Page 16 of Bloody Knuckles

The desk tucked in the corner catches my attention. Cormac used it briefly before the photographer arrived, writing something in a leather-bound book before tucking it into the drawer. A drawer he failed to lock in his haste.

Perhaps carelessness. Perhaps a trap.

I hesitate before crossing to it, listening for footsteps in the hallway. Silence greets me. The guard rotation happens at noon—twenty minutes from now.

My fingers trace the polished wood before pulling the drawer open. Inside sits the leather volume alongside a folder stamped with the Donovan crest. My pulse quickens at this unexpected access to Cormac's private thoughts.

The folder first—labeled "Gallagher Operations." Inside, detailed intelligence reports on my family's business. Shipment schedules. Property holdings. Security protocols at our compound. Some information so accurate it sends chills down my spine.

Beneath these typed reports lie handwritten notes in bold, slashing script. Cormac's writing—confident strokes betraying arrogance.

Northern docks vulnerable at checkpoint three. Minimal security Wednesday nights. Murphy confirms shipment pattern.

Murphy? The name registers instantly. Danny Murphy works security for my father—has for fifteen years. The implication settles like ice in my stomach. A traitor in our ranks.

I flip through more pages, finding a detailed map of our family estate with entry points circled. Guards' rotations noted. Blind spots marked. The level of intelligence surpasses anything I imagined the Donovan’s possessed.

The leather book proves even more revealing. Cormac's private strategies laid bare in his own handwriting:

Patrick Gallagher responds to force, not negotiation. Liam—impulsive, susceptible to provocation. Key weakness: family loyalty, particularly to daughter. Leverage against Aoife = leverage against entire operation.

My fingers tighten on the page. Being reduced to a strategic calculation stokes my rage anew.

The next entries detail Cormac's plan to use my captivity to force territorial concessions. His analysis of potential Gallagher responses. His counterstrategies.

A laugh escapes me, bitter and sharp. His assessment contains fundamental flaws only an insider would recognize. My father doesn't negotiate out of emotion—ever. His countermoves will come from cold calculation, not paternal concern. I might be his precious daughter, but I have been a royal pain in his ass.

And Liam? Cormac underestimates my brother's vindictive streak. Liam won't be baited into hasty action; he'll orchestrate something spectacular and devastating. Or do something stupid, he’s an unpredictable chaos all of his own

More pages reveal contingency plans. Options if my father refuses to negotiate. Ways to extract maximum value from my captivity.

The last entry, dated this morning, sends heat flooding my cheeks:

Aoife Gallagher—greater asset than anticipated. Knowledge of family operations extensive. Consider extending captivity indefinitely regardless of negotiations. Physical response to contact suggests potential leverage beyond initial purpose.

He's planning to keep me. The realization hits like a blow. And worse—he's noted my body's betrayal in that alley. Catalogued it as another weapon to use against me.

The sound of a key in the lock sends panic surging through me. No time to return everything properly. I shove the folder into the drawer, but keep the leather book clutched behind my back as I move away from the desk.

Cormac enters, alone this time. His massive frame dominates the doorway, tailored suit doing nothing to conceal the raw power beneath. Dark stubble shadows his jaw, giving him a dangerous edge. He pauses, nostrils flaring slightly as if sensing something amiss.

"Enjoying your accommodations?" His voice carries that hint of amusement that makes me want to slap him.

"Immensely. The constant surveillance adds such ambiance."

He moves further into the room, closing the door behind him. "The photos were perfect. Your father should receive them within the hour."

"Lucky him."

Something about my tone must alert him. His demeanor shifts, predatory awareness replacing casual confidence. "You've been busy."

"Captivity offers limited entertainment options."

He moves closer, danger in each calculated step. "What's behind your back, Aoife?"

"Nothing."

"Liar." One more step brings him into my personal space. "Show me."

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