Devils Blade

Chapter 27

Stacy POV:

The next morning, I was abruptly woken up by the obnoxious sound of my phone ringing. I groggily reached for it, squinting at the screen to see who was calling. It was one of my soldiers. With a sigh, I answered the call, trying to keep my voice low as I disentangled myself from Noah's sleeping form. I didn't want to wake him up.

"What?" I answered in my 'Donna' voice, authoritative and no-nonsense.

"Donna, the Irish attacked one of our shipments again," came the urgent voice on the other end. "We managed to capture five of their soldiers."

A flicker of irritation crossed my face, but I quickly masked it. "Good. I'll meet you at our main warehouse in an hour," I said, my voice steady and cold. With that, I hung up, feeling the familiar weight of responsibility settle back onto my shoulders. It was Saturday, and the past two days had been a rare respite, filled with warmth and laughter with the triplets. Going from living together for the past three years to not seeing each other for a week had been hard on all of us. But duty called, and I had to return to my other life.

It was only 5 AM, so I got dressed quietly, careful not to wake Noah or his siblings. I slipped on a pair of black jeans and a leather jacket, pulling my hair into a tight ponytail. Before leaving, I went down to the kitchen and quickly scribbled a note for the triplets and their parents, explaining that I had an early errand to run and would be back later.

With a deep breath, I stepped out into the cool morning air and hopped onto my motorbike. The engine roared to life, and I sped down the empty streets, the wind whipping past me as I made my way to our main base. The early hour meant the roads were deserted, and I reached the warehouse in record time.

As I parked my bike and walked in, my men nodded respectfully, acknowledging my presence. I didn't waste any time, heading straight down to the basement where our captives were being held. The air was thick with anticipation, the kind that comes before a storm. My heart beat steadily, the familiar rhythm of control and power.

It was time to remind these Irish fuckers who they were dealing with.

Descending into the basement, a cold, sterile environment met me, the dim light casting elongated shadows that danced across the concrete walls. The air was thick with the scent of dampness and fear, mingling with the faint, metallic tang of blood. My boots echoed ominously on the hard floor as I approached the five Irish soldiers, bound and gagged in their chairs, their eyes wide with a mix of defiance and terror.

The room was bare except for a sturdy table covered with a chilling array of tools. Knives, scalpels, pliers, a blowtorch—each carefully selected for the artistry of pain. My men stood in a line along the walls, silent and watchful. Alex, one of my most trusted soldiers, stepped forward.

"They're all yours, Donna," he said, his voice steady, betraying none of the anticipation in his eyes.

"Leave us," I commanded. My voice was cold, authoritative. Without a word, my men filed out, the door closing with a heavy thud behind them, sealing me in with my captives.

I walked over to the table, my fingers brushing lightly over the tools, feeling the cold metal against my skin. I selected a scalpel, the blade gleaming under the dim light. It felt comfortable in my hand, a familiar weight. I turned to the first man, a young soldier, barely more than a boy. His face was already bruised, a fresh cut marring his cheek. I moved closer, watching as he struggled against his bonds, eyes darting around in panic.

I crouched in front of him, bringing the scalpel to his cheek, just above the cut. "Let's start with something simple," I murmured, my voice low and steady. "Why did Kennedy send you?"