Midnight Captive

  “Ten seconds . . .”

  Text. Me. Back.

  “Five seconds.”

  Bailey’s phone vibrated in her hand, and her heart sank to the pit of her stomach as she read Daniels’s response:

  Sniper confirmed. Take action?

  She didn’t reply.

  She was already running to answer the door.

  Chapter 21

  Sean slid into the driver’s seat of the car and released the massive sigh he’d been holding. Shit. The meeting with Rabbit hadn’t gone as planned. Instead of helping him figure out his next move, it had only complicated things further.

  Or . . . maybe it hadn’t.

  Rabbit was dying. His men would need a new leader, and if Sean turned down the job, Rabbit would have no choice but to hand the reins over to Cillian. Who else was going to take over? Quinn? The man was too old, and he lacked the ruthlessness required to lead. O’Neill? Doherty? Doyle? None of them were leadership material.

  How fucking ironic was that? Flannery was about to get what he wanted, and with no help from Sean. His own enemy was handing him the organization he’d been coveting. On a silver fucking platter. All Sean had to do was tell Flannery that Rabbit was going to kick the bucket in three months, the man would bide his time, and then Kelly would be the new leader of the Irish Dagger.

  Except . . . Christ, Sean didn’t think he could stomach it. Cillian had let that car bomb go off, damn it. He’d happily sat by with a pint of Guinness while all those people had been killed.

  If Cillian Kelly took over the organization, who knew how many more innocent people would die.

  Sean pressed his lips together, indecision twisting his stomach. He could rid himself of Flannery with one phone call, but that meant giving Cillian the opportunity to inflict terror on the country. The alternative was to go back to the original plan—eliminating Flannery and Kelly. Permanently. But that put his own life at risk, not to mention the lives of Bailey and Ollie and the others.

  Fuck, he had to think it through. His whole life had been a string of rash decisions and impulsive acts, but he couldn’t wing it this time.

  He touched his earpiece to tell Isabel and D to meet him at the flat, but his phone rang before he could. When he checked the screen and saw Paige’s number, he instantly answered the call.

  “Hey, luv. Everything okay?”

  “I’m not sure,” she said slowly.

  “What the hell does that mean?”

  “I’m still tracking Kelly’s phone, and . . .” Concern rippled through the line. “Kelly left O’Hare’s about twenty minutes ago.”

  “All right. Where did he go?”

  “Rathmines.”

  Sean’s veins turned to ice. “Are you sure?”

  “Yes. And the GPS in his car shows the same thing.” She paused. “Of course, that doesn’t mean Kelly is the one at the flat. Someone else could have his phone and be driving his car—”

  “It’s him,” Sean said flatly. “Thanks for the heads-up. Call me if he goes anywhere else.”

  He hung up and turned the key in the ignition as a sense of urgency overtook him.

  Cillian was at the flat.

  Bailey was at the flat.

  Alone, damn it. He’d left her alone.

  “D,” he blurted into the comm, “get your ass to the Rathmines flat. You too, Isabel.” The worry spiraling through his chest flew into his throat, hoarsening his voice. “Bailey’s in trouble.”

  * * *

  Bailey threw open the front door just as Cillian Kelly was pulling a cell phone from his jacket pocket. He looked startled to see her, then broke out in a pleased smile. “Just in time. I really didn’t want to have to kill that poor demented mother of yours.”

  “What do you want?” she said coldly.

  “Can I come in?”

  Her gaze rested on the two men on either side of him. They were dressed in all black, one lean, one stocky, both armed.

  “Do I have a choice?”

  “No.” Cillian brushed past her, gesturing for his men to follow.

  One of the thugs closed the door and flicked the dead bolt, then turned around and grinned at Bailey. He was one ugly bastard. Crooked teeth and gaunt features, his dark eyes set so deep in his face he resembled a ghoul from a horror movie.

  Cillian propped himself on the arm of the couch, a silenced pistol held loosely in his hand. “We have a problem,” he announced.

  Bailey lifted an eyebrow. “Do we?”

  “Your boyfriend has decided he doesn’t want to do his job anymore.” Cillian shrugged. “My boss isn’t happy about it. I’m not happy about it.”

  She offered a shrug of her own. “Sorry to hear it. But if you came here to force me to convince Sean to change his mind, you wasted a trip. He doesn’t listen to a word I say.”

  “Oh no, luv, I came here to change his mind all by my lonesome.”

  “Well, as you can see, Sean’s not here. Come back later.”

  A sinister smile twisted his lips. “Trust me—Reilly will get the message whether he’s here or not. I would’ve preferred he watch, but no worries. He’ll get to see the final results.”

  Bailey tensed when the two thugs each took a step toward her. Shit.

  Cillian chuckled when he saw her face. “Here’s how it’s gonna go, sweetness. I want you to fight. Gets me harder when they fight. Scream too, if you want.”

  Her fingers tightened around her weapon. She could shoot him. She could shoot all of them. Now, before any of them got their filthy hands on her.

  But Cillian anticipated the move, because he whipped up his phone and turned the screen toward her. “Don’t get any crazy ideas. The call’s already been made.”

  Her pulse sped when she noticed the seconds ticking away on the display. The line was open, and whoever was on the other end of it could hear every word they were saying.

  “I haven’t given the order yet,” Cillian added, his smile widening. “But if you think your CIA friends are gonna save the day, think again. They’ve been taken care of.” He brought his mouth to the phone speaker. “Isn’t that right, Devon?”

  “Yes, boss,” came a cheerful male reply. “Three dead spooks and a bottle o’ rum.”

  As Cillian and his thugs laughed at the macabre joke, Bailey choked down a rush of horror.

  Shit. Fucking shit. Flannery’s people had taken out Daniels’s agents? She swiped her finger over her phone display in a discreet attempt to contact Isaac, but the goon with the crooked teeth suddenly yanked the cell out of her hand.

  “You won’t be needing that, baby.” His voice was as ugly as his face. Raspy and nasally, rippling with menace. “I like my girls to pay attention to me when my dick is inside them.”

  “As you can see,” Cillian said, “I’ve got all my bases covered—that’s an American term you can understand, right? Bloody baseball—what a pointless sport that is. But anyway . . . if you try to run, I’ll order my man to pull the trigger and you can say bye-bye to your mum. If you kill me, my man will hear it”—he waved the phone in the air again—“and you can say bye-bye to your mum. Have I made myself clear?”

  “Crystal,” she said tightly.

  “Good. So now why don’t you hand over that weapon to Leary? You know, just to eliminate any temptation of using it.”

  Reluctance lodged in her throat, but she didn’t have much of a choice. Her mind was racing, synapses firing rapidly as she tried to come up with a plan. A solution. A way out.

  These men weren’t going to touch her. She’d die before she let them.

  But her mother . . . God, her mother. Bailey pictured Vanessa in the suite she’d paid an arm and a leg for. She pictured her mother’s gray eyes, her expression, which ranged from vacant to confused. Or tormented on the rare occasion she was lucid.

  Cillian was on the phone with a man who could make those eyes go lifeless.

  Kelly had to stay alive, then. She would keep him alive, for her mother’s sake. But these other t
wo . . . Her gaze locked with the dark, lust-filled eyes of Crooked Teeth, and every muscle in her body vibrated with rage.

  The second man—Leary—took the gun that Bailey willingly handed to him and tossed it to Cillian. Then Leary and Crooked Teeth faced their boss, waiting for instructions.

  “We’ll start off nice and easy,” he said with a decisive nod. “Leary, why don’t you take our beautiful Bailey’s clothes off? Except for the panties—leave those on. I want to cut them off her myself.”

  Bailey drew a calming breath. It was fine. She was fine. She’d dealt with men like these before. Sick men, violent men. Starting with her own father and ending with all the sadistic perverts she’d killed over the years.

  It was just a matter of patience. Not revealing the upper hand too fast. Waiting until the right time to make a move.

  Leary’s hazel eyes burned with excitement as he took a step toward her. He wasn’t a tall man. Only a few inches taller than her, and lanky rather than bulky. She could take him. Easily.

  Bony hands reached for the hem of her shirt.

  She waited.

  He bunched the fabric between his fingers, licking his lips as he drew the shirt up her belly and exposed her bare breasts.

  “Ah, look at that.” His brogue deepened. “I’m gonna squeeze the hell out of these tits, baby. I’m gonna suck ’em and bite ’em and—”

  She struck like a rattlesnake, spinning him around and wrapping one arm around his scrawny neck. Her free hand landed on his carotid with a precise karate chop, hitting the pressure point that made his entire body go limp. Before the unconscious man could hit the floor, Bailey’s arm twisted hard, snapping his neck with a sickly crack.

  As Leary’s lifeless body slammed into the hardwood with a thud, she turned to Kelly and smiled. “Who’s next?”

  Irritation flared in his ice blue eyes. “What the feck did you do that for?”

  Crooked Teeth wasn’t as composed. “You little bitch! You killed Frankie!”

  He tackled her like a linebacker, slamming her into the wall behind her, and Bailey gasped as the wind was knocked out of her. Her fist instinctively shot out and connected with Crooked Teeth’s jaw. He roared as his head was thrown back, then circled her neck with both hands and squeezed her windpipe.

  “Let her go.”

  Kelly’s sharp command boomed in the air, and suddenly Bailey could breathe again. Crooked Teeth staggered backward, breathing hard. His dark eyes glared bloody murder at her before shifting to his boss.

  “She killed Frankie! We need to gut this stupid bitch!”

  “No, we need to send a message to her boyfriend,” Cillian replied evenly. “So calm the feck down, you sniveling asshole.” His eyes narrowed at Bailey. “You broke the rules.”

  “You said I wasn’t allowed to kill you. You didn’t say anything about him.” She pointed to the dead man on the floor. “He was fair game.”

  Either she was imagining it, or Cillian actually looked impressed, but his features hardened in the blink of an eye. “You’d make a great barrister, luv. But there’re no more loopholes for you to exploit.” He cocked his head at Crooked Teeth. “This one stays alive. No, this one stays conscious.”

  Shit, there went the karate-chop option.

  A queasy sensation churned in her belly as she realized that left her with no options. If she took out Crooked Teeth, her mother would die. If she took out Kelly, her mother would die.

  Oh God. Was she really going to stand by and let these men rape her?

  No. No. There had to be another option. A way to keep her mother safe without sacrificing her body.

  “Now, let’s get back to the good stuff,” Cillian said with a smile.

  She was repulsed to find that he had an erection. The sight of the thick bulge poking against his fly brought bile to her throat. And Crooked Teeth was also hard. Hard and angry and downright gloating as he advanced on her.

  Fear jolted through her as he ripped off her shirt and shoved her against the wall again. Fuck. She had to do something. Had to fight back. But no, Cillian wanted her to fight. He wanted her to scream and struggle and claw at Crooked Teeth’s eyes. Sean had told her the violence excited him.

  And God, now wasn’t the time to be thinking about Sean and what he’d do when he found out that Cillian—

  A thigh jammed between her legs, and Crooked Teeth grunted in pleasure as he ground his pelvis into her, rotating his hips, rubbing his erection against her mound.

  “Oh yeah, baby, I can’t wait to be inside you,” he rasped.

  Bailey went motionless. She met Cillian’s gaze over Crooked Teeth’s shoulder as the man rutted like a dog in heat.

  “Fight him,” Cillian ordered.

  She didn’t answer. Her mind was working overtime, frantically seeking a way out.

  Crooked Teeth cupped one of her breasts, squeezing hard enough to make her gasp. His other hand traveled down her belly to her waistband, and her breath hissed out when he yanked her leggings down her hips.

  She was naked now. Naked and completely out of options.

  “Oooh-boy!” he crowed. “Boss, she’s not wearing any panties. ’Fraid you can’t cut ’em off her. But she’s got the sweetest little pussy. Bet it’s tight, too. Fuck, lemme find out.”

  The door flew open and Sean burst into the room.

  Chapter 22

  Bailey’s eyes locked with Sean’s. Just for a split second. A heartbeat. Then his gaze landed on the male hand on her breast.

  And all hell broke loose.

  Sean lunged at the man and tackled him to the ground, his fists crashing down on the thug’s face as red-hot fury flashed in his eyes. Bailey whipped her pants back up and stumbled forward to look for her shirt, only to halt in her tracks when Cillian raised his gun in her direction.

  “Don’t move, sweetness.”

  Sean’s back stiffened, as if he’d just realized there was more than one threat to contend with. His heavy fist delivered a knock-out blow to Crooked Teeth, whose body went limp, head lolling to the side as blood streamed from his nostrils.

  Sean flew to his feet like a gymnast, unconcerned by the gun pointed at him as he charged toward Kelly. “You gonna shoot me?” he spat out. “Go right ahead, you son of a bitch. Because the only way you’re getting out of here alive is if you shoot me fucking dead.”

  Bailey experienced a shiver of fear. She’d never seen Sean so enraged. He was seething, panting, practically foaming at the mouth. He was like a feral animal. Raw hatred and blind rage glittered in his green eyes, menace rolling off his body in hot, palpable waves.

  Cillian cocked the weapon but didn’t pull the trigger. Amusement flickered through his expression as he studied Sean’s flushed face.

  When Sean moved to attack, Bailey grabbed the sleeve of his black button-down, yanking him backward.

  “No,” she blurted out. “You can’t touch him.”

  His head swiveled toward her in shock. “Are you fucking crazy? He—”

  “He’s on the phone with a sniper who’s got a rifle trained on my mother’s head,” she interrupted. Softly, timidly, pleading at him with her eyes to stand down.

  His chest heaved as he drew in ragged breaths. She could see him fighting an internal battle, struggling to gather the pieces of his broken restraint.

  It was several seconds before his breathing changed. Steadied. He stared at the dead man near the wall, then the unconscious man at his feet, then looked at Cillian with fiery contempt that incinerated the air.

  “I will kill you for this.” Sean spoke in a calm, measured tone that sent a chill racing up Bailey’s spine.

  Cillian chuckled. “Maybe, but it won’t be tonight. Unless you want your little bird’s mother to die too. Is that what you want?” He held up his phone. “Because I can certainly accommodate you.” When Sean didn’t answer, another chuckle slid out. “That’s what I thought.”

  Bailey kept a close eye on Sean, ready to step in if he tried to make another move
. The last thing she wanted was to allow Cillian to walk out of here. She’d rather walk him out herself—with his head on a spike. But he hadn’t left them much of a choice. Daniels’s agents were dead, and her mother was unprotected.

  Which meant that at the moment, Cillian was calling the shots.

  “Well,” he said cheerfully. “I’ve had a lot of fun, but it’s time for me to go.” He smiled at Sean. “I expect to see you at the pub tonight.”

  From the corner of her eye, Bailey saw a tic twitch in Sean’s jaw.

  “You’ll be there, won’t you, Reilly?” Cillian phrased it as a question, but they all knew what it really was—a threat.

  “Yes,” Sean ground out.

  “Good boy.”

  With his phone in one hand and his gun in the other, Cillian strode forward. He tipped his head at Leary’s body, then glanced at Bailey. “I’ll leave this one here for you to dispose of. As my ma always said, you make the mess, you clean it up.” His gaze lowered to Crooked Teeth, who was beginning to stir. “But this one—”

  “Stays here,” Sean hissed out.

  Bailey’s breath hitched sharply. “Sean—”

  “He. Stays. Here.” His jaw was clenched so tight she was surprised it didn’t snap in half. “You made your point, Kelly. Loud and clear. I’ll do whatever the fuck you ask of me. But if you think you’re going to walk out that door and take this piece of garbage with you, then you’re a helluva lot stupider than I thought.”

  Cillian looked at Crooked Teeth, whose eyelids twitched rapidly as he regained consciousness. He went thoughtful for a beat, before giving an apathetic shrug. “What the hell. Let’s call it a show of good faith.” He smiled again. “See, when you follow orders, you reap the rewards. He’s all yours, Reilly.”

  After Cillian disappeared through the doorway, Sean moved to close the door. Then he picked up Bailey’s discarded shirt and held it out without meeting her eyes.