Page 74 of Savage Hearts

“I gave your woman shelter. My debt is paid. The end.”

There follows a silence so long, I think he might have hung up. Then he says, “If you help me, I’ll grant you a favor. One favor. Anything you ask. No conditions.”

“Okay. Shoot yourself in the head.”

“Anything other than that, you bloody great wanker.”

When I don’t reply, he prompts, “You know what I’m offering is valuable. All you have to do is give me something to go on. Give me somewhere to look. Give me fucking anything that will help us find her, and I’ll owe you a marker. No questions asked.”

I consider it.

A dozen different extremely useful things I could ask him for run through my head. Though I hate to admit it, Declan O’Donnell is a powerful man.

You never know when having a man like that in your debt will come in handy.

And I did specifically tell Malek not to hurt any women while he was getting his revenge. I was very clear on that. Now, a girl has been shot in the process of a kidnapping that wasn’t supposed to happen.

Not just any girl.

One who Natalie cares about. One she wants me to help find. Decision made.

“All right, Irish. You’ve got yourself a deal. Let me make a few calls. I’ll get back to you when I have something.”

I hang up before I have to hear his annoying accent again. Then, with Nat watching nervously, I start dialing.

TWENTY-THREE

RILEY

The pain is everywhere.

It’s mostly in my stomach, but it’s also all over me, everywhere at once. Every breath is agony. The smallest movement is torture. Even the air brushing my skin makes it hurt.

It hurts so bad, I wish I were dead.

My eyes are closed and my mind is sluggish, dulled by the blunt force of the pain, but I’m still vaguely aware of my surroundings.

I smell antiseptic.

I hear words spoken low in a foreign language.

I feel a cold pinch of metal as a needle is inserted into my arm, then a faint burning in the vein.

The sharpest edge of the pain dulls within seconds. My moan of gratitude is a reflex.

A cell phone rings.

Heavy footsteps move away.

A voice I recognize says in English, “I’m within my rights. It’s not for you to question.”

It’s Malek. He sounds furious.

More silence. Then he speaks in rapid-fire sentences, biting the words off his tongue.

“I took her as repayment for Mikhail. What I do from here is none of your business. This is all the explanation you’ll get, Kazimir. She’s mine now. Don’t contact me again.”

The heavy footsteps move closer. Malek speaks again, this time in Russian.