Page 45 of Sweet Deception (Irish Kings #4)

Chapter Forty

Darren’s movements are controlled and exact, like well-rehearsed choreography, as he places each charge around the perimeter of this giant auction venue.

His concentration is absolute, his fingers steady as he connects wires with practiced ease and efficiency. His artistry is a sight to behold. A deadly ballet.

“Stand back,” he orders. “These aren’t toys.”

“I trust you.” I stay safely behind him, shining the flashlight on his work.

I’m surprised the light isn’t shaking. Adrenaline floods my veins, and my mind whirs with the words Darren said just a few minutes ago.

“You make me want to build something with you. Something real. Something lasting.” I shove the thoughts aside. I’ll come back to them once we’re out of this mess, when the others are safe.

Unsurprisingly, Darren, Cian, Finn, and Rory were able to get their hands on a blueprint of this building, too, and Darren knows exactly where and how to set the charges to rock the foundation when the moment comes.

“Remember what I told you?” His voice grows distant.

“About early on in my career. When I got cocky? I was trying to show off, but my timing was off by three seconds.” Darren fingers the edge of the explosive in his palm.

“Three seconds. That’s all it took. A young couple was passing by.

They weren’t supposed to be there. Weren’t supposed to… ”

The raw pain in his voice cracks my heart down the middle.

I see it now—his reckless streak, the way he courts danger. It constitutes the slow dance toward an “accidental” death. He’s been blaming and punishing himself for that all this time.

“Darren.” I grasp his hand, forcing him to look at me. “It was an accident.”

“Doesn’t change what happened.”

“No.” I press closer to his back, wrapping my arms around him from behind. “But it doesn’t make you a monster. And…ending your life won’t bring them back. Won’t fix anything.”

He stiffens in my embrace. “How did you?—”

“Because I see you.” I rest my forehead between his shoulder blades. “The real you. Not the chaos agent or the weapons expert. Not the monster you pretend to be.” My arms tighten. “If you want to atone, then make your choices count from here on out. It’s as simple as that.”

Darren nods, and I release him.

He hurries to finish setting up and then texts Finn to let him know that he’s planted the explosives.

Finn confirms.

“Time for phase two.” Darren turns to me. “Let’s go find Lucy and get her and everyone else in this hellhole to safety.”

Darren and I hurry down a dim, unused, and unguarded hallway, walking as quickly as I can manage in high heels. Soon, the lights of the industrial kitchen come into view.

My heart leaps when one of the servers steps directly into our path. I jerk, but that’s only because I don’t recognize the woman wearing the uniform until we’re right in front of her.

It’s Harper Brennan.

She beams at me. “Long time no see, Nika.”

I smile back. “Making that uniform look designer as only you could.”

“Where’d you put the precious cargo?” Darren asks.

“In there.” She nods toward a closed freezer door.

Darren and I double back and pull the giant metal thing open.

Sure enough, more than half the women I stood in line with just thirty minutes ago are hidden inside.

Thankfully, the freezer’s been turned off, so no one’s shivering.

Instead, they’re helping themselves to food and fresh produce and refreshments.

God only knows how long they’ve been without in Red Hill custody.

“This is amazing…” I regard them, and then Darren, with relief.

“Cargo Hold One is secure,” Darren says into his earpiece.

“The kitchen route is clear,” someone responds. I think that’s Riley. Both twins must be here.

I could cry again. I cannot believe the Kings came through like this.

Not just for me, or for their financial gain, but for each and every one of the people in this freezer whose life had been ripped apart by the greed and violence of men like Troy Sullivan. It’s overwhelming.

Darren catches my eye and gives me a single nod.

No time for crying. We’ve got to get Lucy.

I don’t even want to know how they gathered all the women down here without that scary man with the tablet or Sophia Kovaleva finding out, but I’m sure wherever those two are, they’re pissed or on the verge of retaliating. That is, if they’re not already dead.

Darren and I exit the kitchen and stick to the shadows. He’s dressed in all black, with a button-down and a tailored suit jacket that help him pose as an “escort” to guide me undetected through the building.

Guards posted nearby hiss into their walkie-talkies.

Yep, they’ve definitely noticed their missing merchandise.

We slip around a corner into a lobby and glide toward another door that’s marked, Private Viewing Room . Darren unholsters his gun and cocks it, just in case.

We’re not in the market for any surprises.

Voices and shuffling dress shoes echo from beyond the door. Clinking champagne glasses and laughter. Party sounds.

Before I can move to open the door, Darren stops me with a shake of his head and speaks swiftly into his earpiece. “Tactical Team A, move in.”

In seconds, a small fleet of Irish King foot soldiers flood the lobby.

I don’t know where the hell they came from or where they got those uniforms that are basically identical to the guards manning the auction, but I understand they’re with Darren because I recognize several of their faces from dinner.

Darren holsters his gun and gives me a look. “You ready?”

When I nod, he gives the signal. I dropped my Taser outside the building after the explosion went off and Darren appeared, but I’m pretty sure it wouldn’t do much against a gun anyway.

Two of the soldiers, in character as auction guards, open the viewing room doors for us.

Darren wraps my arm around his, and we enter like royalty, blending in with the other buyers examining women for purchase.

The real security guards barely even glimpse at Darren’s team.

At first glance, the fake uniforms pass inspection.

We float across the viewing floor while potential buyers circle the women on pedestals like sharks. Darren whispers an order in my ear, and I nod again.

I can do this.

My hands clench when I spy men in alcoves assessing and appraising the younger girls as though they’re livestock, but I maintain my cover, scanning methodically for Lucy.

And finally, I spot her—miraculously, incredibly, impossibly—through an archway that leads to a private alcove. A middle-aged man in an expensive suit runs his hands over her shoulders while she stares straight ahead, her face blank.

For a split second, our eyes meet.

And now, it’s over. We’re all done here.

Releasing Darren, I stagger forward, crying out in distress and falling against a nearby table just as he told me to. The noise and movement draw everyone’s attention, creating the perfect cover for Darren’s team to fan out and maneuver into position.

The ensuing takedown is swift and well-choreographed.

Darren moves like a shadow, the team following his lead.

Within seconds, everyone’s subdued. Some are unconscious, others zip-tied and face down. None get the chance to radio for help.

As soon as it’s finished, the women on display descend from their pedestals, teary eyed and trembling. I don’t waste a second before I’m running to Lucy. She’s heading for me, too, when Sophia Kovaleva steps out from a hidden nook and snatches her wrist, dragging her backward.

My stomach drops. “No!”

Kovaleva has a knife to Lucy’s throat, and she digs the tip in just enough for a tiny stream of blood to drip down the cutting edge and onto her white bodycon dress. Lucy whimpers, her face pale.

“Not another step.” The woman spits the words, pressing the tip of her blade harder into Lucy’s throat.

I’m frozen to the spot.

No, no, no, no. Not now. Not when we’re this close to getting away.

Kovaleva’s perfect composure seems at odds with the chaos around us.

Lips curling back to reveal her pearly teeth, she sneers. “Everyone’s going to stay very still while my security guards get the girls back here, or she di?—”

“Think again.” Darren catches her attention just as an explosion rocks the far side of the building. Kovaleva’s grip loosens as she loses her balance, and Lucy drives her elbow into the bitch’s ribs, exactly the way I taught her.

“Lucy!” When I throw my arms out, she dashes into them. We embrace each other tightly as the tears spring full force.

Darren’s second charge brings down part of the ceiling between where we’re standing and where Kovaleva stumbles back.

“Move!” he shouts, grabbing us as a wall begins to collapse. Accompanied by the Kings’ tactical team, we book it through a pre-planned escape route while the final explosions take down the building and scores of human traffickers.

We emerge into the cool night air, unharmed, Lucy clinging to me, and dozens of other women and girls huddled together and clutching each other. The Irish Kings got them out. And now we have to get them to safety. But just as my hearing starts to come back, an ominous sound cuts through the fog.

A slow clap reverberates through the parking lot.

Troy Sullivan stands by a black SUV, his smile cold as ice.

“Well, isn’t this touching?”