Destroy Me (Southern Nights: Enigma Book 3)

by Ella Sheridan

  There came that growl again. She was still grinning when Fionn grabbed her face and held her still for his kiss—a thorough kiss that had her up on tiptoe, trying to get closer, grabbing on tight so she wouldn’t fall. Their slick bodies slid together, taking her breath almost as much as his kiss. By the time he let her go, she was aching for totally different reasons.

  Given the fact that he was hard, she’d say he felt the same.

  A wet smack landed on her ass cheek. “Hey!”

  Fionn smirked. “People are waiting. Stop distracting me.”

  She reached for the soap. “You’re the one who came in here.”

  “I’ll do it again too.” He poured shampoo into his hand. “Got a problem with that?”

  Hell no. But she turned herself into the water for a quick rinse to hide the grin taking her over from the inside out.

  Dinner was landing on the table as she and Fionn walked into the kitchen a few minutes later. Guilt that Siobhan was doing almost all the cooking ate at Lyse, but total honesty—she wasn’t a great cook. She did a few things well but had a tendency to burn food when her mind got distracted with whatever project she was working on. She hadn’t set her kitchen on fire yet, so she was one up on most of the computer nerds she knew, but…yeah, she’d come close a couple times.

  Tonight she was surprised to see the enigmatic King with an apron around his waist, settling a plate of burgers on the table. She’d never have guessed the man could cook, but the scent of meat and potatoes filled the room, and she heard more than one stomach growl as they all sat down. King came last, met with a chorus of appreciation as each of them bit into the juicy hamburgers.

  “I’ve got a location for us to be checking tonight,” Mack said, getting right down to business. The words put a knot in Lyse’s stomach. Checking out meant scouting, and there shouldn’t be any contact, but there wasn’t a lot of distance between shouldn’t and couldn’t. As the men discussed logistics, Lyse dared a glance at Siobhan, seeing her worry reflected on the older woman’s face. This time she would insist on two-way communication. Fionn hadn’t been going into danger last night, or at least they hadn’t thought he was, and still Lyse had barely managed to endure his little jaunt. She wouldn’t put Siobhan through that, not with her lover and son both going.

  After dinner Lyse stayed behind to help clean up while mission prep was started. She and Siobhan stood side by side, doing the dishes, the moment quiet except for the clink of silverware and plates in the sink.

  “You’ve done this a good bit, haven’t you?” Siobhan asked finally. Lyse could hear the strain in her words.

  “Often enough.” She ran the sponge carefully over the glass in her hand. “Most of what I monitor is stateside. When the teams are out of the country, they only have each other to rely on. I’m better at hacking and programming anyway.” She watched the soap suds trickle along the clear glass. “Fionn knows what he’s doing.”

  She’d had to trust in that more times than she could count, for every team, but Fionn’s had been the hardest.

  Siobhan took the rinsed glass when Lyse passed it over. “You’ve been caring about him a long time.”

  Lyse met her eyes. No anger, no concern. Siobhan had always accepted her, and in that look she could see the older woman knew something had changed between Lyse and Fionn. Likely the entire house knew something had changed. Fionn had made it very hard to be quiet when he’d taken her.

  Taken. A shiver ran down her spine. He’d absolutely, thoroughly taken her.

  “I’ve cared for years,” she said honestly. And every mission Fionn had been on had been torture. Waiting for news. Waiting for him to come home. Waiting for the next time she’d see him or he’d walk into her office. Always waiting, waiting, waiting. Because it was all she had—and because after each visit, each moment she’d lain eyes on him, the waiting had started all over again.

  She passed Siobhan a handful of forks, but instead of taking them, Siobhan laid her fingers on Lyse’s wrist. “Love…” She stared deep into Lyse’s eyes. “I don’t know what will happen here. And I don’t know what will happen after we get ourselves out of this mess we’re in. But I do know one thing.” A smile lit her solemn gaze. “I’m glad Fionn has you by his side.”

  Something in Lyse’s heart melted at the softness of Siobhan’s words, the caring. She thought back to last night, to the consideration Fionn had shown her, the pleasure that had shattered her into a million pieces, then put her back together again. “I’m glad too. I’d do anything for him.”

  She already had. And she knew that, given similar circumstances, she wouldn’t hesitate to do it again. Not if it meant keeping him safe.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  He kissed her before he walked out the door. He’d never done that before. In front of his mam and Deacon and everyone, he’d kissed Lyse before going off to battle.

  Well, not exactly a battle, but a mission. They had zero intention of engaging the enemy. Anything could happen, and Mack wouldn’t risk Siobhan being left with one less protector any more than Fionn would.

  But that kiss… He shook his head, willing away the tightening in his groin.

  He’d noticed Mack kissing his mam as well, his strong arms making her tall frame seem small as he held her. Fionn couldn’t have imagined Siobhan with anyone but his father, but now…they fit. He was grateful she’d found a man of honor, a man Fionn could respect.

  Mack and Deacon passed out equipment while Fionn drove. “I’ve only got the two vests,” Mack said, handing one to Deacon.

  “Keep it for Fionn,” Deacon said. “I’ll take sniper position.”

  Mack nodded and shrugged into his vest. Fionn watched his eyes go wide in the rearview mirror when Deacon opened the heavy case he’d brought with him.

  “Holy feck!”

  “Speechless, yeah?” Fionn said. “Nice to go in fully equipped.”

  Mack whistled, low and sharp. “Global First takes care of ya well.”

  Deacon chuckled. “This is my private collection, actually. I didn’t have time to gather too much from the office.” He leaned closer. “You should see my wife’s.”

  “Twice as big,” Fionn threw over his shoulder.

  Mack grinned, then sobered as he watched Deacon take out the weapons. “God willing, we won’t need it.”

  Fionn and Deacon agreed.

  They parked off the road a couple miles out and walked in. The nice thing about Fionn’s homeland was the amount of forest, bisected by tiny roads that barely fit a whole car, much less two. The woods around the abandoned estate they were approaching were thick, dense, which made for slow going but kept unwanted attention away.

  About thirty yards out, Deacon went high in an ancient oak so thick Fionn couldn’t have closed his arms around it, giving them a bird’s-eye view of the clearing around the house.

  “Watch who you shoot,” Fionn warned him. He kept his wink on the side Mack couldn’t see.

  “Hey, I only nicked you once.”

  Mack’s eyes narrowed on Deacon’s back as he climbed away from them.

  “Okay, twice,” Deacon said in their earpieces, laughter in the words.

  Fionn grinned. “Pain in the ass,” he shot back.

  Mack, catching on, huffed a laugh as he turned in the direction of the manor house. “He’s like your brother, yeah?” he asked quietly, not using the line that connected them to Deacon.

  “No ‘like’ about it. Deacon’s been my brother since the day we met.”

  Mack nodded, and Fionn knew he’d probably fought with men he considered family as well. “I’m glad you had someone close. I know your mam struggled with you being out there on your own.”

  Fionn shook his head even though Mack, in front of him, couldn’t see it. “She was alone too.”

  “She was,” Mack agreed. “But it’s a woman’s nature to worry about her children. And especially for you, after what you’d both gone through. What you were heading into.”

  B
ecause he’d always been a fighter. He’d gone straight from garda to mercenary in some of the worst parts of the world. “Comes in handy now, though, yeah? Ferrina had no idea what he was up against when he decided to come here.”

  “No idea at all.”

  “Watch out for the puppies,” Deacon said in his ear.

  He cursed under his breath. That was code for the guards ahead have dogs with them. “Leashed?”

  “Yep.”

  At least they had that goin’ for them. Mack paused ahead of him and tested the air, then angled west, staying downwind of the animals. They moved with even more caution now, with the kind of silence only men familiar with hunting woods like these could attain.

  The stone three-story house had once been a manor according to Mack, abandoned in the sixties for reasons no one in the village remembered, left to rot. Electricity still worked—the soft orange glow in the windows of both the main building and a carriage house to one side spread uninhibited by trees or vegetation in the clearing that surrounded them. Ferrina knew the value of seeing your enemy coming.

  The upper floors of the manor appeared empty, though on closer inspection Fionn caught the occasional shadow passing a window. Guards. The first-floor windows were covered with something pale—sheets, maybe?—that blocked sight but still allowed light out. Three guards that Fionn could see patrolled the grounds, two with leashed dogs at their sides. Other men entered and left the carriage house. Probably where Ferrina was housing his men.

  “Maybe a dozen guards,” Deacon said in his ear.

  Fionn grunted. “No sign of Ferrina.” No doubt he was somewhere on the first floor, safe and sound behind his stone walls and curtains.

  “No,” Mack agreed. “But if he is here, then we know what we’re up against. The chances of it being anyone else… I don’t know anyone local who would have this kind of setup.”

  They’d already known the four men they’d taken out at the apartment were no more than a drop in the bucket compared to what Ferrina had access to, so yeah. Far more manpower than they could hope to combat. Why hadn’t Ferrina stormed Mack’s house? With this many men, it would’ve been easy.

  Fionn wiped sweat from his brow.

  “There’s a front door, and the one here at the back.” Mack nodded toward what looked like a cellar built into the back of the house. “Not sure what other egress is available.”

  “Let’s find out then.” Leaving Mack in position, he eased farther west, bringing the far side of the house and the driveway into view. As he watched, an SUV, lights shining in Fionn’s eyes, pulled up and parked just outside an entrance opening onto the driveway.

  The minute the engine cut out on the vehicle, Fionn knew they were in trouble. The sound of muffled screams and fighting could be heard even from his position. Sure enough, the back passenger door opened, admitting a tall, broad-shouldered man built like a tank. He reached back into the SUV and dragged a woman out by a harsh grip on her arm. The woman cried and fought, to no effect.

  Mack cursed in Fionn’s earpiece. “That’s the Walsh girl. Kelly.”

  Someone from the village then. She was fairly young, around twenty, her silky shirt and tight jeans suggesting she’d been out on the town, maybe at a pub. Probably had the misfortune to get separated from her girlfriends—and Ferrina’s thugs had been lying in wait. This woman had been chosen for one reason only, a delivery to slake Ferrina’s appetite. Tomorrow she’d be dumped on the side of the road, dead, unable to identify her killer.

  Shit, shit, shit.

  “Fionn?” Deacon asked.

  “I see it.” He turned his head as Mack eased up to him. “How do you want to be handling this, Mack?”

  “Well I sure as hell ain’t doing nothin’.”

  Fionn nodded. “Thought you’d say that.” Then, “Deacon, it’s a go.”

  Two seconds later the man dragging the woman up the steps to the door shouted, crumpling to the side as a bright splash of red erupted from his side. Deacon had gone for chaos over kill shots, and it worked. The shout of the guard, the woman’s screams, and the blood all sent the dogs into a frenzy of barking and lunging. Men rushed from the carriage house to see what had happened. The side door opened, releasing more guards with guns at the ready. Deacon aimed another shot near the door, this time hitting the house instead of a body, sending every man in the vicinity into a crouch to avoid getting shot.

  The girl broke away, heading for the woods.

  Fionn tensed to go after her. “Mack.”

  “I’ll get her,” the older man said, already moving to intercept.

  Fionn returned his focus to the guards. One was pinned to the side of the SUV, head down, but his gun came up, aiming directly between the girl’s shoulders as she scrambled to get away. A quick one-two shot was enough to get his attention back on Fionn—one to the side of the vehicle, another to the man’s thigh.

  Deacon whistled in his ear. “Close to the artery. Might’ve even nicked it. Dude could bleed out, Irish.”

  “It’ll be more than he deserves.”

  “Agreed.”

  A guard near the carriage house took aim in Deacon’s vicinity. Fionn caught him in the shoulder, just for variety. Deacon had already moved after that last shot, just as Fionn now moved—Sniper 101—but for Fionn it was the principle of the thing. And the fact that these men deserved to die. They’d been delivering a young girl to her death, just so their boss could get his rocks off. They should get down on their knees and thank God Fionn and Deacon hadn’t taken the head shots they were fully capable of.

  Besides, it was easy to step over a dead man and keep coming; a man screaming in agony and dragging at your leg, begging you to help him, was a much bigger disruption.

  The woman reached the edge of the woods and disappeared into the darkness. Fionn eased back and to his right, not as quietly as before—the shouts and screams covered his footsteps—but carefully. Deacon would already be heading in that direction to intercept Mack and the girl, assist if possible. They needed to move out.

  The thought was reinforced when a couple of guards emerged from the carriage house with semiautomatics and began spraying the woods along the back of the house with bullets. He moved deeper into the shadows, keeping a wary eye out. Now that it had started, he’d like nothing more than to take Ferrina’s men out, make them hurt as much as possible, but they couldn’t risk it. Couldn’t risk leaving Lyse and Siobhan a man down if something happened to him. So he retreated despite the fierce need to continue the fight.

  Ahead he caught a glimpse of Mack and the woman. She was sobbing, her hands clutching Mack’s vest in a death grip as Mack urged her away from the house. An occasional ping from Deacon’s rifle split the air, keeping Ferrina’s men back to ensure Fionn and Mack’s retreat. His friend would meet them back at the car, he knew. Fionn shot one last look over his shoulder at Ferrina’s compound—and jerked to a halt.

  The side door stood open. Backlit by the glow from inside, a tall, slender man stepped out, his torso strangely bulky in relation to the rest of his body. A Kevlar vest, Fionn’s mind supplied before he could analyze the strange proportions. He carried an Uzi in one hand as if it was an extension of his body, and in the shadow of his face Fionn caught the orange flare of a cigar being drawn on. The man could’ve been walking to pick up an after-dinner drink rather than walking into gunfire, and yet he was relaxed, unafraid. Almost amused.

  Ferrina. No one else would have that kind of arrogance. Fionn’s finger twitched beside the trigger of his gun. Nothing would please him more than to take this man out—one shot, that was all he needed. But until they had the money, all Ferrina’s death would ensure was that whoever filled his shoes might come after Siobhan as well. Except then, they wouldn’t know their enemy.

  Death would have to wait, no matter how tempted he was. Besides, Fionn had something far more like justice in mind for Ferrina. The man liked hiding—they’d see how he liked it if it wasn’t by choice.

  In th
e darkness of the woods, he had no doubt Ferrina wouldn’t be seeing him. That didn’t stop him from raising a middle finger in salute before he turned and melted into the forest undetected.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  “Cathal says I have to stay in bed. I told him only if he’d stay with me.”

  Lyse laughed into the phone. “Why would he object to that?”

  “He didn’t; I did. When he was after telling me we’d be doing nothing but lying there.”

  She could hear the pout in Sean’s voice. “You just had surgery very close to your fucking heart, Sean. I’m pretty sure sex is off the cards for a while.”

  “My fecking heart can handle sex better than it can handle surgery.”

  “I think you mean your fecking dick can handle it, not your heart,” Cathal shouted in the background.

  Lyse chuckled. “He’s got a point.”

  “You both are too much alike, always thinkin’ you’re right.”

  “Because we are,” Lyse pointed out, laughing at Sean’s growl of frustration.

  As she listened to the two men bicker over the phone, something giddy rose in her, that feeling that teen girls must get when they have a secret they want to share with their best friends, a secret that involves a boy. Sean was the closest thing she had to a best friend, and she had the biggest secret about a boy that could ever be shared, but she clamped her lips shut before the words could escape. Maybe it was because the relationship was still so new, or maybe because there was still an oh-my-God-did-that-really-happen-to-me quality to the memory that she couldn’t quite shake. Or maybe it was that she knew Sean would caution her to be careful, not trust in what was happening.

  Whatever it was, she couldn’t tell him, couldn’t say it out loud. Hearing the words might make it too real, something she could lose, and her heart was too fragile right now to face losing Fionn when this was all over.

  A loud beep on the computer interrupted her thoughts. Lyse rolled her eyes at hearing Sean vowing not to make Cathal’s favorite pasta if he didn’t get a blowjob soon. “Think threatening him will get you what you want? Good luck with that.”