My stomach plummets.
I reach towards my top drawer, where a handgun sits. Killian gave it to me as a gift when I started here. I’ve never had to use it before, but I know how. My brothers made certain of that.
‘Don’t even think about it.’ He pulls out a pistol. So that’s what kind of tools he carried into my building.
‘There’s cash in the safe.’ I nod towards the cabinet behind me. ‘Take whatever you want.’
He laughs then, long and low. ‘I don’t want your money, Zara. I want to burn your world down.’
He reaches into the case again. This time, he produces a lighter. His thumb rolls over it, and that tiny flame sets myinsides alight. The sickening reality of my situation slams into me like a sledgehammer.
Killian’s phone calls.
Shit.
‘Jack O’Connor.’ I exhale heavily. He looks nothing like the pictures Killian circulated. But then again, between the baseball cap and the beard, it was impossible to see much of his face at all.
‘Very good.’ He nods patronisingly as if addressing a small child.
‘I assumed you were dead.’ If I can just keep the crazy bastard talking until Killian gets here. He must know his men monitor all of our CCTV. Clearly, he was trying to warn me. Or maybe my new client—Slater—could raise the alarm bells.
‘That was the entire point.’ Jack’s nostrils flare.
‘But how? It’s been months.’ Every cell in my body screams at me to buy time. Stall him from doing something catastrophic.
‘You all thought my sons skipped the country too. Meanwhile, they built an entire world beneath the woods, waiting for me to make my move.’ There’s a psychotic smugness to his tone. ‘The sons that your family didn’t put in prison, that is.’ His eyes drop to my bump. Panic pulses through my blood, but I remain still, rigid in my chair. ‘The next generation always pays for their parents’ mistakes in the end. Pity really.’
Fuck.
Where is Killian?
I peer over O’Connor’s shoulder, silently willing someone, anyone, to help me.
He laughs then, long and low. ‘You’re not stupid enough to think Slater is actually coming? That was just a ploy to keep you here after hours. There was no point in killing your sweetlittle receptionist. Not when she’s been so kind to me and my dog these past few months.’
Fuck.
My eyes dart to the tiny camera mounted in the top corner of the room.
‘Disabled.’ He offers me another slow, cruel smile and flicks the lighter again. ‘I had to give them a reason to come down in person.’
Fire.
That’s the mad bastard’s preferred method of killing.
Shit.
What the fuck has he done in my server room?
He strolls toward my window and looks out at the quiet street below, arms loose at his sides.
‘I spent the afternoon getting to know your building,’ he says absently.
Every muscle in my body tenses, turns to ice.
‘What did you do?’ My voice cracks.
He turns back to me. Cold bright eyes bore into mine.
