He pauses for a moment as if to gauge my reaction before he reaches for me again. Not having anywhere else to go, I quietly tremble as he unties the ropes binding my ankles.
He levels me another look before drawing out a wicked-looking knife from somewhere at his side, swiftly cutting through the zip ties on my wrists. Flinching after he’s already cutme loose, the knife disappears nearly as quickly as it appeared and he looks me over. His eyes darken as they trail over my back.
I’m hyper-aware of the state of my top, one thread away from falling apart entirely, and my hands come up protectively over my chest.
He stands, removing his bullet proof vest before wrenching his hoodie up and over his head before crouching down in front of me again, though not quite as close as he was before. Free of the grate, I inch away, putting a couple more inches of space between us.
“Here.” He leans forward, closing the gap again, dragging the soft fabric over my head. It’s still warm from his body, bringing awareness to just how cold I am. The hoodie is too big for me, but once it’s on, its warmth and size brings me an odd sense of comfort. I inhale deep, trying to calm my still panicked breathing. The scent of him surrounds me, a dark citrus, triggering an overwhelming sense of familiarity.
My gaze shoots up, he’s watching me with a dark intensity. Only his eyes are visible under that dark mask. And those eyes… a green fading into dark shadow at the edges, framed by lashes no man should have.
“You…” I whisper, my voice barely audible, but he hears it, the faintest flash of surprise in his eyes. Fractured eyes, as familiar as they are foreign…
“It’s you.”
16
YOU
KOEN
Now
It’s her.
It’s actually fuckingher.
I knew it.I’d known it the second they’d dragged her out of the van, back out on the street.
And she recognized me, too.
Fucking hell.
Even with the mask on, she knew me. I could see it in her eyes, even before she spoke.
“It’s you.”
Her voice doesn’t just sound familiar, itfeelsfamiliar. The memory of it has been echoing through my mind for years, had woven itself into the very fabric of my being. Something long dead flickers back to life inside of me at the sound. I stare down into ocean blue eyes, unsure of what to say, but before I can say anything, shouts at my back force my attention away.
Aidan and Liam have got the slimy bastard, the one who’d whipped her, tied to a chair. The man’s bleeding from where I shot him in his hand and knee, pleading with my youngerbrother who’s glaring down at him with the promise of death in his eyes. Aidan draws back his hood and slides down his mask, revealing his face before locking in on his target.
Here we fucking go…
“Don’t move,” I growl at the girl, who’s still shivering at my feet before I rise, turning to fully assess the scene unfolding at my back.
The Italian’s eyes dart wildly around, searching for help that’s not coming. “Look, man, I—I’m just a hired gun,” he jumbles out. “I only do what I’m told.”
“And who does the telling?” Aidan plays with the gun in his hand, unloading and reloading the cartridge.His Irish accent comes out far thicker than usual, ensuring the guy knowsexactlywho he’s dealing with.
The Irish Devils.
The Italian’s mouth snaps shut, and he looks uneasy.
“Plot twist: it gets worse for you.” Aidan clicks the safety off of his gun and there’s a dangerous glint in his eye when he says, “Whatever comes out of your mouth next determines how much worse.”
The man licks his lips, still looking between the three of us: Aidan, Liam, and me. His eyes calculating.
“Whose warehouse is this?”
