Page 31 of The Captive
"You stabbed me with a garden stake." Blood continued seeping through my shirt. "Consider yourself lucky I'm not returning the favour."
As we approached the house, two security guards ran toward us, weapons drawn.
"Stand down," I ordered. "Miss O'Malley and I were just having a disagreement about the terms of her stay."
Their eyes took in my bloodied appearance and her dishevelled state, but neither commented. They knew when to remain silent.
"Take her to her room," I instructed, shoving her toward them more roughly than necessary. "Full restraints this time. No visitors except me."
As they led her away, she looked back over her shoulder, those changeable green eyes meeting mine with unmistakable promise.
"This isn't over, Alexander!" she called, her voice carrying across the manicured lawn.
"No," I agreed, pressing a hand to my bleeding shoulder. "It isn’t."
In my study, I poured another Macallan, downing it in one burning swallow while the family doctor cleaned and stitched my wound. Six stitches—a permanent reminder of Aoife O'Malley's duplicity.
As I contemplated a suitable punishment, my phone vibrated. Coyne.
"We have a situation," he said without preamble when I answered. "Patrick O'Brien just called. His wife is missing."
The doctor finished. I straightened, immediately alert despite the searing pain in my shoulder. "Beatrice? Since when?"
"Three days. And get this—last known communication was a message sent from Patrick's phone. To Aoife O'Malley."
Ice slid down my spine as a strange haze settled in front of my vision. My head started to spin—probably a result of recent happenings. Standing, I silently dismissed the doctor, mouthing a thanks, and walked outside, to the grounds, fighting the weird feeling taking over my body. I needed to clear my head.
"What did it say?" I asked, my tongue feeling glued to the roof of my mouth.
But I kept going. One step after another.
It was already dark.
What was I doing? Coyne was talking. “Can you repeat that?” I asked.
"I said it was something about access codes here. Offering to meet where they 'last spoke' if O'Malley wants revenge."
Nine
ALEXANDER MOORE
Darkness.The taste of metal on my tongue. A pounding that threatened to split my skull in two.
I groaned, attempting to lift my head only to have the world spin violently around me. My mouth felt like sandpaper, my thoughts fragmented and disjointed as I tried to piece together what had happened. The symptoms were hauntingly familiar—the same ones Ronan had described years ago after a certain experience with Beatrice O’Brien, when she was still living here.
Drugged. I've been drugged.
Had to be…
My last clear memory flickered into focus: Aoife. Her emerald eyes darkened with desire, her lips parted as she whispered my name. The heat of her skin against mine, the intoxicating scent of her perfume.
I remembered how her lips had tasted, how her body had melted against mine. Mistrust had transformed into something else … an attraction I couldn’t resist.
Then, she stabbed me.
A shiver racked my body, the cold finally registering through the haze of my thoughts. I forced my eyes open, blinking against the disorientation. The ground beneath me was damp with evening dew, and above, a waning moon cast weak silver light through a canopy of trees.
Trees I recognized.
