When We Met

CH 13 Logan

The plan was simple - hit the Fernandezes hard and fast before they could get too deeply entrenched on our turf. Maria's intel from her eyes inside their camp revealed this was the opportune time to strike while some of the key players were out.

"Remember, this is just a message to those Spanish upstarts," I briefed my team of heavies as we geared up. "Grab who you can and bring them in alive if possible. But if anyone resists..." I mimed putting a gun to my head and pulling the trigger.

Noah, my trusted right-hand enforcer, nodded grimly. "Message received, boss. We'll get it done clean and efficiently."

He was the only one allowed to see me in this mode, cavalier locks shaved down, body tensed and hardened, all traces of the sociable millionaire businessman erased. This was Logan "Darkness" Walsh, ruling head of the British underworld's most powerful crime family.

The compound's outer perimeter was lightly guarded, fucking amateurs. We took down the two posted watchmen with silenced sniper fire before breaching the gates. Once inside, Maria's voice crackled in our earpieces with the go signal.

"Bomb's away, Logan. You have three minutes before their security force masses."

I gave a wolfish grin as the deafening boom of the explosion ripped through the estate. That was our cue to make our big noisy entrance. Smashing through the front doors, my team fanned out and opened fire with a hail of automatic gunfire. Controlled chaos to sow panic and fear.

Upstairs, I could hear shouts and screaming as my men cleared each room with forceful efficiency. Restraining and cuffing any struggling parties. The few armed resistance members were swiftly neutralised, a bullet between the eyes for anyone foolish enough to test us.

I could smell the distinct iron tang of blood and burnt cordite in the air as I stalked through the foyer towards the sounds of a scuffle. Turning the corner, I spotted one of my lads wrangling a petite young woman into a rear chokehold. She was a scrapper, fighting like a hellion even as the bigger man easily overpowered her.

As I approached, he yanked her head around and I got my first look at her delicate features...and those unmistakably exotic Spanish looks. This had to be the Fernandez heiress herself that all the fuss was about. She locked eyes with me, their deep brown irises swirling with terror and fury.

"Well, well..." I grinned, taking a moment to fully appreciate her frightened beauty. "Looks like the little Fernandezes aren't so tough after all."

With a nod at my man, she was shoved forward onto her knees before me. Those defiant brown eyes stared up through messy strands of raven hair, burning with impotent rage. Oh, she was a spitfire all right - and not just a pretty little rich bitch.

I reached down and gripped her jaw tightly, turning her head from side to side as if inspecting a prized mare. Up close, I could clearly see the tantalizing curves of her body, straining against the confines of that maid's uniform she'd been wearing.

I jerked her head around forcefully, searching for the telltale fleur-de-lis tattoo that should mark her as the Fernandez heiress. But there was nothing, just smooth, unblemished tanned skin under the collar of her maid's uniform dress.

"Where the fuck is it?" I snarled, giving her a hard slap across the face. Her head whipped to the side from the impact, but those defiant brown eyes burned right back into mine without flinching.

"Looking for something, tough guy?" she spat out a mouthful of blood from where she'd bitten her cheek. "Sorry to disappoint, but I'm not one of your clan's little branded cattle."

The sarcastic venom in her tone just inflamed my anger more. I backhanded her again viciously, taking satisfaction in the cry of pain she couldn't quite stifle this time.