Page 39 of Destroy (Deadly Hearts 2)

I make myself comfortable in the bucket seat, my hands fisted on my lap in nervousness. Declan said that Cillian would never hurt me. I’m not in any danger. I’m safe.

I keep telling myself this when he sets off, and soon we are headed into the city, while he keeps up a one-sided conversation about his business.

It helps me relax and after a wildly exaggerated story, I’m sure, I laugh and become completely at ease with him.

“You don’t believe me?” he asks with a laugh.

“What? That you chopped his dick off and ate it like a sausage?” I snort. “Wasn’t that an episode of Game of Thrones?”

He lets out a loud guffaw as he pulls up behind a warehouse on the outskirts of the city. “Ah, you got me,” he concedes, “But it made you laugh.”

He grins at me, and I return it. “Yes, it did. It feels like a million years since I laughed so hard.”

He climbs out of the car and rushes around to open up my side, even though I was part way through doing it myself.

“Mi’lady,” he says with a bow.

“Fuck off,” I retort, but take his arm anyway.

After unlocking the back door with a keycard and a code, he opens it and goes through, stepping aside to let me in. I’m faced with another door, this one made from reinforced steel with a biometric scanner connected to it.

Cillian closes the first door and then leans in to open the second door by placing his eye to the scanner.

It clicks open, and a thrill goes down my spine. He ushers me inside and closes the door with a loud thunk.

“Wow,” I comment, taking in the operation before my eyes. “Just like this?”

He nods. “The Garda don’t swing by unannounced,” he says, tapping his nose.

I shudder and push crooked cops as far from my mind as I can. I clear my throat. “So this is your whole counterfeit operation?”

“Yep. Split into currency. Dollars on the far side, Pounds in the middle and Euros here in front of us.”

“Impressive,” I murmur. The printing machines are loud and continuous, with workers scurrying back and forth between the presses and the lines to dry it all out. There’s a chopping section and another one bagging it all up. It’s a well-oiled machine. “This all yours?” I ask.

“I have my cut,” he says, but adds nothing else.

That confirms to me that he has a boss. I wonder who that is, but don’t ask.

He leads me towards an office at the back and indicates I should sit in one of the chairs opposite his desk. “I’ll just be a minute and then we can head out for that coffee,” he says, seeming distracted by a file on his desk. He scans through it, his face going darker.

The minutes tick by. I think he has forgotten I’m here.

I’m about to speak up when there is a solid knock on the door and Cillian calls out, “Yeah?”

When the door opens, I shrink back in my chair.

An enormous man, with chest tattoos that are visible over the top of his extremely well-fitted, white t-shirt strides in, his eyes zooming straight to me.

I gulp.

They are dark, almost black. His hair is the same color as soot, and it matches his soul. If he has one. I’ve done business with some shady characters in the past, hell, I am one of them, but Jesus fucking Christ. This guy is completely devoid of anything light. He has the look of a true psychopath, and I feel fear shoot through me. My fingers reach for my knife, but it’s not there. I start to panic slightly. My breathing becomes shallow and my eyes blur. He interrupts my attack, by taking a step closer.

“Who are you?” he growls, his Irish accent thick and deep.

“Never mind her, Tadgh,” Cillian barks out, barely looking up from the file. “She belongs to Declan.”

I turn my head to Cillian, my mouth dropping open in disdain. Belong? Who the fuck does he think he’s talking about?

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