Page 117 of Dual
Brad Blackwolf had been one of my father’s clients. And now either he or someone who’d realized just how lucrative the racket my father had left behind was pulling the strings here. There were always dogs biting at my father’s heels. While the Librarian always had more money than anyone could ever spend in one lifetime, we usually lived like paupers. It was never about the money for him. He was just an evil fuck who loved the job and the power it gave him over important people like Brad Blackwolf.
“Move!” Pavel barks, shoving me forward as the building erupts into organized chaos. Men carry boxes of equipment, weapons, and documents. Screens go dark. Hard drives get yanked from computers.
They’re not just changing locations. They’re erasing all evidence they were ever here.
Which means Moira’s escape has rattled them more than they’re letting on.
Good. Rattled men make mistakes.
As they drag me toward the exit, my mind is already whirring with possibilities. Whoever Pavel’s new boss is, they’ve made a critical mistake in bringing me into this and showing their hand by revealing the connection to Brad Blackwolf.
They should have killed me when they had the chance.
Because now that Moira’s safe, I have nothing left to lose except Domhnall, and I’ve already taken care of that. He thinks I’m a toxic bitch who chose to leave him.
He’ll be in pain. He’ll wallow. It’ll take time.
It’s what little Anna railed against for so long but has been finally forced to accept.
Eventually, when I stay gone, he’ll realize I was never the one for him and move on.
THIRTY-SIX
DOMHNALL
The doorbell rings,jolting me from my spiral of panic and fury. For the past three days, I’ve been existing in a special kind of hell—the kind reserved for men whose lives are crumbling beneath them while they’re powerless to stop it.
It started with that text from Mads about an hour after she left:You were right. We’re toxic. I need space to breathe and think. Goodbye.
But everything about it felt wrong. The wording. The timing. Mads doesn’t just “need space.” When she wants to go somewhere, she tells me where. When she’s upset, she confronts me directly, usually with fire in her eyes and choicewords about whatever I’ve done wrong. She doesn’t vanish without explanation.
I’ve called every contact I have. I’ve checked our usual places. I’ve hacked into security cameras on the street by our house, scanning footage for any sign of her. Trying to follow her trail after she left. But I lose track of her in a couple of blind spots in the city.
I’ve barely slept, existing on black coffee and the gnawing fear that something terrible is happening. Every time my phone rings, I lunge for it with desperate hope, only to have it crushed seconds later.
And then Moira disappears too.
At first, I thought they might be together—a spontaneous girls’ getaway they planned without telling me as some sort of twisted little bit of revenge for me being an asshole to both of them. I think that’s still what I’m hoping for now, days later, even as I alternate between pacing the floor, punching walls, and staring at my phone, willing it to ring with news—any news—of either of them.
I’ve been replaying my last conversation with Mads over and over, searching for clues I might have missed. Did she seem scared? Preoccupied? She definitely seemed intent on pissing me off. And fuck if it didn’t work. She’d been talking about Moira right before we got in the fight. Did that mean something?
Part of me wants to burn the city down to find them. Another part, the cold, calculating part I try to keep buried, knows that making a scene could put them in more danger. Ifit’s danger that they’re actually in. I’m a wealthy man, and not without enemies. Fuck! I tear my hands through my hair at the possibility of them being at risk.
I fucking hate that there’s nothing to do but wait, a tiger in a cage, planning what I’ll do to whoever’s responsible when I find them. Even if it’s just the two of them who ran off without telling anyone.
The doorbell cuts through my thoughts like a blade.
I jog to the door, my heart hammering against my ribs like it wants to break free.
When I see Moira through the peephole, relief crashes through me for half a second before it’s replaced by something darker. Where there’s Moira, there should be Mads. But Mads isn’t here. I shoot off a quick tex, then yank open the door.
I plant my arm against the frame, blocking her way even as my eyes scan her for injuries. A different brother would throw his arms around her. A different man. Especially when I see that she also looks like she’s been through hell—clothes wrinkled, hair a mess, a bruise forming on her cheek. My chest constricts, but I can’t let her see it. Fear has always made me cold. And mean.
“Where’s Mads?” I demand, my voice coming out sharper than I intended, edged with the fear that’s been eating me alive. Guilt immediately bites at me. Twenty seconds into seeing my little sister after she’s clearly been in danger, and I’m already bollocking it up.
She rolls her eyes, and I see a flash of hurt beneath the bravado. “Lost your fiancée?”
Every muscle in my body tenses. I want to grab her shoulders and shake her and demand answers, but I force myself to stay still, to stay in control. “Mads sent me a message saying she was leaving me. Then you go missing. Do you know where she is or not?”
