I look toward the shed and note a length of rope on the floor. Holding her tightly with my left arm, I leave Cormac gasping for breath, and walk her to the shed. I reach for the rope. I’m experienced enough in restraining a prisoner, that it’s an easy matter to tie her hands behind her back and secure the rope tightly.
“Don’t you dare!” she howls, hopping around on her bare feet to get out of my grip, but she can’t get out of the bonds. I’ve no idea what we’ll do with her, but I see no choice but to toss her in the back of the Jag and take her back for questioning. It’s when I’m securing the final knot, my eyes adjusting to the dim light in the shed, that I see something that captures my attention.
What the hell is it? Since she’s still kicking at me, I seat her firmly on the grass outside the shed, admittedly with a little more force than necessary. I’ve got to get the little hellcat under control. Her brows are drawn together, her cheeks flaming red. The girl’s got fire licking through her limbs to defy two grown men as she has. Cormac’s on his feet now, eyeing her warily.
It’s rare Cormac gets angry, but he’s full throttle now. He wags a finger in her direction. “You do a thing like that again, I’ll break my ‘no hittin’ women’ rule and redden yer arse properly,” he mutters. At his threat, I look at him sharply.
No fucking way. The only person punishing this little vixen will be me, and with pleasure.
“Hell no, you won’t.”
Cormac looks at me in surprise but quickly nods, deferring. He knows.
I’ve put my hands on her. I’m heir to the throne. This victory prize belongs to me, and me alone.
“Cormac.” I jerk my chin at him, and he looks my way, at the books stacked in my hands. “Look what I’ve got.”
“Put those down!” she screams. “No! Don’t you dare touch them. They don’t belong to you!” Seems a gag would do well.
I ignore her and lift a record book, rifling through it. It takes me a moment to decipher what I’m reading, and when I do, my anger rises. As I look through the numbers and notes, my blood pumps hot and furious in my veins. I clench my hands so tightly on the book I’m looking at, my hands shake with fury.
“Fucking hell,” I mutter. “For Christ’s sake.”
She’s got details on every fucking transaction The Clan has made in neat, handwritten rows.
The names of the men we’ve hired.
The payouts we’ve gotten for every arms sale we’ve made.
The names of every affiliate we’ve interacted with, and the list goes fucking on.
She’s got every inside detail on every fucking transaction we’ve made going back to last year.
How could we have not known a spy was right under our very noses? What she’s planning on doing with this information is a mystery to me, but it’s no fucking good she has it.
Father Finn was right. She’s a fucking danger to us.
We found what we needed at the lighthouse.
Jesus.
“We need to bring her back with us,” I tell him. “This little lass has some explaining to do.” She howls and rages like a feral kitten. I frown at her. The girl needs taming, and I’m happy to be the man for the job. “But for Christ’s sake, let’s gag her first.”Chapter FourCaitlinI can’t believe I’m in the back of a car, bound like a hog-tied beast, and that they manhandled me. He hurt me. He hurt me. He had the nerve to strike me, and I think he bruised my chest with his iron grip. The ropes bite into my wrists, and if I move them in any way, the sting worsens, chafing my skin.
Where are they taking me? I’m already further away from home than I’ve ever been in my life. Though I know what a car is, of course, having read about them, I’ve certainly never been in one. It scares me a little, the way I’m being jostled around, and when we hit a particularly rough patch, my head slams against the car door.
I try to scream, but the gag they’ve got wrapped around my mouth prevents me. My eyes water, from both the pain and the utter helplessness I feel being taken away from everything that’s familiar and comfortable in my life. I’m in danger. My father was right. The first day I ever set foot outside my home, and I’m taken hostage by two men.
They took my father’s things with them, the metal boxes and reams of notes, though I don’t have a clue what any of them are. Do they think I’m somehow responsible for them? God, of course they do. How could they not? They found me in possession of them.