‘Fuck,’ he spits. ‘The CCTV footage at her office went down twenty-six minutes ago.’
Her building has state-of-the-art security. It’s practically bulletproof. I know because she advised I install the exact same model in the casino. Which can only mean one thing—sabotage. ‘Jack O’Connor?’ Despite my men’s efforts and Killian’s, no one has been able to track him down, or locate the body we were all increasingly certain must be in the woods somewhere.
‘It can only be him. No one else is stupid enough to go after my sister,’ Killian spits.
‘Where are you?’ I snap.
‘The distillery with Caelon, Rian and James.’ That’s at the docklands. ‘We’re on our way to Ballsbridge now. ETA twelve minutes. Where are you?’
I glance out the window. Traffic is moving again. Nowhere near as fast as I’d like, but it’s moving. ‘Eight minutes away.’
‘I’ll send men.’ He hangs up.
Traffic loosens just enough for Holmes to squeeze between lanes, the SUV jerking forward in short, violent bursts. My chest is a vice. Every breath burns. I’ve felt fear before, real fear, but nothing like this—nothing that feels like someone is reaching into my ribcage, twisting my heart and tearing it straight out of my chest.
The minutes pass like hours.
Finally, we reach Ballsbridge–just in time to hear an almighty explosion in the distance.
Fuck.
Smoke fills the sky, forming a thick grey column beyond the rooftops. It’s rising fast. Too fast.
‘Boss?’ Holmes mutters, eyes widening as he cranes forward.
Sirens wail from somewhere.
I need to get to her.
And our baby.
My pulse detonates.
‘Faster,’ I snarl.
‘I’m trying?—’
‘DRIVE.’
He slams the accelerator. The SUV bucks forward. Sirens continue to wail—too far away, too slow. A cold pressure builds behind my sternum until it feels like a knife being driven between my ribs, twisting harder with each passing second.
We turn onto the long road that leads toward her building—and my stomach drops.
There are bodies everywhere.
Felstead staggers across the footpath. ‘She’s in there,’ he yells, clutching his head. Blood pours from it. He must have been hit with something when the building exploded.
Nico is collapsed on the curb, clutching his arms. He’s rocking back and forth in a state of shock as people crowd around him, dust and debris coats their clothes, their hair. Some are bleeding. A shopfront across the street has shattered, glass glittering across the pavement.
Holmes slams on the brakes, the SUV fishtailing slightly before screeching to a stop.
‘Jesus Christ.’ Gabriel breathes behind me.
I’m already out of the car.
The heat hits first—radiating across the street in heavy pulses. Smoke belches from the side of Zara’s building, rolling upward in thick black waves. The lower windows are blown out, jagged glass and metal framing the orange glow inside.
‘Zara!’ I roar, my voice tearing out of my throat like an animal trying to claw free.
