Page 49 of Stolen Rival (The Stolen #1)

PATRICK

A mile out from the decrepit farmhouse abandoned years ago when old man Murphy died, my driver pulls us over to the side of the road. Behind me, several others do the same. Overkill? Maybe, but I’m taking no chances when it comes to my wife’s safety.

I climb out of the car and train my binoculars down the valley. As I expected, the farmhouse is in darkness, and there’s no sign of Sorcha’s Saab. Andrew will have stashed it out of sight in one of the barns maybe. There’s a red dot blinking on the tracker app, which tells me it’s here somewhere.

He’ll have Sorcha in the house, especially as both barns and the old outhouse are open to the elements. My guess is he’s keeping her in an upstairs room. That way, he’ll hear us coming and have a chance to gain the upper hand.

Or so he thinks.

What he fails to understand is that my brothers and I lived not far from here when we were kids, only moving to our current house after our parents died. We used to play here all the time. I know every inch of this farmhouse as well as I know my own property.

I slide my night vision goggles into place, and beckoning to the team, we begin the journey down the hill, keeping low in case Andrew is looking out of the window.

We come at the house from the rear, and as the team gathers by the old cellar door that leads into the basement, I bring my finger to my lips. Cocking my ears, I listen.

Silence.

The hinges on the cellar door have rusted away to virtually nothing, allowing me to open it without making a sound.

I draw my weapon and take the safety off.

It makes a quiet click. Holding my breath, I peer inside.

A rat scuttles off, looking for another hiding place.

Can’t say I blame him. It must be years since anyone came down here.

Maybe me and my brothers were the last ones.

Brushing aside cobwebs, I pick my way down the concrete steps.

Dank air crawls up my nostrils, the smell of decay and neglect a distinct scent of its own.

Once the entire team has joined me, I head for the set of stairs on the far side of the cellar that leads directly into the kitchen.

From there, I can slip through the pantry to where an internal set of stairs leads to the upper floors.

I’m almost certain Andrew won’t know about the additional staircase.

It’s hardly like he’ll have bothered to explore the place.

My guess is he took Sorcha, brought her straight here, and hauled her upstairs as a precaution against the unlikely event that I located them.

Now, he’s simply waiting for me to call him to tell him Dylan’s business interests are now in his name.

Not a fucking chance.

Taking a breath, I slowly turn the doorknob at the top of the stairs, my finger on the trigger.

Don’t creak. A higher power is on my side, because the door opens without making a sound.

The kitchen is empty, the cupboards hanging off their hinges, the old stainless-steel sink held together by rust and luck.

The pantry door is half open. Good. One less thing to worry about. I don’t need to look behind me to know the team is right there, following in my footsteps. The great thing about this staircase is it’s made of concrete, too. No creaking floorboards to worry about.

At the top of the stairs, there’s another door that I know leads to the landing.

Right opposite is what was the primary bedroom, and I’m taking a punt that’s where he’s got Sorcha.

From what I can recall, the floorboards in most of the other bedrooms had rotted away, and that was years ago. They were probably non-existent now.

Could luck be on my side once more? I turn the doorknob. Silence. I glance to the heavens. I owe you one.

The old carpet is threadbare, but with any luck, it will mask the sound enough for us to get into position. I motion to my right and then to my left. The team moves like the well-practiced group that we are, stealthily bracketing me on either side.

There’s a slight gap underneath the door, as there often is with these older properties. My own property has similar gaps beneath the doors. I reholster my gun and crouch, then brace both hands on the floor and peer underneath. From this angle, I don’t get a wide view, but I see enough.

A pair of feet, too small to be Andrew’s.

White-hot rage sears my blood. It isn’t enough to kill him.

I want to torture him, to drag his death out for days, like he threatened to do to Sorcha.

I tilt my head to a different angle. I can’t see Andrew, but he’s in there somewhere.

I search my memories. From what I can recall, the primary bedroom is about twenty feet square and has a large window directly opposite the door, but the problem is the door is in the center of the room, meaning Andrew could be to the left or to the right.

I get to my feet and grab my weapon. We’re going to have to go in blind. Now I know she’s there, the urge to get to her quickly, to wrap her in my arms, and tell her she’s safe, overwhelms me.

But what if he’s got her wired up? What if by opening that door, I set a chain of events in motion that can’t be undone?

What choice do I have?

Wait. There is a choice. Negotiation. Not that I’ll mean it, but I’ll play the game if it means getting Sorcha out of her safe and unharmed. As soon as there’s a free shot, one of us will take it.

My team knows me well enough that my silent gesticulating lets them know the lay of the land. Several heads nod in agreement.

Taking a lungful of air, I open the door.

Sorcha’s head hangs low, and her eyes are closed.

She’s alone.

She’s alone.

I stride across to her and kneel at her feet, assessing her injuries.

She’s got a split lip and a vicious-looking bruise on her cheekbone, as well as one on her forehead.

A fresh barrage of fury races through me.

That fucking bastard struck my wife. When I get my hands on him, he’ll wish he’d never fucking met me.

“ Mo mhuirnín .” Gently, I cup her chin.

She startles awake, blinking. “Patrick? Are you real?”

“I’m real.” I press my finger to my lips. “Shh.” Glancing behind me, I spin my finger in the air. The team immediately fan out. Andrew is somewhere in this house, and we’re going to find him.

Then I’ll make him pay.

I shove my gun into my holster and untie her hands, rubbing her wrists to get the blood flowing properly again.

The rope has chafed her skin, and a couple of blood blisters are already forming.

I can’t remember the last time I felt this swell of unrestrained anger, but now, more than ever, I need to control myself.

There will be time to let the beast free, but that time isn’t now.

She wobbles as I help her to her feet. I brace an arm around her waist. “Lean on me,” I murmur. “I’m getting you out of here.”

“How did you find me?” she whispers.

“Your car.” I don’t explain further, and she doesn’t ask, probably because she’s already guessed the answer.

“You came for me.” Tears spill down her cheeks, and as much as I should get her out of here and to safety as fast as possible, I can’t help stopping to sweep them away.

“Of course I did. You’re my wife.” And you mean the world to me.

“But I’m useless. You said it yourself. I heard you on the phone last night, or was it the night before?” She frowns. “How long have I been here?”

“A few hours. Sorcha, believe me when I say that I never meant a word of what you heard. I will explain everything, but first, we have to get you out of here and safely back home.”

I wait for her nod to show me she understands, then we move.

With my arm braced around her waist, I lead her back the way we came, through the interior staircase and into the kitchen.

The house is still quiet, my team searching the place with silent efficiency, room by room, until they find him.

They have their orders. Take him alive unless their life is in danger.

A chill breeze sweeps through the basement, and the earlier dank smell has lessened because of it.

The staircase leading to the outside is only one person wide, but Sorcha seems steadier on her feet now.

I take her hand and go first, leading her behind me.

We break into the fresh air, the sky dark except for a smattering of stars peeking out where the cloud has broken.

“The car is about a mile away. Can you walk or do you want me to carry you?”

“I can walk,” she says. “I just want to go home.”

My chest swells. Home. She means my home which, before she came along, was simply a place where I conducted my business and laid my head at night.

Now, it’s the place where I can breathe—and it’s all because of her.

She gives me strength. She challenges me in ways I never would have thought I’d relish.

She’s become so much more than a wife. She’s a partner, one that, until recently, I didn’t know I needed.

“Sorcha, I?—”

Pain explodes in my thigh, and I crumble to the damp grass. A second bullet whizzes past my ear. Grabbing Sorcha, I yank her to the ground, covering her with my body.

“Well, well, I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised.

” The moon shines on a pair of polished black shoes, so starkly out of place with the sodden earth.

Already, I’m weakened from the blood loss, but I’ve got enough in me to take this bastard down.

And I will, even if I die trying. I groan, masking the sound of my gun sliding out from its holster. One fast move. That’s all it’ll take.

“I tried to do this without bloodshed, but I should’ve known you play by your own rules. You could have kept your life and your bride, but now, you’re going to both die, and I’ll take back what’s mine and what used to be yours.”

To take aim, I’ll have to roll away from Sorcha, leaving her exposed. My heart pummels my ribcage. I don’t care about my life. After everything I’ve done, I deserve to die, but I can’t bear the thought of her dying because of me. She has to live.

I’ll only have one chance at this, and I have to make it work.

“I think the little lady should die first. It’ll be so much more fun for you to have to watch.” His toe pokes me in the side, and with one shove, he flips me.

The surprise in his eyes as the bullet blows a hole in his chest is a memory worth savoring. But I’m not taking any chances. I empty the entire magazine into his body with a final shot to the head. He hits the ground with a solid thud.

Torture was what he deserved, but knowing he’s got more holes in him that Swiss cheese will have to satisfy the monster inside me. That, and the knowledge he can never hurt Sorcha again.

“Patrick.” She looms over me, her red hair falling over her face. I reach up to touch her, but my arms won’t move. “Patrick!”

I open my mouth to reassure her, but nothing comes out.

“Oh, God, somebody help me!”

The sound of several pairs of boots edge closer. My side hurts. Did he kick me?

“Liam! Over here. Andrew shot him twice.”

Twice ?

No. Just once. The leg. A tourniquet, and I’ll be fine.

“Fuck.” My brother drops to the ground beside me. I smile. At least I think I do. He doesn’t smile back though. “Bro, hang on. Just fucking hang on.”

Tired now.

So tired.

Sleep.