Page 133 of Kneeling to Candy

CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

CANDY

Stilettos are a bitch to run in. More than once, I nearly eat the ground in my pursuit of O’Conall. I stop at the foot of the stairs for a second to yank them off. No sooner do I have the heels in each of my hands when a person grabs me roughly from behind.

My reflexes have me elbowing them in the gut before spinning in their hold to face them, plunging one on the heels against the side of my attacker’s neck. I’m not strong enough to break skin, but the asshole lets go of me, choking as he grabs at his neck.

With my heart in my throat, I stagger away from him before turning on my bare feet to run in the other direction.

A woman screams bloody murder straight ahead, near the back of the estate. It must be Jolie. All the other women held up in the pen were being protected by our team.

I don’t think, running toward the call for help.

In my pursuit, I pass a bloated body. I look away when I see the lifeless eyes of Duffy staring back at me. I don’t have time to process how I feel about seeing the abusive pig dead with a bullet hole between his eyes. All I know is if Duffy’s body is in this area, O’Conall is sure to be close. Where O’Conall walked, Duffy followed. I pick up my pace.

Ahead of me, I spot two armed guards firing down another hallway and Jolie being held at gunpoint by O’Conall. He grips her hair tightly to control her, forcing Jolie to walk where he leads.

Thank God. She’s alive.

My hatred for the man holding her hostage mars my relief.

“Cú Sidhe!”

His head swings my way, his murky eyes narrowing in on me. A sinister smile breaks across O’Conall’s pale face. “Leslie. Care to join me?”

My body might be as rigid as a board, but my adrenaline and feet slowly propel me forward.

“Let her go.”

O’Conall purses his lips, looking up at the ceiling like he’s deciding. His eyes return to mine, that sickening smile back on his face. “No, mo pheata. That’s not how this works. You for her. That’s the deal.”

Jolie doesn’t deserve to live under O’Conall’s cruelty. She has a bright future ahead of her, finishing nursing school so she can help others. I don’t deserve this deal either. But out of the two of us, I can endure this. I’ve lived it once and escaped. I can do it again. No amount of beatings or rapes are going to stop me from getting back to Butch and our family. Not ever.

I’m a survivor, and a damn good one. My will to survive trumps all other senses.

Oh, how fate likes to fuck with me, dealing me another shitty hand. However, this time, I will play the cards I’m dealt and either cheat or bluff for the win. Because there’s no other option if I want to return to the man I love.

In all my years of freedom, I never thought a scenario existed where I’d be willing to turn myself over to O’Conall. But here I am, padding barefoot toward my enemy without a second thought.

Opening my hands at my sides, my other stiletto slips from my grip, clattering on the marble floor. “You have me. Let her go.”

When I’m within grabbing distance, O’Conall shoves Jolie into the corridor next to us. “RUN!” he roars at her.

Like a spooked cat, the woman jumps before she takes off in a wild sprint down the corridor. O’Conall grabs me in a bruising hold around my wrist and makes a mad dash across the hallway Jolie had run down with his two guards close on our heels. I barely have time to notice Chase and Punk at the end of the hallway as Jolie comes barreling down on them. They holler for her to stop, but she runs right by them, too scared to realize they’re there to save her.

Chase runs after Jolie, while Punk follows them with his eyes from where he remains. He must catch our movements in his peripheral vision as we cross the hallway at the other end. Like he’s functioning on autopilot, Punk raises his gun to take aim. Our eyes lock for a second, enough for me to see him register what’s happening and the fear in his face.

“PUNK!” I scream, fighting hard against O’Conall’s hold.

My biker brother’s face contorts from fear into one of crazed possession. Punk charges down the corridor, gun raised and ready to shoot anyone dead. He’s frightening to see in action.

Punk gets off a shot right as we pass out of his sight, taking out one of O’Conall’s guards behind us. The guard falls to the floor, wailing in pain.

It doesn’t slow down O’Conall. If anything, it spurs him to run faster.

No. He can’t get away, and certainly not with me.

My survival instincts kick into high gear. I plant my bare feet into the marble tiles, the abrupt stop halting O’Conall’s forward trajectory. He yanks, and I lean back on my heels, my center of gravity keeping me low to the ground and impossible to move unless he wanted to pull me behind him on my ass. I was dead weight.

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