Page 38 of Dublin Beast

They drop soundlessly.

We drag them into the bushes and step over their bodies without pause.

The door is unlocked—idiots. We slip inside.

The energy in the mansion ischarged, thick with the hum of conversation, the distant clinking of expensive crystal. Somewhere deeper in the house, a voice rises over the din.

Is that a motherfucking auctioneer?

I move before my mind weighs in, stalking down the golden halls, my gun steady in my grip. Kieran keeps pace, his focus locked in no matter how idiotic he knows this is.

We follow the voice down a long staff corridor to an inconspicuous door leading to the main part of the mansion.And then we’re in.

The grand ballroom is dressed in deep shadows, the crimson walls spackled with glittering light from the massive chandeliers above. I tuck my gun into my waistband and select a black and red masquerade mask from the selection strewn as a display on the entrance table.

Kieran follows my lead and covers his face with one that is emerald green.

Men in sharp tuxedos and masks stand in clusters, cigars dangling from their fingers, the air thick with expensive cologne and something darker.

I loathe this world.

This isn’t business. Masked. Hidden. Watching men of means bid on things no man should own. They reckon themselves above morality. It is an affront to everything I believe in—everything I stand for.

My stomach twists, fury rising like a storm in my chest. Then my gaze finds the stage—and the woman strung up for the current bidding.

My visionblurs red.

Harper.

Bile burns up my throat as the knot in my stomach twists. Harper is hanging from her wrists, naked, her head lolling forward, unconscious.

She’s theprizefor the highest bidder.

The beast inside mebreaks free.

I raise my gun andfire.

The first bullet takes the auctioneer between the eyes. The second shatters a chandelier, sending shards of crystal raining down.

The room explodes into chaos.

Screams. Shouts. A stampede of expensive shoes scrambling toward the exits.

I don’t stop moving.

Idon’t fucking blink.

Anyone stupid enough to get between me and Harper gets a bullet for their trouble.

One to the throat.

One to the gut.

Another between the eyes.

I vault onto the stage, shoving another body out of my way. Harper’s arms are stretched taut, her wrists zip-tied to a cold metal hook. Blood trickles down her forearms where the plastic has cut deep.

I move fast. Handing Kieran my gun, I lift her weight with one arm, gripping the hook with my free hand and snap it clean off.

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