Page 104 of Blindsided
I nod, already mentally preparing myself. “That’s exactly what we’re going to do.”
As we prepare, I feel a cold calm settle over me. I’ve spent most of my life avoiding the MacGallan name, resenting the legacy and power it represents. But tonight, I’m embracing it fully. Tonight, being a MacGallan means having the resources and connections to protect what matters.
And Kori matters. More than I ever expected, more than I’m ready to admit even to myself.
Chapter 38
Kane
We pile into an unmarked SUV from the estate’s garage, the engine purring to life as Declan pulls onto the main road. The night wraps around us like a shroud, streetlights casting intermittent shadows across our faces. Nobody speaks much as we drive toward Rosedale, each of us lost in our own thoughts about what we’re about to do.
Glen Road proves to be precisely what Rory described—a stretch of imposing homes set back from the street, old money and new blending in a showcase of wealth and privilege. We drive slowly, headlights dimmed, scanning each driveway for Mark’s car.
“This is pointless,” I mutter after our third pass. “He could be anywhere. A hotel, the airport—”
“There,” Connor interrupts, pointing to a silver sedan parked haphazardly in front of a Tudor-style mansion. “That’s the rental company’s logo on the back window.”
Declan pulls over a few houses down and cuts the engine. “How do you want to play this?” he asks, turning to face me.
I check my watch—nearly 5:30 AM. The street is deserted, most residents still asleep behind their security systems and manicured hedges.
“Quick and quiet,” I decided. “In and out before anyone notices.”
We approach the house cautiously, sticking to the shadows. The front door has an electronic keypad, but Declan bypasses it entirely and leads us around to a side entrance. He examines the lock for a moment, then pulls something from his pocket that glints in the dim light.
“How many locks have you picked in your lifetime?” I whisper, eyebrows raised.
He gives me a look that clearly says,You don’t want to know, then sets to work—the lock yields with a soft click within seconds.
We slip inside the silent house. The only thing we hear is the steady hum of the refrigerator and the distant ticking of a clock. We move through the darkened kitchen into a spacious living room, where the smell of alcohol hangs heavy in the air.
And there he is—Mark, sprawled across an expensive leather sofa, one arm dangling toward an empty bottle of scotch on the floor. He’s still wearing the same clothes from earlier, now rumpledand stained. His face, slack in drunken sleep, looks almost innocent—a stark contrast to the rage I saw earlier, to the violence he inflicted on Lana.
“Is that what I looked like when I was on a bender?” I ask quietly, remembering my own darker days after Sean died, when alcohol seemed like the only escape from grief.
All three men nod simultaneously, and despite the gravity of the moment, I almost laugh at their perfect synchronization.
Then something shifts inside me—all humor vanishing when I see the manila envelope containing the divorce papers sitting on the coffee table, unopened. Then I remember Kori’s bruised arm, Lana’s battered face. Before I can think twice, I’m moving across the room, grabbing Mark by his shirt collar and yanking him upright.
He comes awake with a startled yell, eyes wild and unfocused as he tries to make sense of what’s happening. Recognition dawns slowly, followed quickly by fear when he notices Declan and the others blocking any escape route.
“What the fuck?” he slurs, struggling against my grip. “How did you get in my house?”
“The same way you tracked Kori to Canada,” I growled, shoving him back against the couch. “By ignoring boundaries.”
I grab the envelope and tear it open, and Declanproduces a pen.
“Sign it. Now,” Declan orders as I shove both into his hands.
“Like fuck I will. Kori is MY—”.
I smash my fist into his mouth. “Sign it!”
For a second, I feel sorry for the broken man before me. But only for the second it takes him to scribble his name.
I snatch the papers from him and tuck them into my jeans, then haul him up by his collar.
“You can’t—” His protest cuts off in a gasp as Connor appears beside him, zip ties in hand. “What are you doing? This is kidnapping! Assault!”
