“Where are you going?” Declan demands.
“I'm not telling you a damn thing. I want you to find my wife.”
“Maybe she's betrayed you, brother. Just like her father?—”
“I know my wife, Declan.” I'm running now, though it's more of a controlled stumble, one hand trailing along the wall to keep me upright. “You tell me everything you know. Now.”
Two guards round the corner. One of them is Erin's guard.
“Where the fuck were you, and why weren't you with her?” I grab him by the throat and slam him up against the wall, muscle memory kicking in, even through the haze.
“Sir, I don't know where she's gone?—”
“Then you're a shite bodyguard,” I snarl. I break his nose with one swift punch. “You fucking arsehole. You were supposed to watch my wife, and now she's not here.”
I throw him at the other guard, and they both fall to the ground like dominoes. I don't slow down. The front door’s ahead… so close. The floors are undulating like the deck of a ship in a storm, but I have to keep moving.
Wife. In danger. Move.
Someone grabs at my arm, and I spin too fast. My fist connects with something soft.
“Mr. McCarthy, please?—”
“Get your fucking hands off me, or I'll break every damn finger.”
I eventually crash through the door. The cold air hits me, and I stumble forward and retch. Nothing comes up but acid. Doesn't matter. I'm still moving.
The driveway is a sea of shadows. I blink hard, trying to focus. There—Seamus's Range Rover, parked nearby. Keyless entry. I know the code.
I yank the door open and haul myself into the driver's seat. The steering wheel swims in and out of focus.
This is a bloodyterribleidea.
I press the start button. The engine roars to life, and I'm moving—down the driveway and onto the street. The headlights blur and streak. I blink hard, gripping the wheel so tight my knuckles go white.
My phone rings. I answer without looking.
“Turn around, you mad fuckin’ bastard.” Seamus. “You're concussed to shite. You'll kill yourself.”
“Then I'll die on the way to her.” My voice doesn't sound like mine. “I'm not stopping. She's my wife, Seamus. My fucking wife. And if any cunt has her, if they've fucking—” I can't finish. Can't breathe.
The road tilts, and I overcorrect. The Range Rover swerves.
“Who, brother? Where the fuck are you? Where are you going?” Seamus sounds strained.
“I have somewhere to be.”
“What are you not fucking telling me?”
“I need answers, Seamus.”
I hang up, then call Declan. He answers on the first ring.
“What the bloody hell are you up to?”
“You listen to me,” I growl. “I don't care what the fuck you think you have on Erin. You listening?”
“Aye,” he says. “Brother, what the hell?—”
