Page 45 of Dublin Beast

“We need more information.”

He’s right. The place is locked up tight, and with the number of bodies on site, we’re outgunned and outmanned. Charging in would be suicide. We need intel before we can do anything, and we need it before the McGuires catch up to us and ruin everything.

I exhale slowly, wondering how long it will take to confirm the bitch is in there?—

A crack echoes through the still night air.

Both Kieran and I freeze. The distinct snap of a branch breaking underfoot sends a jolt of adrenaline through my system.

We aren’t alone out here.

I jerk my chin toward the tree line, already backing away. Kieran doesn’t argue, moving in sync with me as we ease deeper into the shadow of the woods.

Every few steps we stop and listen, waiting for the telltale sounds of pursuit. There are none.

Still, I don’t relax until we reach the car.

Sliding behind the wheel, I clench my hands around the steering wheel, my mind already racing ahead. Kieran pulls out his phone. “All right. What are we going to need?”

* * *

Harper

I surface slowly, as though clawing my way through thick, murky water. My body is heavy, my limbs weighed down with exhaustion that clings like the worst hangover in the history of hangovers.

A dull ache pulses behind my eyes, and the remnants of whatever they jabbed me with still linger, wrapping around my thoughts like a woolly blanket of fog.

It’s not as bad as last night, though.

The nausea is still there, but has settled into a low churning in my stomach instead of relentless waves. The chills are still an issue, my muscles aching with a deep cold that no amount of blankets seems to keep at bay.

Except the hot water of a shower.

I close my eyes, the muffled memory of standing in the steam of a hot spray warming me. The playback in my mind is spotty at best, but I’m pretty sure Bryan washed my hair.

Bryan.

The tension in my chest loosens a fraction. He rescued me from that place, from those creepy, pervy assholes. I’m safe because he came for me.

If only Chantal and Macie had someone to come for them.

Movement rustles beyond the bedroom door, a soft shuffle of footsteps in the common area of the suite. I swallow, my throat dry, and try to call out.

My voice cracks before I form his name. I swallow again, wetting my lips, and try again.

“Bryan?”

A beat of silence follows, and then, instead of his deep, rough voice, I hear a woman’s voice. “Oh! You’re awake.”

The door cracks open, and a figure steps inside. She’s older, maybe in her early sixties, with short, dark curls peppered with gray and warm brown eyes that crinkle at the corners when she smiles.

“Good morning, Harper. I’m Fiona. How are you feeling, luv?”

I blink, my sluggish brain taking a moment to catch up. “Sorry. Who are you?”

“I’m an RN on call with some of the hotels in the area. I was hired to stay with you while your boyfriend and his mate step out for a bit. He didn’t want you waking up alone, with you feeling so poorly.”

I exhale slowly, shifting against the sheets. My muscles still ache, but I’m no longer drowning under the weight of the drugging effects.

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