Page 83 of Dublin Beast

Then it all rushes back.

Fighting with Bryan. Screaming at him in the parking lot. The lights, the cars, the men. Hands grabbing me from behind. Something damp and acrid being clamped over my mouth and nose.

Shit.

I was taken.Again.

I writhe again, twisting my shoulders, and the blindfold shifts. It lifts a sliver—enough for light to bleed in. I tilt my chin, angling for more.

The room is dim but vast, lit by the flickering of old sconces that look out of place and out of time. The light flickers and sputters high above as if even being lit is too much for them to manage.

I’m tied to a chair, placed in a sunken rectangular space. Cracked tile with the faded remains of intricate mosaics crawls across the floor beneath me, grimy with age and disuse. Six feet above my head, the room expands, and the walls rise higher.

What is this place? An old community pool maybe?

It feels like a tomb—smells like one too. The scent of damp air mixes with mildew and rot. Rusted iron grates block foggy windows—too small to crawl through—and everywhere I look, the place drips with faded elegance and forgotten grandeur.

I work against my blindfold, fighting with the cotton to give me more. Now I can see pale marble benches lining the walls, their surfaces streaked with black mold.

And Bryan.

He’s strapped to a rusted chair across from me, head bowed, muscles straining beneath his torn black shirt. Blood crusts at his collarbone, a path of scarlet trailing down the side of his head from a matted patch of dark hair on his scalp.

He didn’t have that when I was fighting with him in the parking lot, so I assume it was inflicted during our capture. I don’t remember much about that.

Just that they moved in fast and caught me from behind with chloroform or something like it.

It’s not surprising it took violence to overpower Bryan, but really twelve against two didn’t bode well for us. And now, we’re here, our wrists zip-tied to the arms of our chairs, our ankles bound to the legs.

“Bryan? Are you awake?”

His head jerks up at the sound of my voice.

Our eyes meet.

And for a moment, I forget to breathe.

Because he looks at me likeI’mthe enemy. Not the men who drugged us. Not the ones who dragged us into this bizarre cage.

Me.

I tear my gaze away first.

Of course he’s pissed—but so am I. We’re here because of him. Because he went up against Sentinel and the authorities guarding Siobhan. Because he didn’t get us out of that parking lot before his enemies overtook us.

It looks like he’ll be responsible for the death of more than one woman tonight.

Bryan strains against the ties binding his wrists, biceps flexing as the plastic tightens against his skin. “Fucking amateurs,” he growls under his breath, scowling. “You’d think Mason could afford real restraints.”

My mind stalls out on that. “Mason? You think he’s behind this?”

He grunts but doesn’t stop working on the plastic tie. “Of course it’s Mason. Who the fuck did you think snatched us?”

My mouth falls open and I realize if it’s Eddie Mason who grabbed us, thisisn’this fault—it’smine.

My stomach drops. “I…uh, thought Sentinel tracked us down because of Siobhan.”

A sharp snap frees one of his arms and he focuses on the other. A moment later he has both arms free and is shaking out his fingers.

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