Page 39 of The Captive
I gave a short nod, gambling on the vague response.
"Good work," Mason said after a moment. "Donovan's been riding all our asses about catching these two, but seems his team got to them first." He paused, then added, "Pretty good that you found her. Where exactly did you pick her up?"
"Western creek bed," I replied, remembering the terrain we'd passed. "She was trying to follow it north. Wasn't hard to track—she left some footprints in the muddy part."
Mason seemed satisfied with this response and turned his attention to Aoife, his posture changing subtly. He stepped closer to her, and I could feel her tense.
"Well, well," Mason murmured, reaching out to roughly lift Aoife's chin. "Not so high and mighty now, are you?"
Aoife jerked her face away, and Mason laughed.
"This one's got spirit," he said, his tone changing to something that made my skin crawl. He turned to me. "The boss lady said to bring them in alive, but she didn't say what condition they needed to be in."
Mason's hand moved to Aoife's arm, his fingers digging into her flesh. "You won't tell, will you, Kev?"
Something dark and protective surged through me. I remembered Aoife not just as the enemy, but as I'd first seen her two years ago at her father’s charity gala—simply a woman, her eyes meeting mine in a crowded ballroom, the electricitybetween us immediate and undeniable. So much, we’d slipped away and given in to a desire that shook us to the core. It had shaken me at least, and for those few hours, we created a world that fit just the two of us, consumed as we were by a connection that defied explanation.
That woman was still there, deep inside her. That connection we had couldn’t be severed.
"We have orders," I said firmly. "Beatrice wants her intact."
"Just a little fun," Mason insisted, his grip on Aoife tightening. "She's insignificant, after all."
I wanted to bash his head against a tree trunk for speaking out of turn, then cut his tongue out and feed it to him, but I would play this fucking game and get us out of here. After this was over, I would speak to Coyne about the security which obviously wasn’t up to par, updated or not. Someone had clearly overridden it with surprising ease. Maybe they’d also timed it to a day when the staff would be off premises. Another mental note to check for bugs.
When Mason squeezed Aoife's face, I caught her wince in pain. I’d taken about as much as I could. My patience had been stretched to the limit.
"That's enough," I growled in warning.
Mason froze, then slowly turned to face me. "What did you say?"
"I said that's enough," I repeated, my hand moving instinctively toward the knife in my vest.
Mason stared at me for a long moment. "Since when does south team care about handling the merchandise?" he asked slowly. Then his eyes narrowed when I didn’t budge. "Wait a minute..."
In one swift motion, the bastard lunged forward and made a grab at my mask. I tried to dodge, but his fingers caught the edgeof it and tore it off my face. I cursed out loud for I had let my anger get the better of me and I’d lowered my guard.
Time seemed to freeze as recognition dawned in Mason's eyes.
"You—" he began, reaching for his radio. "All units, it's?—"
The butt of the rifle I carried connected with Mason's jaw before he could finish the transmission. Mason staggered back but recovered quickly, tackling me to the ground and expertly disarming me of the rifle and also the Glock. Dammit. We rolled in the dirt and soil, wrestling for dominance farther away from both weapons.
From the corner of my eye as I blocked a punch from Mason, I noticed Aoife working her wrists free from the loose bindings.
My opponent was good, a pro, but crossing me was a mistake.
A memory flashed through my mind—Ronan pummelling one of the twins who had laid hands on Cressida during our first and—so far—only hunt on these very grounds. Those times seemed so very long ago for Ronan and Cressida were now playing house as if nothing had ever happened, and peace was restored among the Flanagans because family was family.
The same cold fury that had taken him over, making him see red when Cressida was in danger, gripped me now.
I managed to get on top of Mason, landing blow after blow. Who needed a gun when I had these fists? I would reduce him to a pulp, and none of his comrades would recognise the remains. "I'm going to reach inside you and tear your heart out!" I snarled, barely recognizing my own voice. “For touching what’s mine.”
For a while, not sure how long, it was like I was watching myself from afar. Mason's blood spattered across my knuckles as the man screamed into the night air.
That sound, coupled with the bastard’s interrupted transmission, drew the team’s attention. The radio in my earsuddenly erupted with voices: "Mason? Report!" "What's your position?" "Anyone else hear? All units converge on Mason's last known location!"
From far away, Aoife’s voice finally broke through the haze, urgently calling my name, begging me to stop.
