Savage Hearts (Queens & Monsters #3)(43)

“Okay. Shoot yourself in the head.”

“Anything other than that, you bloody great wanker.”

When I don’t reply, he prompts, “You know what I’m offering is valuable. All you have to do is give me something to go on. Give me somewhere to look. Give me fucking anything that will help us find her, and I’ll owe you a marker. No questions asked.”

I consider it.

A dozen different extremely useful things I could ask him for run through my head. Though I hate to admit it, Declan O’Donnell is a powerful man.

You never know when having a man like that in your debt will come in handy.

And I did specifically tell Malek not to hurt any women while he was getting his revenge. I was very clear on that. Now, a girl has been shot in the process of a kidnapping that wasn’t supposed to happen.

Not just any girl.

One that Natalie cares about. One she wants me to help find.

Decision made.

“All right, Irish. You’ve got yourself a deal. Let me make a few calls. I’ll get back to you when I have something.”

I hang up before I have to hear his annoying accent again.

Then, with Nat watching nervously, I start dialing.





23





Riley





The pain is everywhere.

It’s mostly in my stomach, but it’s also all over me, everywhere at once. Every breath is agony. The smallest movement is torture. Even the air brushing my skin makes it hurt.

It hurts so bad, I wish I were dead.

My eyes are closed and my mind is sluggish, dulled by the blunt force of the pain, but I’m still vaguely aware of my surroundings.

I smell antiseptic.

I hear words spoken low in a foreign language.

I feel a cold pinch of metal as a needle is inserted into my arm, then a faint burning in the vein.

The sharpest edge of the pain dulls within seconds. My moan of gratitude is a reflex.

A cell phone rings.

Heavy footsteps move away.

A voice I recognize says in English, “I’m within my rights. It’s not for you to question.”

It’s Malek. He sounds furious.

More silence. Then he speaks in rapid-fire sentences, biting the words off his tongue.

“I took her as repayment for Mikhail. What I do from here is none of your business. This is all the explanation you’ll get, Kazimir. She’s mine now. Don’t contact me again.”

The heavy footsteps move closer. Malek speaks again, this time in Russian.

Also in Russian, the answer comes from my right.

It’s a man’s voice. He sounds nervous. I sense there are others nearby, watching silently, just as nervous as him.

When Malek responds, I understand it, so it must be in English. But my brain is as fuzzy as a cotton ball. Whatever’s getting pumped into my arm is dragging me fast toward unconsciousness.

“Do it,” he growls. “If she dies, so do all of you.”

The words slip-slide out of my grasp even as they’re spoken, rising up on lazy drafts of air to echo against the ceiling until they fade away.

A wave of darkness crashes down and swallows me whole.





Like a tide, the darkness slowly recedes.

Dappled light filters through my closed eyelids. I smell him somewhere close by, that heady scent of a dense nighttime woods. My pulse surges. A steady mechanical beeping accelerates to match it. I must be hooked up to a monitor.

“Live, little bird,” Mal says, close to my ear, his voice low and urgent. “Fly back to me.”

I drag my eyelids open long enough to glimpse him there, hovering over me like the angel of death, beautiful and otherworldly, his pale eyes burning bright.

I understand that he believes I’m going to die.

He takes my cold hand and squeezes it. Hard. He commands gruffly, “Live.”

The tide of darkness rolls in to claim me once again.





I’m lifted in strong arms. The pain is excruciating, but I can’t cry out. I have no power over any part of my body, including my vocal cords. I’m limp, my limbs dangling lifelessly like a doll’s. I don’t have enough energy to even open my eyes.

I’m also cold. Freezing cold.

I’ve been entombed inside an iceberg.

Then there’s movement. Disorienting movement. I can’t tell what direction is up or down. The arms that were carrying me have disappeared. I’m stretched out on a comfortable surface.

I must have been placed flat but can’t remember it. I also still can’t open my eyes.

Something soft and heavy covers my body. A low hum of noise soothes my screaming nerves. A rocking motion lulls me into a trance. I’m cradled in warmth and security, and though the pain in my body is intense, I feel strangely calm. Calm and detached from myself, as if I’m floating weightlessly in the air several feet away, observing.

Maybe I’m dead already.

I thought the afterlife would be less painful than this.

The rocking slows, then stops. I inhale a breath that smells like snow.

“Good evening, sir. May I see your passport, please?”

The voice is male, friendly, and unfamiliar.

After a pause, the friendly man speaks again. “How long do you plan to stay in Canada, sir?”