She nods once.
‘Finish it,’ she says softly. ‘But whatever you do, make sure you come home to me.’
48
DOMINIC
Ciaran and Cathal take three of the security team stationed at the house. I take James and Lewis, leaving Logan, Matt, and Dylan at the house. I don’t like leaving Aoife here, but I can’t risk taking her with me. Not just because she’d be an accomplice, but because it’s one thing knowing what I’m capable of, and entirely another to witness it in action.
Itwillbe brutal. Like the brutality he showed the women he was trafficking. And like the brutality he threatened my wife with.
Which is why I’m going to start with a broken baseball bat and finish with it up his ass.
‘Be careful,’ Aoife instructs me as I stride towards the BMW. James and Lewis are waiting inside with the engine running.
The rain has finally subsided. A full moon hangs brightly in the sky.
‘You never have to worry about me,’ I promise her.
‘Come home safe,’ she repeats, then presses her lips to mine.
I can taste her fear. ‘I promise, Aoife, nothing, nothing and no one is capable of taking me from you.’
She nods then. I kiss her once more before getting into the car. The second she closes the front door, we tear off down the driveway. Dylan mans the gate. James nods at him as the gates swing open. If anyone asks, I was here all night. And we’ll doctor the CCTV to prove it.
The warehouse sits ten miles from the house, tucked behind a wall of gnarly trees that soar high into the sky. The building itself is a concrete shell with a steel roller door. Motion lights snap on as we pull up, bleaching the gravel yard in a harsh white glare. The BMW crunches to a stop. Lewis kills the engine. Silence settles between us.
I grab the baseball bat and step out of the vehicle. The scent of wet grass mixed with oil from machinery that hasn’t moved in months mingles in the air. And beneath it—the faint copper edge of blood.
Two more of my men stand at either side of the shutter door. Shoulders squared. Faces expressionless. ‘Boss.’
I nod once, and the floodlight above the entrance flickers, then steadies, throwing long shadows across the gravel, distorting shapes, stretching them into something monstrous.
James falls into step on my left. Lewis on my right. The roller door is shut. Locked from the outside. Kavanagh is contained.
I glance back once—towards the direction of my house. Aoife is there—safely tucked away from the monster behind the metal door.
‘Is he conscious?’ I ask.
‘Just about,’ one of the lads replies. ‘He’s still talking shit.’
I smile. Psycho Dom is officially activated and—spoileralert—there’s nothing romantic about this version of me. I flex my fingers once, then step forward. ‘Open it.’
The chain rattles, metal groans against metal, and the door lifts slowly. The smell hits harder now. Blood. Piss. And something stronger underneath it—–fear.
The door rattles fully open. Rory Kavanagh sits slumped against a metal support beam, wrists bound behind him with industrial ties. His face is a mess of swelling and split skin. One eye is nearly closed. Dark dried blood decorates his nose, jaw, and his once white shirt. From the amount of blood staining the floor, he’s got minutes left, not hours. So much for dragging this out.
Fucking Ciaran had all the fun.
But Kavanagh, the cunt, is still smiling. ‘Took you long enough,’ he croaks.
I step inside. The concrete floor is slick beneath my boots. ‘I was busy with my beautiful wife.’
Rory spits, then drags in a breath that never quite lands—ragged, wet, like something inside him is tearing wider every time he tries. Ciaran really did a number on him.
‘Sounds like you’re running out of air,’ I say, watching the way his chest stutters instead of rises. ‘Shame. I had so many plans for this baseball bat.’ I stand. ‘You threatened to rape my wife,’ I say evenly. ‘Fuck every hole she owns.’ My rage is blinding. ‘You trafficked women intomycity.’
He huffs something that might be a laugh, but it collapses into a choke. Blood slicks his lips when he swallows it back down.
