond to him. He clearly knows everything about me. He's probably seen the videos of me and Finn, probably understands my ties to the O'Rourke name. And maybe he suspects more from me too, that I'm on their payroll, which couldn't be further from the truth. He thinks he can make me turn, the way Liam turned, the way Brendan turned. I won't. I set my jaw and lock my eyes on him, but I don't speak.

"Well then, you just take some time to think about this." He stands and slides his hand into his pocket. When it emerges, he pulls out a pair of handcuffs and dangles them in front of me. "I'm going to make sure you stay put here for a while, and when I come back, hopefully, you’ll have an answer for me."

I try to resist him, but he manages to clip one of the cuffs on my arm and the other around the leg of the table which I correctly assumed is bolted in place. The cuff is tight, pinching my arm, but not as bad as the bag over my head felt. I glare at him, but I'm smart enough to know not to speak.

"I suggest you agree to my proposition, Ms. Gallagher. You don't want to know what happens to you if you don't. That O'Rourke boy will be crying over your grave, and he'll end up gettinghimself shot too. You know… vengeance for love lost and such." He gestures with his hands casually as he speaks such horrible threats against me and Finn, and then he walks out saying, "Think about it."

I don't have to think about it. The answer is no. I won't help him get away with murder. God only knows what other crimes this bastard has committed. But if I have to lie to him and tell him I will, just to have a chance to be in contact with Finn, I will. Because I know Finn won't let them do this to me. I just have to play my cards right.

30

FINN

After twenty minutes of searching this side of the city for that damn car, I park near a strip of row houses and wait for Ronan. I'm so enraged I'm not thinking clearly. That SUV wasn't the only close call I had. Two times, I ran a red light and was almost T-boned in an intersection, so when Ro told me to "park my ass and wait for him", I knew he was right.

I sit with my car idling, staring up the street into Doyle territory. The way they snatched her and ran so fast completely took me by surprise. I never saw it coming. I don't think anyone did, though now that Mick is safe, Ronan's focus will be on him and building the alliance stronger than ever. I doubt he even cares about Siobhan and what may be happening to her. She was a means to an end for him, but to me she is everything.

Ronan's car pulls up, and he and my brother Lochlan climb out and walk back to my car. Both of them have serious expressions, both carrying their weapons. When they climb in and shut the doors, I'm so seething mad about this, I can't even speak. Ronan has to speak for me.

"She's not our problem anymore, Finn." His tone is even and low. I know to him this is nothing for us to be concerned about. He's ready to focus again on what's important and he has no clue what has actually transpired between me and Siobhan.

"She's pregnant," I tell them, and I stare out the driver's side window, watching cars pass by. Siobhan might not be a concern to him, but the blood that runs through that baby's veins is O'Rourke blood. He's bound by an oath to protect any O'Rourke life to the death and he knows it.

He sighs hard. I hear Lochlan shift in his seat and glance at the rearview mirror to see him scowling at me too. I didn't do anything I wasn't supposed to do. My job in this was to make her see the light, and I did. In the end, things worked out for Mick. What I did to make that happen is of little consequence now, except that it resulted in my falling for her. Even if she wasn’t pregnant—which I fully believe that she is—I would still rescue her. I won't let Doyle scum hurt her.

"Christ almighty, Finn." Ronan's tone is biting, but he knows a war is coming anyway.

"Look, they attacked Mick's character. Exposed him for more than just the murder. He's going to lose everything anyway, still may end up doing some time for the gun trade, and all you care about is the fecking alliance." I round on Lochlan and glare at both of them, arm stretched out across the car to the back of Ronan's seat where my fingers grip it tightly. "She's having my child. She is an O'Rourke. You're either with me, and loyal to O'Rourke blood, or you're not. Which is it?"

I have no right speaking to my chief this way, but I'm done with semantics and rhetoric. We either stick together as a family or we don't.

"Chill the feck out, Brother." Ronan pulls his gun out, chambers a round, checks the safety is on, then puts it back in its holster. "We're with you. Now what did the car look like?"

The tension in the car snaps and I feel relief as I pull into traffic and head toward the row of shops a block up. I tell them about the incident where two Doyles tried to attack Siobhan on the street outside that restaurant, then the time they attacked me in the street in front of her home. The car is one in the same, and I am on a manhunt to find them. I know they've brought her here into their territory, and I won't stop searching until I find them. If she's still alive, I'll save her. And if she's not, I'll kill them all singlehandedly.

We park along the strip mall and get out. All three of us are very aware that we are deep in Doyle territory, breaking unwritten rules for this city that we know will mean death. But the war was started by Cormac months ago when his son murdered Aiden. It was made worse as they continued to attack us by framing Mick. Today, we are bringing it back to them, though it won't be ended today, even if we recover Siobhan.

"We'll check each store here, ask shop owners if they know anything. We'll find something," Ronan instructs, and I'm on board with his plan. We walk into the first place, a little sushi shop that's family owned. The man behind the counter—an older man with greying hair and a puckered face—looks up at us with fear in his eyes. He knows who we are by the looks of it, or at least what we're about. It's promising.

"I can't help you," he says defensively, raising his hands in surrender. I don't believe him, so I lean on the counter with one elbow allowing him to see into my shirt where my gun is holstered under my arm.

"You seem afraid," I say, and he nods.

"I can't help you," he says again, this time shaking his head. His hands remain in the air.

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