Touch of Dark: Dublin Devils 3

by Laurence, Selena

  Touch of Dark

  Dublin Devils 3

  Selena Laurence

  Contents

  About Touch of Dark

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Excerpt From The Kingmaker

  Also by Selena Laurence

  About the Author

  About Touch of Dark

  The final installment the riveting Dublin Devils Romantic Suspense trilogy…

  Cian MacFarlane has lost something he loves, and he'll stop at nothing to get it back. As the head of Chicago's notorious Dublin Devils, Cian lives a life filled with danger, and now that danger threatens everything he holds dear. With his younger brother Finn in custody, and the FBI breathing down his neck, Cian must face off with the greatest enemy he's ever known--his own father.

  Robbie MacFarlane is pure evil. His sons know it, and now so does Lila Rodriguez, the only woman Cian's ever loved. As Finn faces life in prison, Cian must play cat and mouse with Robbie’s proxy, trying to save Lila's life as well as his brother’s. The stakes don't get any higher, and Cian's time is running out. Will he beat the clock to save the love of his life? Or will a touch of dark end his dreams forever?

  Touch of Dark is a gritty Irish mafia romantic suspense and band-of-brothers family saga, with heroes who will do anything to protect the women they love, heroines who are as tough and smart as any man, villains you will love to hate, and the ultimate happily ever after readers have been waiting for since book one.

  Chapter 1

  The body lay on a bed of rocks and mud next to the shallow waters of Lake Michigan, the skin white, puffy, and mottled with purple and black splotches. The eyes were swollen shut, the nose at an unnatural angle to the rest of the face. The once expensive suit jacket was rucked up under the man’s arms, and the dress shirt beneath it was stained with a pink tinge that spoke to the quantity of blood that had soaked into the cotton fibers before the lake had leached most of it back out.

  Newly promoted detective Keira Watson crouched next to the body, her black leather half boots sinking in the mud as she cocked her head and looked at the bloated torso.

  She pulled a pen out of the top pocket of her black blazer and used it to lift a metal badge of some sort attached to the body’s jacket. It clung to the fabric, but she was able to tilt it to get a better look.

  "He’s one of the MacFarlane men?" she asked the uniformed police officer standing behind her left shoulder as she eyed the devil-horned shamrock on the pin.

  "Yep. Believe it or not, I recognize him. Danny O’Reilly, Cian MacFarlane’s muscle."

  She nodded, scanning the corpse for a moment more before standing. "We know where MacFarlane is this morning?" she asked.

  The cop shook his head. "We’ve been to his place, his father’s, his club—Banshee—and any other known places of business. His brother Connor disappeared several months back, Liam, the family enforcer, hasn’t been seen in several days, and now Cian is MIA, too."

  "And his guy has been beaten to death," she murmured. "Look at the injuries to the face," she said. "The way those bruises are concentrated around the eyes." She watched as the crime scene techs began to work on the body, bagging the hands and shoes, moving a stretcher down the hill to the edge of the water. Then someone snipped open the stained, sodden dress shirt.

  "Whoa," the cop said, his eyes widening.

  Keira took a deep breath. There on the left side of the corpse’s chest was a fist-sized indentation directly over the heart. Fragments of bone stuck out on the edges of the concave area and the blood had pooled under the skin, turning it a violent shade of black with purple undertones.

  "Well, I guess it’s pretty clear what killed him," the cop offered.

  "This wasn’t a mob hit," Keira said, her auburn brows knitting in concentration. "This was far more personal." She turned to face the cop. "Whoever did this was in a rage and it was all directed at Danny, here." As she began to hike back up the hillside, the cop following close behind, she instructed, "Find Cian MacFarlane. I can feel it—something bad is about to happen, and he’s the key."

  * * *

  Lila's eyes opened to a bright light. She blinked rapidly, trying to adjust. It was artificial, of course, not sunlight. The concrete bunker she was in didn't include windows. But her captor got a real kick out of turning the florescent tubes off and on randomly, ensuring Lila never got more than three or four hours of sleep at a time, and never knew what time of day—or night—it might be.

  Luckily, Lila knew that was his tactic, so she'd begun to pay attention to little details like the temperature of the concrete block walls, and the clothing he was wearing whenever he entered her cell.

  She touched the rough wall next to her and found it to be cool. Nighttime then. She sat up, noticing that her joints all ached. Her mind was still groggy, but she forced herself to stand and stretch before she began jumping jacks.

  Lila wasn't a genius for nothing. She knew the dangers of her situation. Atrophy was a big one. Both her muscles and her brain. Lack of movement would do her muscles in, lack of human interaction would begin to alter her brain. So she did what she could. She did jumping jacks and push-ups. She ran in place, she practiced handstands against the walls.

  And then she sang, she talked, she recited bits of stories and poems. She held imaginary conversations with her mother. She listed tasks she would do for her dark web business, Rogue, once she got out. And inside her head, where her captor could never hear, could never touch, she talked to the man she loved, the man she knew would find her eventually, mob boss Cian MacFarlane.

  I think it's night now, she told him in her mind. I think it's the fifth or sixth night since I got here. And I know you're doing everything you can, but if you could hurry that would be good. Her eyes stung as she jogged in place, her breath beginning to come in shorter puffs. Because Cian? I'm not sure how long I can stay sane here, and I'm not sure how long I can keep him from doing something—she shuddered involuntarily—that can't be undone.

  In her cell alone, Lila Rodriguez, hacker extraordinaire, devoted daughter, genius businesswoman, lover of a mob boss, and all-around badass, ran faster, going nowhere, as tears rolled down her cheeks.

  Chapter 2

  Tiny lights blinked, and the heart monitor beeped softly as Cian slipped silently into the private room. Behind him, the guard at the door shut it, resuming his position outside. Cian gave thanks again for the foresight he'd had when he'd funded this luxury wing of the hospital. MacFarlane men had the run of the floor, guns remaining strapped to their sides, and when he showed up at midnight, sunglasses and baseball cap in place to disguise his identity, no one uttered a word of protest.

  His seventy-two hours were long past, and Cian was now a fugitive, Finn being held in his place. But he couldn’t turn himself in or allow the Feds to capture him until he’d rescued Lila. There was no way in hell he was going down before she was safe.

  He walked to the bed and looked down at the old man lying there. Even after only a few days, he looked smaller, more frail, somehow. But Cian wasn't fooled, he knew that if Ro
bbie MacFarlane survived, he'd be just as dangerous as ever, if not more so.

  Cian leaned down and spoke into the old man's ear. "Wake up, you son of a bitch," he growled. The machines continued to beep and there was no response from the patient.

  "Wake up, you fucking Irish bastard," Cian said, shaking his father roughly enough to rouse him but not to dislodge any of the tubes and wires that were keeping him alive.

  When he still didn't get a response, Cian snarled in frustration. "Fuck!"

  It had been nearly a week since he'd delivered the blow that had sent Robbie to the hospital. After being cold-cocked by the butt of Cian’s gun, Robbie's weak heart had stopped, and it had taken three paramedics and open heart surgery to keep the old man alive.

  Robbie had earned every bit of it when he'd taken the love of Cian's life captive in an effort to control Cian and his brothers. Robbie was a vicious crime lord who'd raised his boys with intimidation and violence, and now it had come home to roost. But Cian needed Robbie to wake up so he could force him to admit where Lila was being held, and it was looking like Robbie might not ever oblige.

  It figured that Robbie would have the last laugh, Cian thought as he paced the luxurious hospital room. He knew his Catholic mother would balk at taking the old man off life support, but each day that passed, the odds of Robbie regaining consciousness diminished.

  Cian felt like he was about to crawl out of his skin. He'd done nothing but search for Lila since that fateful night she'd vanished. He'd questioned every one of the MacFarlane men, some of whom had been in on Robbie's scheme. But it had quickly become clear Robbie hadn't told anyone the details of where he was taking Lila. No matter how extensive his questioning had been, Cian couldn't discover where one small genius hacker had been ferreted away.

  He stopped his pacing and stared out the window of the hospital, watching the city lights displayed before him like scattered jewels in a black velvet box. He felt the clock ticking away like a countdown to a death sentence. He'd been in hiding at a MacFarlane safe house since that night, sneaking around the city like a fugitive, trying to manage the search for Lila and keep abreast of the case against his brother Finn.

  God. Finn. He hadn't seen him since he'd been released into house arrest, pending his trial. It made Cian sick to think of his younger brother abandoned to lawyers, no matter how good Thomas Maguire, the family attorney, might be. But for now, Cian had to hope the help he'd bought would keep anything permanent from happening to Finn. Not only were the cops looking for Cian in connection to various things, including the slaughter of several Russian mobsters who'd been running a human trafficking operation, but the Feds were after him to cough up the remainder of the information on the MacFarlane operation and take the fall for all of it.

  It was time for Cian to go to prison—and he was fine with that, but not until Lila was safe. He took one last look at his father, then he pulled his hat down lower over his eyes and strode to the door of the dim room. He had more former associates of his father’s to visit, and time was disappearing quickly. He knew if he didn't find Lila soon, it would be too late, and that was an outcome Cian was unwilling to accept.

  * * *

  Michael Riley watched the brunette where she was curled into a ball on the filthy mattress.

  He enjoyed this. The moments before he would go in and visit with her. She was so small—like a perfect little doll—and there was a part of him buried deep inside that didn’t actually want to break her. But he knew that eventually he would, and the pleasure would be worth whatever second thoughts he might have. But until things were set up as he needed them to be, Lila Rodriguez had to stay in one piece.

  Lila was the ultimate weapon. As long as Michael held on to her, kept her in decent condition, Cian MacFarlane was off-center, distracted and vulnerable. It gave Michael time to make inroads with the other organizations in town, as he promised alliances and perks for when he took over the Dublin Devils. Because he would. As soon as his old friend Robbie left this mortal coil, Michael would make his move. He’d send Cian to an early grave, with the backing of rival gangs, and become the new head of the family. Hell, he might even marry Robbie’s widow, Angela. He’d always thought she was an appealing woman—obedient, pious, classy. Granted, she was far too old to give him sons, but he could always fuck some young stripper for that. Pay her off once the kid was born.

  Until then, however, he needed to keep Cian weak so that Cian wouldn’t be able to fight him. Holding Lila hostage was the ultimate leveler. Michael knew Cian was beside himself trying to find her. It was perfect.

  He smiled at the monitor before picking up the keys he kept in the old metal desk drawer. He couldn’t do everything he’d like to Lila, but he could still have some fun. He walked across the small office and slid the key into the lock.

  "Rise and shine, love," he shouted as a surly Lila sat up, hair in knots, her plain white t-shirt and bare feet visibly filthy. "We’re going to play a game today called what if. I’ll start—" He pulled the revolver from his pocket and spun the chamber. "What if there’s one bullet in here and I point this gun at your head…"

  * * *

  Finn turned as the door to his condo opened. He flashed a smile at the Federal agents who were stationed outside. One of them snarled at him and he shrugged innocently. He really did love irritating them.

  His smile grew bigger when a small woman wearing black ankle boots and a trench coat walked into his living room.

  "Knock much?" he mused.

  "Oh, I'm sorry. Did you want me to go back out and do that again, Mr. MacFarlane?"

  "I might have been sitting here naked," he mused.

  She rolled her eyes and Finn felt warm and fuzzy all over.

  Detective Watson strode to the wall of windows that looked out at Lake Michigan and folded her arms across her chest.

  Finn stayed in the center of the room and watched her, waiting to find out what she wanted this time. She'd come to visit him each of the days he'd been home since his stay in the county lock-up. She kept trying to glean some sort of information from him about Cian and Liam. But aside from the fact he’d die before selling out his brothers, he didn’t actually know anything. He felt pretty certain Liam was safe, far out of the country. But he had no idea where Cian was, nor what plans he might be putting in motion. Finn just waited and trusted, because that’s what you did when Cian MacFarlane was your older brother.

  After her inspection of whatever she saw outside, the detective finally turned and pinned him with her eagle-eyed gaze. She was short, probably no more than five foot three, and truly petite, curvy, perfectly proportioned, just in miniature. But her hair, God, Finn did love her hair. It was thick, chestnut, curly, a mass around her face. The first day she'd come to his cell she'd had it pulled back into a ponytail, but it was a useless effort, as curls sprang free all over, like Medusa.

  Her black trench fell to mid-thigh and covered a plain button-up shirt and black narrow-cut jeans. As his gaze scanned down her body, he reached the lug-soled black half-boots that encased her small feet.

  "Mud," he said.

  "Excuse me?" She quirked a brow at him.

  "There's mud all over your boots." Then he looked behind him to where she'd tracked it across his wood floors.

  "Fuck," she muttered, inspecting her soles.

  "Here." He walked to the kitchen and returned with a small trashcan and a stiff brush. "This'll get it off." He pulled a straight-backed dining chair over and pointed for her to sit in it. She did, and he knelt in front of her, lifting her leg with one hand on her ankle while he used the brush with the other and began scouring at the bottom of her boot.

  He tried to ignore the tingle of awareness that rolled up his arm when he touched her. When he’d been arrested, she’d been almost the first thing he’d seen when they took him in. There were cops and Feds and detectives everywhere, all aflutter at having nabbed a MacFarlane. But all he’d seen was her. Tiny, tough, no nonsense.

  "You
don't have to--" she gritted out, tugging her leg.

  He held on and looked up at her sharply. "Just hold still." He dropped his gaze then, to keep from giving something away. Wouldn’t do much good to let the detective know the effect she had on him.

  The dried mud flaked off into the trashcan and then he repeated the process with her other boot. When he was finished, he put the brush into the trashcan and pushed it out of the way before standing and holding out his hand.

  She stared at him from the chair for a moment.

  "You have a gun?" he asked, one eyebrow raised.

  "I'm a police detective," she snapped back. "What do you think?"

  "Then you don't need to be afraid to let me help you up from a chair."

  She narrowed her gaze and stood without touching him. "I don't need your help," she said quietly as she stared him in the eye.

  He nodded, then took a step back so she could get around him. He tried not to be angry at the rejection. He knew it was incredibly stupid of him to feel this pull toward her. But maybe because there was so little else to look forward to in his life right now, he couldn’t stop.

  She took up a spot leaning a shoulder against one wall of his living room. "We just pulled a body out of the lake, Finn," she said, watching him carefully.

  Finn's heart skipped a beat as he pictured his brother Cian lying facedown in the water. But he would never give a cop the satisfaction of seeing him snap, so he sat on his sofa, sprawled casually, arms outstretched, then said, "Yeah? That happens about once a month, doesn’t it?"