“I-I’m the housekeeper.”
I think fast. It’s best if I don’t admit I’m someone important to Connor. You can’t tell me this is a random home invasion. This has to do with the mafia. If I have to tell them I’m pregnant, I don’t want them putting two and two together that they have Connor Fitzpatrick’s baby mama.
“Are you the lady who looked after the little kiddies when they were hostages?” One of them snaps at me. Oh, shit. This is definitely a mafia thing. I frantically shake my head.
I sob as they hold a gun to my head. “N-no. That was before I got a job here. That w-wasn’t me.”
They share a look over my head, and there is a sharp pain as they smash the butt of the pistol into the back of my head. I don’t pass out immediately, but black is creeping around the edges of my vision.
“Let’s lock her in the basement.”
My hearing is fuzzy, but they talk above my head as I sink to the floor. “There’s no need to kill her. We weren’t hired to kill anyone.”
There’s some shuffling and some swearing. Thank God they aren’t going to kill me. I have to protect my baby.
“There’s no basement,” One of them hisses, and there is more shuffling, my body swaying between them as they use my armpits and ankles to carry me.
“There’s an attic crawl space on the third floor. Let’s put her there.”
I blink, trying to stay awake as they carry and shove me somewhere dark. A lock clicks, and there are faint, distant smashing noises and some yelling. I fight it but eventually sink into the darkness tugging at my brain.
CONNOR
“You won’t be so lucky the next hand, Fitzpatrick,” Novikov, the Russian bookkeeper, drawls at me, throwing his chips into the center of the table.
Smirking, I throw my chips in, holding his eyes as I meet his challenge. I’m in my shirtsleeves, my tie in the pocket of my jacket hanging over the back of my chair, entering hour four of a hell of a fucking game of poker with the Russian contingent.
Novikov opens his mouth again, twisting, distracted by something over my shoulder. I turn, watching Ronan hurry across the room. He leans down, his lips close to my ear.
“Anthony just called. There’s been a disturbance at the house.”
I freeze. What the fuck is that supposed to mean? A fucking disturbance. With the online shit, or with the actual house and Andie?
“Everything okay, Fitzpatrick?” Novikov asks, his eyebrows raised. I fold. My blood is like ice in my veins, mechanically signaling a waitress to collect my chips.
“This is a private issue,” Ronan tells the Russian, who nods, his eyes still glued to my face.
“If it stops being private, you call, okay?”
I nod numbly, snagging my jacket as I follow Ronan down the stairs. What does he mean, private? Private as in, Irish business, or private as in,mybusiness?
I climb into the SUV, where Paddy and Seamus are waiting, while Ronan and Niall climb into another SUV. Jesus fuck. This must be fucking serious. My heart is in my mouth.
“What’s going on?” I snap at Seamus while Paddy squeals the tires in his hurry to get us out of here.
Seamus holds his hands up while he twists to face me. “Now, don’t freak out, Lucky, but Anthony says the house is smashed up, and there’s no sign of Andie.”
The entire fucking world has stilled, and I’m vaguely aware of Paddy breaking every traffic law imaginable to get us to my house in fifteen minutes.
The SUV fishtails as he screeches into the drive, and Niall and Ronan are less than thirty seconds behind us. Anthony is standing near the door to the kitchen, but I shove past him, my gun in my hand, while Seamus stops to talk to him in a low voice.
Niall, Paddy, Ronan, and I make our way through the house, which has been completely trashed. They’ve slashed up my mammy’s antique sofas and toppled the fucking piano, which is smashed on the floor.
The kitchen is full of shattered plates, mugs, and glassware. Ronan and Niall report the sofas and mattresses on the second floor have been slashed, and Andie’s clothes have been scattered around her room.
The leather sofa and easy chair in my den have been slashed, and the TV is broken on the floor. So clearly not a robbery. The mattress in our room is cut, my clothes are scattered all around the room, and the mirror in the bathroom has been smashed.
Andie is fuckingnowhereto be seen. The rest of the lads join Paddy and me in the bedroom, Seamus looking around angrily, his eyes lingering on my shredded suit jackets on the floor.