Page 107 of Connor's Claim
He swung open the door.
But it wasn’t Piers.
Connor waited on the other side, one hand raised in a position of surrender presumably to mollify the surrounding guards, but the other held out a tablet. On the screen, three men sat on chairs, their faces completely covered with skeleton masks. Behind, a fourth man stood over them, only his lower face covered. Riordan. Despite only knowing him a short time, I recognised my brother.
All of that paled in my heartbreaking happiness to see the man I loved.
Connor’s gaze travelled over my face. Down on the street, multiple cars full of skeleton crew waited, their occupants poised but holding back.
Somehow, Father’s security patrol had let him walk straight through. Probably because of the numbers—the skeleton crew had come in mob-handed, and the team that managed our home security handled trespassing kids. Lost delivery people. Faced with a ruthless gang and entirely outnumbered, they had no choice.
But one phone call to the police, undoubtedly already made, and this was all over.
I couldn’t smile.
With a neutral expression, Connor opened his lips. “I’ll make this brief. Everly is leaving with me. She’s out of your clutches for good, and ye willnae contact her ever again. Even on your fucking deathbed.”
My father scrutinised the screen. Alternating that with glimpses of Connor, I tried to piece together his plan.
“Why would I do that?” the mayor asked slowly.
Connor shrugged. “Because I have your diseased balls in a fucking rat trap. Ye just don’t know it yet.” He turned his gaze on me.
The intensity in his eyes told me he’d got this, but how could he? Besides, he didn’t know about my father’s threat.
“Everly, is there anything you’d like to say to the mayor before you leave?”
I swallowed. “He threatened you. He says he has evidence.” I managed my words carefully for the sake of the watchful guards.
Connor lifted his chin. “Turn the camera on Chief Constable Kenney.”
I gasped. Holy hell.
Whoever was filming panned left to reveal another man standing at the back. A police officer who had so often come to meetings in this house. He glowered at the camera but focused on his phone, strolling away to make a call.
The message was clear. Connor and Arran owned the police.
Which meant no one else was rushing to confront them now. Inwardly, I sagged, my heart thumping.
“Just in case ye were thinking of going over his head,” Connor continued, “I own the circuit judges as well. The time I spent under your roof wasn’t wasted, on any count.”
Meaning he’d learned from my father. I could have laughed.
“Ye have a choice.” Connor tapped the screen. “Pick one, two, or three.”
If looks could kill, my father would have already slit his throat. “Stop playing games. What am I fucking choosing?”
At a gesture from Connor, Riordan stripped the bandannas from the three prisoners, one at a time.
I clasped my hand to my mouth. The first two were the councillors who’d insulted my body at the conference. Slaughter and Blake shared an expression of wide-eyed terror, their mouths bound with thick silver tape.
It was the third man who I stared at most. Piers Roache wrestled against his bindings, his eyes wild and his neck muscles taut. He bellowed behind the gag, his chair rocking under his exertion.
Riordan placed a hand on his shoulder, and Piers stilled. I could only imagine what they’d put him through to intimidate him so easily. Or maybe he was just a coward when it came to other men.
The reality of the situation crashed around me.
Connor couldn’t have taken three men prisoner in the space of time my father had abducted me. He’d already put this in motion, which meant he knew exactly what risks he was taking. And he’d done it all with the purpose of setting me free.