Total pages in book: 96
Estimated words: 91786 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 459(@200wpm)___ 367(@250wpm)___ 306(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91786 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 459(@200wpm)___ 367(@250wpm)___ 306(@300wpm)
“Och, aye,” I say to Mac as I push the door open. Crouched against the corner sits the girl, her knees up to her chest, chin on her knees. I expect her to say something, to shout or scream, to do anything but what she does. She stands and looks at me in silence. It’s then I realize she’s no girl but a woman. A small, unassuming woman, but she’s no child, and she’s fucking gorgeous. A thick mane of wavy, dark brown hair, pale skin with flushed cheeks, and sky-blue eyes framed with long black lashes. Her intelligent eyes are both stunning and haunted. We have no time, yet I want to stand here and memorize every perfect detail.
“Jesus, get over here,” I tell her, grabbing her by the hand. My plan is to drag her with me, to yank her away from the sanctuary of the church and prevent her from turning us in. How, I’ve no idea, but I’ll figure it out.
When our fingers touch, her eyes widen in surprise at the same time vivid awareness courses through me. Sudden warmth sends a tingle through me, and for one wild second I wonder if she’s heaven-sent. We’re standing on sacred ground. Has she been sent from above?
Everything around us suddenly seems brighter, more intense. The scent of incense, the flickering red light beside the tabernacle. I blink and shake my head, certain it’s all my imagination. It’s a strange evening, and we’re in a strange place.
She doesn’t fight me. She doesn’t do anything at all except walk mutely by my side.
Mac goes to the other side of her and we hold her between us.
“Give me your mobile,” I order. Again, she obeys without a fight, sliding it onto my palm.
“Why were you here?” Mac asks.
She stares straight ahead and doesn’t speak. One beat passes, then two, and I feel anger pooling in my belly at her stubborn refusal to respond.
“He asked you a bloody question. Answer him.”
Still, she looks straight ahead and doesn’t respond.
I growl at her, keeping my temper in check with effort. My adrenaline’s been pumping hard through my veins for a fucking hour, and I have no patience for this.
I grip her arm. “I saved you from murder tonight, but nothing will save you from my palm across your arse if you don’t answer.”
Mac scowls when she doesn’t answer, and shakes his head. “We’ll take her back, then?”
I nod. “Aye. No choice. We’ll have to make her both talk to us and ensure she speaks to no one else.”
She blinks, and a tear rolls down her cheek, but still, she doesn’t fight. I’d expect her to kick or scream or do anything but walk mutely beside us, allowing us to lead her to our car. We parked underneath the shadow of the oaks to avoid being seen.
We look around to make sure we aren’t followed, but Aitkens’ men have long since gone, and both the Cathedral and cemetery are secluded enough, no one else has come or seen us. It’s a bloody miracle with the racket we’ve made, but the only damn witness we have is walking beside me.
I open the door and shove her in, considering putting her in the damn boot for a moment. She can’t be allowed see where we’re taking her, and we can’t risk anyone seeing her beside us in the car either. I can’t, though. I’d berate one of my men for being soft with a bloody witness, but I can’t bring myself to do it. Christ. It’ll be a tight damn squeeze to have her in the back beside Clyde and Tate.
I shake my head. That’s not happening. There’s no fucking way I’ll have her sit between the two of them. Clyde will drive us home and we’ll blindfold her so she doesn’t see the way.
“Where are they?” Mac mutters, as we wait in the car for Clyde and Tate to return.
I shake my head. “No fucking idea. They weren’t supposed to bury the damn body tonight.” She shivers when I say body. Did she not realize I’d killed him?
We’ve contacts with the men who dig graves here at the Cathedral, a good fucking convenience. Other mobs throughout the country dispose of their bodies by messy, covert means. Some of ours are buried alongside heroes and civilians at the cemetery, marked with bogus markers, of course. And no one’s ever been the wiser. We keep our contacts paid well.
I suspect Father MacGowen’s raised a brow a time or two, but as Clan chaplain, he knows better than to ask questions. He knows he won’t get an answer.
Five minutes later, they’re still not back, and I’m growing agitated. I’d go after them myself if not for the woman held firmly in my grip. She hasn’t wavered or spoken, staring straight ahead with her jaw clenched tightly. It looks as if she’s staring intently at something, but when I follow the path of her gaze, there’s nothing but darkness and a moonlit road.