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DECLAN

“ T urn the headlights off,” I order Conan as we approach the picket fence.

He comes to a stop before we enter the gravel at the entrance.

“Enzo, how far behind are the rest of the guys?” I ask.

“Around ten minutes.”

I scoff.

“Conan, I told you it could go faster,” I hiss.

“The ice, brother. You wanna flip this thing and die? That won’t save your girl.”

He has a point, so I shut my mouth.

Conan zooms in on the map on the screen and looks ahead.

“I have an idea. A really, really fucking reckless one. But an idea nonetheless.”

“Carry on,” I tell him.

I trust him.

“She’s on the right hand side of the barn. Looking at this, this entrance is separate. That’s where the guards will be. If I had to take an educated guess.”

“Hmm.” I scratch my stubble.

“Well, let’s fucking see how fast this thing can go.” He taps the steering wheel.

“Take ‘em by surprise with one hell of a bang. And just hope we don’t die.”

He grins at me.

“You’re suggesting driving through the doors?”

I blink at him, trying to fathom his idea.

“I don’t have ten minutes to wait. She’s in there. There are two of us, and we have no idea how many there are inside. But she’s away from the car if the tracker is exact.”

“It is exact,” Enzo chimes in from my earpiece.

I look at the map and her tracker. But it’s her heart rate that concerns me.

One hundred and ninety-five beats a minute.

“Fuck it. Let's do it.”

He slams the gas, and the Bugatti lurches forward like it’s hungry for blood. The gates splinter, exploding into jagged shrapnel. My head snaps back against the seat. The barn looms ahead.

“Hold on,” he says.

No warning. No mercy.

We hit the doors full force.

Two guards don’t even get a chance to turn around.

We barrel through like vengeance on wheels. Just how it was meant to be.

Because I’m not walking in for a rescue.

I’m walking in for a reckoning.