The Final Hour (Dublin Nights Book 5)

by Brittney Sahin

  “And how do I know you didn’t have my son killed for this very reason?” someone spoke up from one of the screens, and I recognized him as Peter’s father. He’d be relieved to learn his son was alive after this was over. He’d be arrested soon after, though, so a family reunion would be short-lived.

  “The murderer is here with us tonight. Our men took her from police custody. She confessed to killing your son,” Atlas said while motioning my way. “I plan on seeking vengeance for that act against her and The League.”

  Murmurs from the many screens had the room buzzing with noise and static.

  “We have a pact in place with The League and do not wish to risk our business operations to avenge your would-be wife’s late husband. We’re not looking for a war,” another man said, and I recognized him as the leader from Romania.

  “They broke the pact and declared war by killing my son,” Peter’s father protested and banged his fist to his desk. Other leaders followed in agreement.

  “It’s time we end The League,” Arnaud said, stepping forward. “It’s open season on every one of them after tonight.”

  “Then let us begin.” Atlas turned to Bridgette, set a kiss on her cheek, then left her side and entered the cage.

  Bridgette went to stand by Arnaud, arrogance in every line of her body, as the first fighter in similar shorts to Atlas descended the stairs.

  Arnaud gave a short introduction and went over the rules of the fight. A large clock on the opposite wall, similar to a stopwatch and set for sixty minutes, would begin once the fighter entered the cage, and it would be paused between fights. Atlas had to survive the hour with some of The Alliance’s best fighters. Only then would he be permitted to marry Bridgette and amass even more power.

  My stomach was in knots as I watched the first fight begin.

  Atlas handled himself well. Impressive strikes. Devastating blows to his opponent’s midsection. Brutal leg kicks. He was a superior fighter to this man. But how would he stand up to the other fighters? Would he survive?

  I had no clue when Sean and the others would arrive, but I didn’t want to sit here and helplessly watch my brother die.

  My shoulders flinched when the blond fighter went flying a few minutes later from a kick to the chin.

  Atlas walked up to him, and instead of finishing him, he extended a hand.

  He’s not a killer. Not yet, I reminded myself as I watched the next fights progress in a blur.

  My hands grew numb from the zip ties, my head throbbed, and my throat was sore from Luca’s earlier attempt to strangle me.

  The sounds of bone and the hard smacks of flesh connecting had my abdomen tightening with every punch and kick.

  The coppery smell of blood hit my nose and had me wanting to cough, but the gag prevented that from happening.

  By the fifth fight, and thirty minutes later, Bridgette strode across the room my way, the sound of her heels on the floor subdued by the fighting inside the ring.

  Bridgette crouched next to me but kept her eyes trained on Atlas. “Sean would’ve fucked me if Atlas hadn’t shown up that night,” she whispered. “I saw the desire in his eyes when he held my naked body. You can’t fake the kind of lust he had for me.”

  It was the first time since being held captive I resisted my restraints. This woman had a way of getting under my skin even more than Luca.

  Sean was clearly a trigger for me.

  Bridgette tried to come across as confident and casual in her conviction that Atlas would prevail as the victor at the end of The Final Hour, but she failed. There was a tremble in her voice, and her hands shook slightly. She was nervous and afraid. Atlas dismissing Luca was unexpected, and I could tell she was anxious about the prospect of being bound to marry another man she didn’t love.

  “Luca wants you to die first, but oh, I would love to watch the look on Sean’s face if it’s me who gets to slit your throat while you sit helpless in this chair.” She pushed up off her thighs and applauded Atlas when he defeated another fighter.

  Atlas turned toward the stairs, panting and breathless from exertion. But instead of the next Alliance challenger, Luca emerged along with Atlas’s two guards.

  Luca had Atlas’s men in his pocket, too, didn’t he?

  “What are you doing?” Atlas called out, stepping out of the ring.

  “Your next fighter,” Luca announced.

  I bit down on my gag at the sight of Sean being nudged down the steps by another man.

  “This man helped Emilia arrange Peter’s death,” Luca announced, giving me a smug look. “I suggest Sean McGregor, Irish League leader, die inside of the ring tonight as penance for his sins.”

  Sean’s gaze flew to me once he’d descended the stairs, relief in his eyes to see I was still alive.

  “That isn’t how The Final Hour works, Moreau,” Atlas snapped. “I’m fighting the best of the best from The Alliance. If I wanted to fight a spineless McGregor, I’d go to Dublin.” His eyes flicked to Sean for the briefest of moments, then back to Luca. “Get out of my sight.”

  “If Atlas doesn’t want to fight him, I can.” Luca reached for a knife from the back of his trousers beneath his dress shirt and pointed it Sean’s way.

  Atlas spoke to his guards in Greek, but they didn’t budge, which had him growling out more words that they continued to ignore. “You work for Luca now, is that it?” Atlas spun around to face Bridgette. “And you?” He stalked toward her, eyeing her with fierce intensity. “You’re with him as well?”

  Bridgette’s hand went to her chest as if she were about to feign shock at such an accusation, but then Luca spoke up. “Yes, she’s with me. And I’m challenging you for her hand in marriage, Laurent.” His focus moved to the wall of men. “And I’ll kill Sean McGregor and Emilia Calibrisi to prove my worth to The Alliance.”

  Atlas charged Luca like an angry bull, and Bridgette screamed when Arnaud pulled out a gun.

  “Back off, or you get a bullet to the head,” Arnaud hollered toward Atlas.

  I didn’t need anyone getting caught in the crossfire tonight. That wasn’t part of the plan, damn it. Well, not unless it was Luca, and I’d prefer he die a different death.

  Atlas clutched hold of Luca and looked back at Arnaud. “You, too?”

  “Afraid so,” Arnaud stated unapologetically, gaze cutting to me as if he had every intention of making me his plaything at some point regardless of Luca’s warnings.

  Oh, I’d be more than happy to end this fucker. But first, Luca needed to be dealt with.

  What was Sean’s play? What had he and Roman planned? And had they managed to get Atlas on our side?

  “No guns,” Peter’s father announced loudly. “That is in violation of the tradition.”

  “Put it down,” another leader shouted. “Now.”

  I spied Arnaud slowly lowering his sidearm out of the corner of my eye, then watched as Sean removed his black pullover and tossed it. “Fight me, Moreau. If you survive, then you go up against Laurent,” he said in a steady voice.

  “If you can’t beat The League, you have no business stepping into that ring with Laurent,” Peter’s father spoke up.

  Bridgette stood by watching, her face scrunched in part fear, as well as excitement.

  Atlas released hold of Luca with a shove, then said, “I want you out of here, Arnaud. And my guards who betrayed me. I don’t need to be stabbed in the back anymore tonight.” Atlas’s eyes went to the blade Luca had dropped when he’d charged him.

  “Fine. Agreed.” What sounded like a unanimous decision came from the leaders on screen.

  Surprisingly, Arnaud left without argument, taking the guards with him.

  Bridgette backed up to the wall closest to me, gaze intently focused on Sean and Luca now squaring off outside the cage.

  You’ve got this, Sean. Acid burned and rolled around my stomach, but I believed in him.

  Sean glanced at the screens on the wall as he snapped his fists. “Just an FYI, I’d open a ne
w tab on your laptops and check the news. You might find it interesting. I’d bet you’re trending now that your dirty laundry is being broadcast all over the world.”

  Relief poured through me. Harper did it!

  “What’d you do?” Luca hollered, his eyes wide and frantic as the men on video began cursing, and before I knew it, the wall was one blank screen.

  Bridgette ran across the room, rushing for the stairs—the only sensible thing that woman had ever done.

  “You betrayed me,” Atlas said, closing the space between him and Luca. “Used me. Manipulated me. You belong in Hell,” Atlas seethed at Luca, who stood frozen in shock at how his plan had gone south. “But I promised McGregor he’d have his chance with you, and unlike you, I’m a man of my word.”

  My stomach clenched into a knot, and hot tears filled my eyes.

  Oh my God.

  Without warning, Sean charged Luca. A flying leg kick I hadn’t expected sent Luca backward and onto his ass.

  At the sound of my feeble cries for help, Atlas hurried to my side and removed the gag, allowing me to suck in a deep breath.

  “Hi,” Atlas said in a low voice, a half smile, half frown forming on his lips.

  “The knife,” I told him. “Can you cut me free?”

  His brows drew inward as if he had a lifetime of words to say and no time to say them, then went for Luca’s knife.

  My focus remained glued to Sean and Luca fighting even when gunfire erupted from somewhere outside.

  “I’m gonna assume that’s your people taking out any resistant guards,” Atlas said while cutting my ankles free from the chair legs. “I need to stop Bridgette from getting away. She belongs in prison.” He crouched in front of me and placed a gentle hand on my knee. “But I promised Sean I wouldn’t let you get hurt, and if I untie your hands and you step in to help him, you might.”

  “Atlas, no. You can’t leave me like this.” My nostrils flared, and my heart pounded fiercely. “Please.”

  “I’ll be right back.” He set the knife on my lap, gave me one tight nod, then took off for the stairs.

  “No,” I cried, which had Sean swinging his gaze my way, a distraction he couldn’t afford while going up against Luca.

  And it cost him.

  Luca sent an elbow strike to the back of his head, then did a double-leg takedown.

  I squirmed and tried to get free as Luca straddled Sean, smashing his face with punch after punch.

  No, no, no. I had to do something.

  My eyes fell to the knife.

  Throwing my weight backward and leaning to the right, I tipped the chair over in one hard movement and landed on my side, but now the knife was out of reach. I bent my knees and set the balls of my feet to the floor, using all my strength to rotate my body into position to snatch the knife with my still bound hands.

  Sean was upright again, blood dripping from a cut above his eye. He trapped Luca up against the exterior cage wall, too close for Luca to defend himself as Sean dominated him with elbows to the face.

  I stilled, completely engrossed in the fight. Terrified of any other outcome than Sean defeating Luca.

  Luca headbutted Sean, which had Sean stumbling a step, losing his grip on Luca while he shook off the dizzying effects.

  I felt around, searching for the knife, my hands opening and closing like a struggling clam to grasp it with the zip ties around my wrists.

  The cool metal felt like heaven when I secured it in my hands. Now the hard part, cutting through the ties blind.

  I lifted my eyes, on the brink of panicking that I was running out of time when I saw that Sean appeared to have the upper hand at the moment. Luca’s elbow was bent in an unnatural position as Sean applied pressure on the joint causing Luca to cry out in pain.

  Forced to hold the knife at an awkward angle, I sawed at the zip ties using one hand to create friction between the plastic while I watched the two men brawl like an old-school street fight. Sean stood above Luca now, and in one quick motion, he lifted his leg and brought his foot straight down onto Luca’s chest.

  “You deserve to die,” I heard Sean rasp. And it was Sean’s turn to bloody up Luca, raining punches that sent Luca’s face flying to the side with every jab. The look in Sean’s eyes told me he was right on the edge, a punch or two away from finishing it.

  The shooting had died down except for a few sporadic shots outside and maybe upstairs. Precision shots taken from a distance by Roman and his team, most likely.

  Sean held on to Luca’s shirt with both hands and lifted his torso off the ground, drawing him closer. Luca’s blood covered Sean’s hands and spattered his face. “Death is too easy for you,” he said with disgust, then shoved Luca back down.

  He set a hand to the floor and rolled to his back. He was out of breath, and he probably had trouble seeing with the cut over his eye.

  Sean wasn’t a killer. Ultimately, he couldn’t do it. The German was an accident.

  “Sean,” I whispered, and he slowly sat up to view me.

  I finally managed to cut the zip ties free, but I caught Luca stirring as I started to stand. He’d been faking being down and out. And he was going for something at his ankle.

  “Sean!” I screamed at the realization Luca was in the process of sitting up and had secured a gun.

  Without hesitating, I reeled my arm back and threw the knife across the room as Sean had begun to face Luca.

  The blade landed directly in the center of Luca’s throat. He dropped the gun, his eyes and mouth opening wide in stunned silence as blood sputtered and gurgled from his mouth. Luca clutched his throat below the knife in a vain attempt to save himself, but then he fell backward in one loud thud.

  The devil was finally dead.

  “Emilia.” Sean captured me in his embrace. “Are you okay?” he asked, but at the sounds of heavy footsteps and familiar voices, we slowly walked toward the stairs.

  It was Roman and two of his Navy SEAL friends, A.J. and Chris. And behind them, Sebastian and Cole.

  “Everything okay?” Roman asked, lowering his rifle, allowing the sling to catch it. He looked at Luca’s bloody and lifeless body on the ground, then back to me.

  “It’s over,” I cried with relief as Sean hooked an arm around me, drawing me tight to his side when Sebastian and Cole walked up to Luca.

  “Did you get Arnaud?” Please say yes.

  “The psycho with the bad toupee?” Chris asked. “He resisted. Shot the fucker between the eyes. That ugly rug slipped right off.”

  “Music to my ears,” I whispered as Sebastian crouched next to Luca, cocking his head as if he was struggling to believe it was finally over.

  “I had no choice,” I said to Sebastian for some strange reason, despite the fact we all knew Luca was not leaving Arnaud’s house alive tonight.

  “May the devil torment you with horrible carnival music nonstop until the end of time,” Chris said while standing over Luca next to Cole.

  “Carnival music?” Cole stroked his jaw, his eyes dark and focused on Luca. He wanted him dead as much as we all did.

  “Haven’t you ever heard that carnival game music? Damn, trust me, it’s torture. That music is more effective torture than waterboarding. Play it on repeat, and you’ll have terrorists giving up their enemies quicker than you can say ‘clown,’” A.J. spoke up, his Southern accent thick and filled with humor.

  “Ah, yeah, that does sound painful.” Cole’s voice was flat as if still in shock.

  “Where’s Bridgette? Atlas?” I asked and finally left Sean’s comforting embrace.

  “They’re okay. Upstairs,” Sebastian said with a nod.

  “Harper hacked the signals of everyone who logged in to view the fight,” Chris answered. “She pulled a Black Widow and shared their crimes with the world.”

  Black Widow, huh?

  “They have nowhere to hide,” Roman confirmed.

  Was it really over?

  For real, for real?

  For once, had my l
ife not ended in tragedy?

  I turned back into Sean’s arms, and unexpected emotions poured out of me.

  An ugly, broken sob tore from my chest. Sean was bruised and cut and bleeding all over me, but he held me tight all the same. He soothed me. Gave me his love and let me know I hadn’t lost him.

  This man was my equal. My other half. My absolute everything.

  Chapter Thirty

  Emilia

  Three Hours Later

  “You’re in the clear,” Sebastian said once we were safely inside the hotel suite. It was after midnight, and we were all exhausted.

  I’d had to sneak into the hotel without being recognized, which was why I’d ditched the prison clothes to blend in with guests, wearing jeans, brown boots, and a wool peacoat. The short blonde wig was the final piece of my disguise.

  Once in the suite, I quickly discarded the wig and the pins that’d held my long locks in place beneath it.

  “The authorities will be seeking you out for your statement,” Sebastian said inside the living room, “but they won’t bother you until tomorrow morning. Luca’s not the only one with contacts here.”

  Sebastian had used a burner phone to make an anonymous call informing the police he’d heard gunshots coming from Arnaud’s estate. We’d had to beat it out of there before they showed up because I was not going back to jail. But we left them a belated Christmas present—a bunch of bad guys all tied up with a laundry list of their sins attached to their chests.

  Thankfully, Sebastian had doctors on standby as well, paid for by The League, and they met us at the hotel to patch up the cut above Sean’s eye and give me a once-over, despite me insisting I was fine.

  “Can’t be charged for murder if the man didn’t really die,” Sebastian went on. “And we have Luca and his people pinned for your kidnapping.”

  Good. This is all good. I stole a look at Sean sitting close by chatting with Harper and Roman in the living room. They’d come through for us, thank God.

  Sean told me he hadn’t been sure which side Atlas would choose until he was literally walking out of the hotel room and received the phone call.