They arrive at the airport burning rubber and screech to a stop outside a hangar.
The blond guard with the spiderweb neck tattoo pulls Riley out of the SUV and drags her across the tarmac by the hand.
They disappear inside the hangar.
Ten minutes later, the hangar doors open. A large white private jet sits inside. The jet’s engines roar to life.
It doesn’t surprise me they found a pilot on such short notice. The head of the Irish Mob is a powerful man.
Not that his power will be able to protect him.
Nothing on earth can protect him now.
Grinding my teeth, I watch from a distance as the jet pulls out onto the tarmac, turning to head down the main runway and wait for clearance to take off.
I watch it lift into the sky, glinting under the sun as it rises.
I watch it shrink until it’s nothing more than a tiny white dot against a vast sea of blue.
All the while, I force myself to breathe deeply to control the raging wildfire of fury burning inside my chest.
The last time I was this enraged was when I learned of Mikhail’s death.
This is almost worse. This shock comes with a deep sense of betrayal.
The waif I wanted to help is Declan’s sister-in-law.
Not a prostitute.
Not his victim.
His sister-in-law.
Family.
Thinking of what I’m going to do next, I feel better.
I suppose it could be called poetic justice. Or serendipity, a word I’ve always liked. Whatever the name, the result will be identical.
Declan O’Donnell took something from me.
It’s my turn to take something from him.
By the time the jet starts to taxi down the runway, I’ve already memorized the tail number and turned away.
