Destroy Me (Southern Nights: Enigma Book 3)

by Ella Sheridan

  Please. So sweet, so innocent and polite. Would it sound the same if she was begging him to make her come? If she was begging him to spare her life? He nodded jerkily.

  Grabbing a robe from the chair in the corner—probably something his mam had brought for her—Lyse slipped from the room. He watched her go, wishing everything in him didn’t cry out to follow her.

  He didn’t. He forced himself down the hall, away from the knowledge that she was naked beyond that closed door. That no matter how much he should hate her, everything inside him wanted to force his way into that room and force Lyse beneath him until all the confusion and lust and anger inside him finally disappeared in the wet, welcoming heat of her body.

  Chapter Fifteen

  The whisper of skin against sheets woke her from a restless sleep. Lyse kept her eyes closed and prayed that Fionn would leave quickly. She had no desire to face him this morning—or ever. Last night had been humiliation enough.

  But that was her life now, wasn’t it? She couldn’t escape it. That chance had disappeared the moment she’d let Fionn catch her scent. When this was over, he’d take her back to the States, probably to face prosecution for setting the bomb inside Global First. If she’d thought that maybe, just maybe, the physical attraction that had flared between them the past couple of days might make a difference, well, last night had cleared away that fantasy. Decimated it, really.

  The snick of the door closing allowed her to take a breath. Pain throbbed deep in her side, keeping her from falling into the deep sleep she so desperately needed, but she managed to drift, escape reality. Only when the scent of coffee and cinnamon rolls filtered beneath the door did she force herself to gather the tape and scissors Fionn had used last night, fresh bandages, and clothes and take them into the downstairs bathroom to shower. Sparing herself more embarrassing moments—until she made it to the kitchen.

  Deacon was there, standing directly across the room, dark hair falling forward into his face. He leaned his heavily muscled body casually against a counter, a cup of coffee wrapped in his big hands, at ease. Happy. Elliot, his fiancée, was good for him. After losing his wife to cancer, Deacon deserved all the good he could get.

  King Moncrief mimicked his friend’s pose, holding a cinnamon roll the size of his fist instead of coffee. Siobhan’s homemade cinnamon rolls. Lyse’s mouth watered at the sight, though she didn’t move farther into the kitchen to take one herself. Instead she watched the big blond, assessing his strengths, determining exactly what she was up against. He wore a crisp white button-down despite traveling all night from the States, and slacks instead of fatigues. He came from money, she knew, from the background check she’d done earlier this year. She hadn’t needed it, though; one look at him and it was obvious. And when his eerily light blue eyes swept in her direction and stayed, she remembered something else—he was all predator beneath that refined appearance.

  Goose bumps prickled along her skin, and her muscles tightened, pulling at her wound. If Fionn’s attitude was anything to go by, this meeting wouldn’t be friendly, and her battered emotions were barely hanging by a thread as it was.

  “Lyse.”

  Deacon abandoned his coffee cup on the island as he crossed the kitchen, heading straight for her. Unable to read his voice, she stiffened her spine even more.

  The room slid away as Deacon’s broad shoulders blocked her view. He slowed as he closed in, and reached up to grip her arms, careful, wary. Not of her, she didn’t think. Maybe her reaction? Surely Deacon wasn’t worried about how she would respond to him. She wasn’t a threat—she was weak. The cracks inside her, widened to the breaking point after last night, threatened to bust apart.

  Deacon squeezed her arms gently, concern staring down at her from deep brown eyes. “How are you?”

  No one could hear the question but him. She opened her mouth to respond, no clue what she would say. Pressure hit her side.

  “Shit!” she gasped.

  Deacon released her immediately. “Sorry.”

  “You’ll be needing your meds,” Siobhan said. Kindness. Lyse squeezed her eyes closed, willing away tears.

  Deacon used a hand on her arm to guide her toward the table. “How’re you feeling?” he asked again.

  She dared to meet his gaze, praying she could hold it together. “I’m okay, sir.”

  “Lyse, we don’t work together anymore. Don’t you think it’s time you get used to using my name?”

  As if she didn’t know how much things had changed between them. She wanted to tell him she called him sir because she respected him, because it was the only way she could show him how she felt, but she tightened her lips over the explanation and nodded instead. He wouldn’t care how a traitor felt about him any more than Fionn did.

  Still, the softness never left his eyes or his touch as he helped her into a chair. Siobhan brought a plate over, along with juice and medicine. Lyse gulped the pills down before daring a glance Fionn’s way.

  Smoldering green eyes met hers—and that wasn’t smoldering in a good way.

  She dropped her gaze to her food. Hang on a few more minutes. Once the pain settled, she could find the strength to enter the fight once again. Right now she felt as fragile as a china cup. A broken one if her side was any indication.

  “If you’re done,” Fionn said silkily, “maybe we can get back to planning.”

  Lyse winced. Then sucked in a hard breath as pain flared in her side.

  Have to quit doing that.

  “Stop being a dickhead, Fionn,” Deacon barked. His anger should’ve been a balm to her pride, but really, she wasn’t sure she had any left.

  Suck it up, Lyse. Get rid of the pain, then face him.

  She wasn’t here for Fionn, no matter what her libido might be screaming. She was here for Siobhan, the woman who’d shown her nothing but kindness. In the long, sleepless hours of the night, an idea had come to her, one she thought could help solve this once and for all.

  The back door opened before she could speak. Mack strode inside, a deep frown slashing across his face.

  “What’s the story, Mack?” Fionn asked.

  “Nothin’ good.”

  The look Fionn gave Mack said he wasn’t surprised. Neither was Lyse. Mack had spent all night at the interrogation, and she knew from working with Global First that men like their suspect were one of two things: close-lipped or ignorant. The man in custody had given up too quickly to be the former.

  “Compartmentalization keeps your organization secure when things like this happen,” Deacon said. “If the grunts don’t know anything, they can’t spill it during interrogations.”

  “They didn’t know you were with us, Fionn,” Siobhan said, tone thoughtful—working a puzzle in her mind. “They thought I’d be an easy grab with only Mack for protection.”

  Fionn nodded. “That’s my guess. They’ll know better next time.”

  “They’ll be more careful,” Siobhan said.

  “They’ll send more men,” Mack said.

  Fionn frowned at Mack. He probably would’ve kept that bit from his mother, but Mack wasn’t like that. “She needs to know, Fionn,” Mack said, crossing the room to gather Siobhan against his side. “Keeping her in the dark won’t keep her from being scared. Or taken.”

  “Definitely don’t keep me in the dark,” Siobhan agreed. “I can’t fight what I don’t know. What I’m not seeing is, why? Why come after me? I don’t know anything about the money your father stole; I never have. Neither do you. The police investigation after Robert’s death cleared us both.”

  “Ferrina isn’t honest; he’s a mob boss, Mam. He’s not going to assume we aren’t hiding anything.”

  Siobhan’s grip on Mack tightened; Lyse could see her knuckles going white from across the room. “So what do we do?”

  “We’ll keep you safe, acushla. I promise you,” Mack said, his mouth against the top of her head. “That’s why Deacon and King are here. We’ll keep you safe.”

  “So you
got nothing from the interrogation then?” Fionn asked.

  “Nothing.” Mack’s voice was deep, grim. Angry. “We did get something from Aileen McCray, though.”

  Siobhan glanced up so quickly her head knocked into Mack’s chin. “What happened?”

  Mack’s gaze met hers for a long moment, and Lyse could see the war going on inside him—how much to tell, maybe. Siobhan wouldn’t be kept in the dark, but whatever Mack had seen, it was bad. “She didn’t report for her shift this morn.” He turned to the men. “Aileen is a junior garda, one of our most recent hires. When she didn’t arrive, we sent someone out to her place to check. She’d—” He stopped, swallowed hard. “She’d been beaten.”

  Siobhan cried out, the sound echoing Lyse’s shock. She knew Aileen, had sat in the pub and drank with her. The young woman was Lyse’s age, had a daughter who wasn’t in school yet.

  “Was Kyla hurt?” Lyse asked.

  “We haven’t found her yet,” Mack admitted. “I questioned Aileen at the hospital; she said Ferrina’s men took Kyla yesterday morning, warning her to do what they said or they’d harm the girl. We’re looking now, but…”

  “She failed to give them accurate information,” Fionn said.

  “She did. Through no fault of her own.” Mack swiped a rough hand down his face. “They showed up during the night. When she argued with them, demanded her daughter back— Well, they weren’t up for taking it kindly.”

  Lyse set her fork down on the edge of her plate. She couldn’t stomach another bite, not with the graphic images filling her head. She knew the fear of being blackmailed, knew the sick worry that had driven Aileen to share information.

  “I’ve talked to a couple of sources,” Mack was saying, “but no one will be daring to come forward now. Ferrina’s made his intentions clear.”

  “And where does that leave us?” Deacon asked. “We need a plan if we’re going to beat this guy.”

  Lyse swallowed hard. “I—” She cleared her throat, tried again. “I think I can help with that.”

  Five pairs of eyes zeroed in on her, one of them unreadable, the rest… Well, she couldn’t read the rest either. She was too busy avoiding a hot green gaze that seemed to be trying to sear her skin off her body.

  “What did you have in mind?” Mack asked.

  Her hand shook as she raised her glass to her lips, but without a drink she wouldn’t get any words out, so she did what she had to. When the glass was safely back on the table, she made herself face Fionn’s anger.

  “Ferrina’s after the money; we know that,” she said.

  Fionn’s eyes narrowed. “What’s your point?”

  Jesus, why did this feel so hard? “There are only two ways to stop him: either we kill him, which would be up to the four of you”—she swept a hand toward the men—“or we give the money to the authorities so it’s out of his reach.”

  “We don’t have the money,” Siobhan said, shaking her head. “The garda never found it. And in all these years, I’ve not seen a single clue in Robert’s things. I’ve looked; believe me.”

  Lyse squared her shoulders. “I could find it.”

  Fionn tensed, a shock wave of suspicion slamming across the room to batter her. “The garda found nothing. Not a single thing. That money is gone.”

  “That was ten years ago, Fionn,” Lyse pointed out, fighting to stay calm. Forcing herself to meet his look head-on despite the frantic flush of anxiety creeping up her face. “And they didn’t have me.”

  Silence filled the room. She could sense the others looking at her, at Fionn, but she kept her focus on him, knowing he was the one she had to convince if she was going to be able to get Siobhan out of this. “I’m not working with Ferrina,” she told him, praying he’d listen. “If I was, he could have lost his best source of insider information yesterday.” She had the stabbing pain in her side to prove it.

  “Or did his best to throw us off the scent,” Fionn said.

  This time the pain stabbing at her wasn’t physical, and there was no way to hold back the shock of tears in her eyes. “Fionn—”

  “Jesus, you’ve become a bastard,” Deacon muttered.

  Siobhan stepped toward him. “Son…”

  Fionn’s hand came up, cutting them all off. “I’m sorry.” He held there a moment, staring deep into Lyse’s eyes, then dropped his hand. “Deac’s right, I have become a bastard. Habit, maybe, saying whatever pops into my head. I didn’t mean it.” He turned to Deacon. “What do you think?”

  Deacon growled at his friend. “Now you ask? Dickhead.” He sighed. “I think we have a resource. We need to use it.”

  “We need her, Fionn,” Mack added.

  After a long moment of silence, Fionn gave Lyse a nod. “Let’s see what’s on your mind then.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  He was a great fecking liar.

  He hadn’t lashed out automatically, because he’d been after being a bastard. He’d lashed out because, God help him, he couldn’t stand the way Lyse looked at Deacon a minute longer. Like he was a hero. Like he wore gold and earned every ounce of it.

  She didn’t look at Fionn that way. No, she looked at him like he’d stomped her kitten to death. And feck it, but when he looked himself in the mirror, he felt exactly the same about the man staring back at him.

  Right now she seemed to be deciding if she was going to kick him in the balls or not. Hopefully not. He liked his balls the way they were, thank you very much.

  “I need to get my computer set up,” she said, deliberately turning away from him. “You have a desktop, Mack?”

  “I do.” Mack took a plate from the stack near the stove and began to pile it high while they discussed specs Fionn only listened to with half an ear. He was too busy watching Lyse’s lips and remembering last night.

  “I could use your setup to expand my laptop’s capability,” Lyse was saying.

  “And we can jack in with what we brought and get your security system up to speed,” Deacon said.

  “I have a security system,” Mack protested.

  “Not like this one.” King grinned. “We have a few little toys you might like to play with, Mack.”

  Lyse’s toys. Deacon had always been a willing guinea pig when it came to security.

  Mack hefted a plate that must weigh three pounds given what it was holding. “I’ll show you where to set up.”

  They left Fionn alone with his mam. She was watching the door, her back to him, but he could read the tension in the lines of her body. When he stood to gather the dishes from the table, she turned her piercing green eyes, so like his own, on him.

  He recognized that look—his mam was none too happy with him. For a moment he was back in primary school, his mam staring him down as he tried to talk his way out of some bit of trouble he’d gotten into. She’d never let him get away with it, not then. He had a feeling she wouldn’t now either, though what she was upset about…

  He knew what she was upset about. Shame washed through him all over again.

  Clearing his throat, he approached the sink with his load. “I’ll be working on these.”

  Siobhan didn’t say a word. He could feel her stare, sense her walking up beside him, though the hard spray of water into the sink covered her footsteps. She’d always been a quiet woman; he came by that skill naturally. She’d been after sneaking up on a body more than once in his childhood, another reason he hadn’t pulled the wool over her eyes much as a boy. From the corner of his eye he watched as she leaned a hip against the cabinet, but she didn’t speak. Not right away.

  “Do you know how long it took before I forgave your father for what he did?” she asked.

  That she had forgiven him at all was a miracle. His father had been a great liar as well, another skill Fionn came by naturally. “No.”

  Siobhan sighed, her body relaxing as she watched him load dishes into the soapy water. “Far too long, really. I spent so many years consumed by anger, by betrayal. It ate me up inside. I could n
ever be happy that way, Fionn, and I finally realized that I didn’t want to be living without being happy. I wasn’t going to let him take that away from me.”

  Fionn wasn’t sure he could be as generous; in fact he knew he couldn’t. Anger still smoldered inside him when he thought of all his father’s death had cost them, not the least of which was the illusion of trust. He’d trusted his father implicitly.

  Look where that had gotten them.

  His mam moved beside him to rinse the dishes he washed, and stack them in the drying rack. “There was more to it than that, of course,” she said. “By then I’d met Mack, and I didn’t want to put my trust in another man.”

  Fionn’s chest got tight. His mam had been alone. He’d left her behind, believing that separating would protect her, make it harder for Ferrina or anyone else to track her down if he ever escaped. Too many people had known about the money, had wanted it. He’d created as secure a life as he could for her, hidden away in the middle of nowhere, and then forced himself to leave. He hadn’t imagined anything beyond that, but his mam had been made to love, to share her life. Mack was good for her. And she could’ve lost that because of Robert.

  “Do you think he ever loved us?” he asked quietly, the words barely audible over the rushing water.

  Siobhan turned the tap, shutting off the noise, and snatched a towel from the counter. Her hands were dry when she grabbed his bicep and forced him to face her. “Of course he did.”

  Her warmth enveloped him, the scent of vanilla and spice taking him back to the time in his life when his mam had been his touchstone. Centering him. Filling the gaping black hole that seemed to open up when he let himself truly think about what his father had done.

  “That was something I finally came to realize, Fionn. He loved us so much; that’s why he did the things he did.”