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SIOBHAN

M y heart is racing, every muscle in my body rigid as the men who've attacked me jerk me around. I can't scream, can't fight back. They've shoved a bag over my head then tied something around my mouth making it impossible to make a sound and difficult to breathe. And my hands and feet are tied too tightly, fingers and toes going numb.

The only thing I know is they've shoved me into a tight space. I can't stretch out, but I can feel every bump in the road. I think it's the trunk of a car because every now and then, the inertia changes and I slam my head into something hard. I'm terrified and I wish I could at least see things.

I try to calm myself because crying won't help me, and my sinuses are making so much mucus, it's making it even more difficult to breathe. I hate to admit it even to myself, but Liam was right about this whole thing from the beginning. I hated how he treated me—like a child. But he was a good friend despite being dirty. He knew what I was getting into better than I ever imagined because he was living it.

I wonder what they did to him to break him, if this is something they do to everyone or if I'm different because I'm the prosecutor. Every bump in the road makes me question whether my time here on Earth is over, if my breaths are numbered now.

When the car comes to a stop, finally ending the beating I've been taking, I hear male voices. There are at least two of them out there, laughing and joking. They snatched me right out of that courthouse with ease like they were taking candy from a baby. I wasn't prepared for the assault, but I'd never have stood a chance against two grown men at once, anyway. I wonder if they're the same men who tried to attack me on the street too.

"Let's take her in," one of them says, the only thing I can understand of their muffled conversation. I hear the latch pop and it takes a moment, but I sense more light and fresher air seeping through the fabric of this burlap sack over my head.

"Come on, Princess." The man's rough voice is followed by his firm grasp. He takes my arm and yanks me upward, not caring about my safety. My head slams into something very hard, and I wince, whimpering into the gag, but the fabric swallows it up. I want to protest and fight them, but it's impossible with these restraints. Physically, I have succumbed to my fate of being their captive, though my mind is still sharp and reactive. I won't let them break me.

More hands encircle my other arm. I feel myself hoisted upward, and then my knees hit something very hard. I soon realize it's the ground as they start dragging me, tearing the flesh from my kneecaps and shins. My back goes stiff. I dig my toes into the ground hoping to stop the pain but quickly remember I've lost my shoes, and the pavement is much kinder to my knees than my tiptoes.

It's horrid feeling the skin slowly being peeled back from my lower extremities. I'm helpless to fight against them, though I do try to get my feet under me and walk. Until I feel a kick to my side and I crumple back to a hanging position, one man on each arm.

When the pavement gives way to grass, I cry tears of relief, only for it to become worse as grass fades to gravel, and then a set of stairs where each step jars my pelvis. All I can think of is the baby and what this might do. I don’t want to lose the baby. I don’t want to be here. I want Finn and I want to go home, and all of those thoughts bring on more tears as I realize they're not fucking around. They're going to kill me.

So why haven't they done it yet?

At last, relief comes when somewhere inside a building, they drop me and let my arms relax against my back. I lie on my stomach for a second, catching my breath, smelling the stench of cigar smoke and booze. I'm lying on carpet, though it's not well padded. I can feel it against my chest where my shirt dips.

The room is quiet for a moment as I suck in stuttering breaths, trying to clear my airway of snot and emotion. My shoulders ache from being bent at an awkward angle to drag me in here and my knees throb from being dragged. But I remind myself that I’m still alive. They haven't killed me yet, so there is hope. Hope that Finn will realize I'm not back with my briefcase and that he has to come find me.

"Gentlemen, that's no way to treat a lady. Now is it?" The new man's voice is mocking, unkind, but he represents change in my situation. A third man who may hopefully undo what these men have done. I try to roll to my back but feel a boot on my shoulder pinning me down.

Then something happens and my hands are loose. I lie perfectly still, wondering what is going on as then my feet are loosed, and they rip the bag off my head, along with the gag.

Blinking my eyes, I put my hands under my chest and force myself upward. The boot on my shoulder lifts, and I look up to see the man who cut me loose. We're alone now, the other two filing out the door as I clamber to a seated position on the floor. My face must be a wreck. I use the back of my arm to wipe away snot from my lip and cheek.

"Here, let me help you up," the new man offers, extending his hand to me.

I glance around the barren room. It's just ugly colored brown carpet and bare walls. Two chairs at a metal table that looks to be bolted into place. It's very reminiscent of an interrogation room at the Garda station, but I think this is an office building of some kind, or a home. The walls are plaster, not concrete.

Swallowing hard, I allow myself to take his hand, and he helps me up. My knees are badly bloodied. Bits of rock and dirt cling to my skin. He clicks his tongue and hands me a handkerchief with a large, cursive D embroidered into it.

"Clean yourself up, Ms. Gallagher. We have a lot to talk about." A cold chill creeps across my skin as he gestures at one of the chairs and says, "Have a seat."

First, I use the kerchief to wipe my face and blow my nose. Then I use a clean side to dab at the blood which is already clotting. Scabs are going to form over this filth and I'll get an infection. I shake my head and glare at him.

"Who are you? What is this? Why am I here?" I don't have ground to stand on here. Those men are strong enough that they can snap my neck if they want, but lying down and being their punching bag isn't my style.

"Why, I'm Cormac Doyle," he says smoothly, running a hand through his hair. "I'd like to discuss the murder of Aiden Hughes and how the trial will go." He gestures again. "Sit."

My throat constricts. This is the man in charge of the entire Doyle crime syndicate? His son, the one alleged to have murdered Aiden Hughes, will be arrested and stand trial soon. A trial I have no desire to be any part of. My blood runs cold as I lower myself onto the chair and stare at him with wide eyes, no longer caring about my appearance, or my bloody knees, or even the unborn child I carry who alone gives me a will to live.

"Ms. Gallagher, we are going to arrange it so that you oversee Hagen's trial. I'm sure I don't have to tell you who Hagen is?" His eyes narrow at me, and I shake my head. I have no words for this monster. "Good. Now, what's going to happen is we are going to provide you with ample evidence, a few experts who will help you along, and we are going to pay you all a hefty sum to ensure my son stays out of prison. All you have to do is follow the script. Can you do that?"

I think of Finn again, begging me to do the right thing. He wasn't asking me to get Mick off because he had some nefarious plan of beating the system. He knew Mick was innocent. Finn was pressuring me to see the truth, to do the right thing. This man in front of me is asking me to lie and cheat and bury the truth. He wants me to be his dark messenger to tell the world he is above the law, that his son is untouchable, and I don't think I can do that.

"Sir, I think you've got the wrong woman." The words come out choked, stuttered. I'm shaking in this seat, praying he doesn't just slit my throat now.

"Oh?" He cocks his head and raises his eyebrows. "Are you not Siobhan Gallagher? The woman with a mission to bring down every underworld crime syndicate in Dublin? The woman whose cousin was murdered in cold blood after a deal gone wrong?" His eyes narrow on me, and I see the malice in them, hatred, hunger for some dark, senseless plan. "How did Trevor die again?" he asks, and I shudder.

I can't respond to him. He clearly knows everything about me. He's probably seen the videos of me and Finn, probably understands my ties to the O'Rourke name. And maybe he suspects more from me too, that I'm on their payroll, which couldn't be further from the truth. He thinks he can make me turn, the way Liam turned, the way Brendan turned. I won't. I set my jaw and lock my eyes on him, but I don't speak.

"Well then, you just take some time to think about this." He stands and slides his hand into his pocket. When it emerges, he pulls out a pair of handcuffs and dangles them in front of me. "I'm going to make sure you stay put here for a while, and when I come back, hopefully, you’ll have an answer for me."

I try to resist him, but he manages to clip one of the cuffs on my arm and the other around the leg of the table which I correctly assumed is bolted in place. The cuff is tight, pinching my arm, but not as bad as the bag over my head felt. I glare at him, but I'm smart enough to know not to speak.

"I suggest you agree to my proposition, Ms. Gallagher. You don't want to know what happens to you if you don't. That O'Rourke boy will be crying over your grave, and he'll end up getting himself shot too. You know… vengeance for love lost and such." He gestures with his hands casually as he speaks such horrible threats against me and Finn, and then he walks out saying, "Think about it."

I don't have to think about it. The answer is no. I won't help him get away with murder. God only knows what other crimes this bastard has committed. But if I have to lie to him and tell him I will, just to have a chance to be in contact with Finn, I will. Because I know Finn won't let them do this to me. I just have to play my cards right.