Midnight Captive

by Elle Kennedy

“I know what you’re up to, Reilly.”

  “Yeah?” Sean shrugged. “And what am I up to, Kelly?”

  “Returning to the fold, begging Rabbit for his protection so you can keep your little bird safe.” Cillian arched a brow at Bailey. “But you don’t need a man to keep you safe, do you, sweetness? From what I hear, you can handle yourself just fine.”

  “Oh really?” she said evenly. “Who told you that?”

  “My employer.”

  Sean sucked in a breath as something niggled at his brain. He studied the other man intently. Then cursed out loud.

  “Bloody hell. You’re Flannery’s mole.”

  “Mole?” Cillian frowned. “That’s a very unflattering word. I prefer . . . trusted observer.”

  The revelation made Sean’s head spin. Fifteen years. Cillian Kelly had served Rabbit for fifteen years. He was a vital cog in Rabbit’s organization, and the first lieutenant Rabbit had truly trusted since Sean’s father had died.

  “You’ve been working for Rabbit’s enemy this whole time?” Sean couldn’t contain his disbelief.

  “Of course not,” Cillian answered. “Jeez, Reilly, do you really think it would take me that long to do my job?” He set his gun on the table, as if he no longer needed to keep up a menacing front now that he’d revealed himself. “Not that Ronan didn’t try to recruit me sooner. He tried. Approached me about ten years back, but I turned him down.”

  “What finally changed your mind?” Sean demanded. He found himself oddly angry on Rabbit’s behalf, which was all sorts of fucked-up because he didn’t give a shit about Rabbit.

  “What do you think? Money.” Cillian snorted in derision. “The Dagger has been spinning its wheels for years now. Rabbit has no interest in expanding our interests. He’s perfectly content with the status quo. His low-rent operation and feckin’ rackets that earn us peanuts. The man has no concept of ambition.”

  “Rabbit was never ambitious,” Sean pointed out. “His goal has always been to unite the country. He earns enough to fund the organization, but we both know he doesn’t care about money.”

  “You’re right. I did know that.” Cillian shrugged. “But I decided I didn’t want to live in the gutter anymore. Once I take over, we’ll start making changes. Forget the feckin’ politics. The end goal is gonna see us become very rich men, Reilly. Rabbit can’t make that happen, but I can.” He cast a meaningful look. “We can.”

  “I don’t need any more money,” Sean said coldly. “And for the sake of full disclosure, you should know I’m not planning on being Flannery’s errand boy for long. I agreed to help him take down Rabbit, but after that, I’m done. I won’t be sticking around.”

  “Pity. I could use someone like you by my side.”

  His jaw tightened. “Someone like me?”

  “You know, smart. Calculated. Ruthless enough to get shite done without worrying about right or wrong.”

  “You don’t know a damn thing about me, Kelly.”

  “I know that six men robbed a bank and only one of them walked out. And I know it wasn’t Gallagher’s idea, as you led Rabbit to believe.” Cillian chuckled. “Only thing you’ve ever cared about was yourself. Saving your skin, and your brother’s. And now your girl, apparently. I see you’re widening your little circle of people you give a shite about.”

  “Is there anything else you want to discuss tonight?” Sean said abruptly.

  Cillian looked from Sean to Bailey, then gave another chuckle. “Nah, I’ve done what I came here to do. Just wanted you to know whose team you’re playing for.”

  Yeah, fucking right. The only team Sean had ever played for was his own, and Oliver’s, and fine, Bailey’s too. If Cillian thought they were now best buds because Flannery pulled both their strings, he was going to be sorely disappointed.

  Cillian stood up and shoved his weapon at the small of his back, then smoothed out the tails of his button-down shirt. “I suggest you get your alarm system back online.” He winked. “You never know who might break in. And I’ll see you at the pub tomorrow—we’ve got a lot of work to do.”

  When Sean didn’t answer, Cillian focused those ice blue eyes on Bailey. “I look forward to seeing more of you, luv.”

  Sean stiffened. Luv? Like hell she was. Only he was allowed to call her that.

  He quickly added cut out tongue to the growing list of mutilations he’d be giving Cillian.

  “Enjoy the rest of your night, Reilly. Fuck her nice and hard for me.”

  Miraculously, Bailey managed to keep from exploding until after Cillian had gone, but when she did, the volume of her voice nearly shattered Sean’s eardrums.

  “Fuck her nice and hard for me? Are you kidding me! Are you fucking kidding me, Sean! That man is disgusting!” She groaned loudly. “Goddamn it, why did I come to Dublin?”

  He glowered at her. “I’ve been wondering the same thing for days.”

  But he knew the answer to that—she’d come to save his ass. And as a result, she’d become a player in a game none of them wanted to play.

  He felt like begging her to leave again, but he was scared that if he opened his mouth, he might end up begging her to stay. No matter how badly he wanted to protect her, he didn’t want her to leave him again.

  What he wanted was to implore her to give him a chance. A real chance to prove that he could be more to her than a good lay.

  But the plea got stuck in his throat. Reilly men didn’t talk about their feelings, especially with women. His father had always warned him that loving someone too hard would only destroy you in the end—and God knew that love had definitely destroyed Colin Reilly. When Sean’s ma had died, it had broken his father. It’d made him reckless, led him to accept the higher-risk jobs that he usually handed off to other soldiers. Colin had put his life at risk because he simply hadn’t given a shit anymore, and Sean knew his father had died long before the car bomb killed him.

  That was what women did to you. That was what Bailey did to him. She consumed his thoughts. Caused his composure to unravel like an old sweater. Triggered the obsessive urge to protect her. Hell, just the sight of her in that oversize T-shirt made him want to pull her into his arms and never let go. But he knew she’d probably draw back if he tried—

  Whenever I’d touch her, she’d draw back awkwardly.

  His brother’s confession suddenly seared into his head, and now that the whiskey was no longer clouding his mind, he was finally able to comprehend its meaning.

  The first time I kissed her, she burst out laughing.

  Whenever I’d touch her, she’d draw back awkwardly.

  Son of a bitch.

  She’d known.

  The night at the hotel . . . she’d known he wasn’t Oliver. She must have. Unless she’d developed a sexual attraction to his brother overnight, but how likely was that? She’d been seeing Oliver for months, after all. She’d already kissed him, known what it felt like—and what it didn’t feel like.

  But she hadn’t laughed when Sean had kissed her, and she certainly hadn’t drawn back from his touch.

  A slow grin stretched across his mouth.

  “What are you smiling about?” Bailey said warily.

  The smile widened, but he wasn’t quite ready to confront her about his thoughts, so he shrugged and said, “Nothing important.”

  But Jesus, it was. It was more important than he knew what to do with at the moment. The realization had elicited a rush of . . . something he couldn’t decipher. Something that floated through him like a feather and lightened his heart. It took him a moment to figure out what it was, and once he did, he grinned even harder.

  It was hope.

  * * *

  The following afternoon, he and Bailey walked into O’Hare’s Pub and found it bustling. The bar wasn’t open to customers yet, but Rabbit’s men were all there, crammed into booths or sitting at tables as they ate their lunch and drank their Guinness.

  Every pair of eyes swiveled toward Sean when he strode inside. Voices l
owered to gruff murmurs, which brought an inward groan, because clearly earning these men’s trust would not be an easy feat. The guys who’d been around during his Dagger days remembered how he’d abandoned the cause, and the new soldiers were taking their lead from the older ones, pointedly avoiding Sean’s gaze as he headed for the nearest table.

  He greeted the men with a nod. “Rabbit around?”

  “Stepped out,” Callum Quinn muttered.

  Shit. Well, at least Cillian wasn’t there either. Sean didn’t want anything to do with that perverted motherfucker.

  Though he couldn’t deny that Kelly had made their job a helluva lot easier by revealing himself to them. Sean had hoped Morgan’s men would leave now that the mole hunt was over, but no such luck. When he’d suggested it to Sullivan over the phone that morning, the stubborn Australian had told him to fuck right off. Apparently D and Ash had teamed up with Oliver to gather intel, and Sully, Liam, and Isabel—who the hell had called Isabel?—were handling surveillance in case Sean and Bailey needed backup.

  Sean signaled to Rory behind the counter, who scowled at him when he ordered a Guinness. He doubted he’d ever see a pint glass, but he still sat in the empty seat next to Quinn as if he belonged there.

  The older man stiffened, then shoveled some shepherd’s pie into his mouth without uttering a word.

  Sean sighed and looked at Bailey. “Go sit at the bar, luv. I need a moment with the fellas.”

  She wandered away like an obedient girlfriend and slid onto a stool at the bar. She kept her back turned to them, but Sean knew she was listening to every word, aware of every person in the dim-lit room.

  “I get it,” Sean announced as the silence dragged on. “I’m back, and you don’t like it.”

  “It’s not our place to like it,” Robbie Doyle said dourly. “Rabbit calls the shots.”

  The rest of the room remained silent, and Sean’s frustration grew. “I know you lads are pissed at me for skipping town, all right? But I never got a chance to share why I left.” It was true—he’d been completely shunned after he and Ollie had quit the crew. None of the men had spared them even a second to state their case.

  He looked around the table, saving Quinn for last. Quinn’s opinion carried the most weight with the other men, and if Sean was going to win them over, he needed to start with the ginger-haired behemoth at his side. “I’m just asking for a chance to explain now.”

  There was a long silence. Quinn picked up his beer and took a swig, then slammed the pint glass on the table.

  “Let’s hear it then, lad.”

  The story he’d concocted flowed out smoothly, just as he’d rehearsed in his head. “I never saw this as my cause,” Sean confessed. “My father . . . it was his thing, y’know? Me and Ollie, we worked for Rabbit because Da worked for Rabbit. We did what they asked without question, but . . .” He shrugged. “We started to question it. Started to wonder if maybe we were just sheep, following orders because it was expected of us and not because we truly believed in what we were doing.”

  No one spoke, but he was gratified to see a few grudging nods. These men understood. They’d all joined up for the same reason he had—because their dads had fought for the cause, because their granddads had fought for the cause, because their whole bloody family had fought for the cause.

  “And, well, you know me,” he said ruefully. “I’ve always been a stubborn son of a bitch. Once I decide something, nobody can talk me out of it. I convinced Ollie that we needed to go off on our own, and so we did.”

  “But now you’re back,” Quinn said gruffly. “Why’s that, lad?”

  “Because I realized where my roots are. Where I belong—here. There’s a reason I still keep a flat in Dublin. It’s my home.”

  Quinn’s cheeks hollowed. “Ya? ’Cause I don’t recall you coming home all too often these past eight years.”

  “I had a job to do, and that job meant traveling the world. It’s how Ollie and I made money. It’s how we got the reputation for being the guys who could get the intel nobody else could. But . . . turns out those are empty accomplishments, y’know? What else have I really achieved other than feeding intel to scumbags and spooks?”

  He feigned unhappiness, reaching for an empty beer bottle and absently toying with the label, which had been loosened by condensation. It was so easy to play his part. To play any part, really. Bailey might be the chameleon of the two of them, but he was far from an amateur. An information dealer had to adapt, cozy up to folks to get them to talk, be whoever he needed to be in order to unearth people’s secrets.

  “I met my girl in America.” He nodded toward Bailey. “I knew the moment I brought her here that I wanted us to stay in Dublin.”

  “This would be a real nice story, lad—if we didn’t know that Rabbit had to twist your arm to come back. Only reason you’re here is ’cause we nabbed Ollie.”

  “You’re right.” He met Quinn’s sardonic gaze head-on. “I came for Ollie. I wasn’t planning on rejoining the crew. And then I watched five men I grew up with get shot and killed in front of my eyes.”

  The mood at the table immediately went somber. It was Irish tradition that you couldn’t mention the dead without toasting them, and so Sean wasn’t surprised when Finn Doherty abruptly raised his glass.

  “Gallagher and the boys,” Doherty murmured.

  “Gallagher and the boys,” the others echoed.

  As the men drank, Sean waited a moment before speaking again.

  “Rabbit has lost sight of the cause.”

  Alarmed looks appeared all around him, along with a deeply suspicious glare from Quinn. “You’re talking out of your ass, son.”

  “Am I? Because from what I see—no, from what I know, Gallagher and the others weren’t in that bank to steal money for the Dagger. They robbed it because of Rabbit’s personal vendetta against an old enemy.”

  Sean held his breath as he allowed the information to sink in. He wasn’t sure if Rabbit had told the crew about the real reason for the heist, and he knew he was risking Rabbit’s wrath if the men didn’t know, but revealing it was necessary for Sean’s plan.

  To his relief, nobody looked surprised.

  “Taking down Flannery is good for the cause,” Quinn said tightly.

  “How?” Sean challenged. “The man is untouchable. Believe me, I wouldn’t shed a single fucking tear if he dropped dead—the bastard laid a hand on my woman, and one of these days I’m gonna make him pay for that. But Rabbit doesn’t want his old friend dead. He wants to waste his time—our time—trying to topple Flannery’s empire. But we should be focusing on the real goal—reclaiming our country.” He looked around the table angrily. “My father died for the Dagger. He believed in it. Rabbit used to believe in it too, and that’s why I’m back, to lead him down the right path again.”

  His speech resulted in silence.

  And then Quinn sighed. “Colin was a good man.”

  “Yes, he was.” Sean shook his head in disappointment. “So’s Rabbit, when he’s not playing out revenge fantasies that mean nothing to the rest of us. Gallagher and Paddy and the other boys already died for Rabbit’s vendetta. Well, I’m not gonna let anyone else die in vain. If that means coming back to guide the old man, then I damn well intend to do that.”

  “You’ve got some mighty big balls saying all this shite, lad.”

  Quinn’s chuckle set off a round of laughter from the others, whose stony expressions had been chipped away by Sean’s passionate appeal.

  He glanced at each man again, arching his eyebrows in defiance. “I don’t need any of you to trust me. I’m not asking you to. But you’re all gonna have to suck it up and deal with me being around, because I refuse to stand by and watch Rabbit destroy my father’s legacy.”

  There were some murmurs of approval from the neighboring table, which was occupied by some of the younger men who’d been listening in.

  It was hard to contain his satisfaction. They’d bought it.

  An
d not only that, but his little diatribe had set Flannery’s plan in motion as well. Sean had just shown them that Rabbit wasn’t the loyal leader he claimed to be. That he’d gotten his own men killed for the wrong reasons.

  He hadn’t planted enough seeds of doubt to cause the crew to abandon Rabbit, but it sure as hell was a start.

  “Well, then I guess we’ll deal with ya,” Quinn grumbled. “Seeing as we have no choice.” But the redheaded man was smiling, and then he clapped a meaty hand on Sean’s shoulder. “It’s good to have you back, Seansy. Gotta admit, things were getting a wee bit boring around here.”

  Sean grinned. “Happy to liven them up, Callie.”

  “You gonna introduce us to your lass?”

  Shit. This was the part he wished he could avoid. But he’d made his damn bed, and now he had to lie in it.

  “Bailey, luv, c’mere and meet the boys.”

  She approached the table tentatively. Her fitted jeans and thin sweater showed off her slender curves, and her dark hair was loose and slightly damp from the mist they’d encountered outside earlier. But it was her eyes that drew everyone’s stares. Those huge gray eyes that dominated her face and lent her a fragile air that softened every hard expression at the table. Sean had seen it happen dozens of times before. Bailey was damn good at using that misleading fragility to disarm the people around her and make them believe she wasn’t a threat.

  He patted his lap, and she sank onto it without hesitation.

  “It’s nice to meet you all,” Bailey murmured after Sean made the introductions. And then she smiled, and if there’d been a puddle nearby, every man in a five-foot radius would’ve ripped the shirt off his back and laid it on the ground to save her delicate feet from getting wet.

  “Lord, you have the smile of an angel,” Quinn breathed, and Sean was amused to find the older man honest-to-God blushing.

  “An angel,” Patrick O’Neill chimed in from the other end of the table. “Which raises the question—what are you doing with Seansy?”

  The other men guffawed.

  “Are you saying Sean’s the devil?” Bailey said with a twinkling laugh.

  “Oh, he’s devilish, all right. The lad raised hell the second he was able to walk.” Quinn grinned, then glanced at Sean. “She’s not your usual type.”