Primal: London Mob Book Two Read Online Free

already primed for the beating he would give the man. It would take restraint not to kill him. Mercy was for the innocent, and no man who threatened Jenna or Lily was innocent. But Farrell needed the man to deliver a message. Unfortunately, that required him to be alive.
    Even from a distance, he could hear Lily and Jenna conversing, could hear Jenna’s solid, sure voice punctuated by Lily’s small, sweet one. He wondered if Jenna knew she was being followed. Wondered if she was scared.
    The thought sent a current of frustration through his body. He was surprised she hadn’t been followed before now. He’d never expected whoever was behind the Marburg research to let them go quietly. Had Adam been important in their equation? Or simply a body, expendable in their quest to recover the papers Jenna’s father had stolen before his death?
    Farrell had no way of knowing, but the fact that Adam had worked as a Senior Aide to Bernard Morse made it fairly easy to connect the dots; someone in the British government — or someone with powerful ties to it — was probably involved.
    And apparently they were done biding their time.
    Jenna and Lily stepped into the shadow of the old church, and the man quickened his steps as Lily tipped her face to the tall, stained glass windows, chattering to Jenna about the colored glass and the story told by the image.
    He saw Jenna’s shoulders tense as the man strode toward them and knew that she heard it, that if she hadn’t known it before, she certainly knew they were in danger now. He watched as she looked around, casting about for someplace to run or hide in the split second before the man began running, closing the distance between them in a handful of long strides before he shoved Jenna roughly into the alley between the church and the old rectory.
    Farrell was there less than ten seconds later, adrenaline coursing through his veins like water through a floodgate. Time seemed to slow as he took in the scene; Jenna backed up against the wall, hugging Lily tightly against her thigh while the man pressed himself into Jenna’s body, his face only inches from hers as he fisted her blouse in one hand, his other holding a gun against her cheek.
    A wash of red dropped over Farrell’s vision. He was no longer cognizant of anything but the need to destroy the man putting his hands on Jenna, the man frightening their daughter, whimpering as she clutched Jenna’s leg.
    “Please,” Jenna said, her voice eerily calm. “Let my daughter go. I’ll give you anything you want, just let her go.”
    The man cracked his hand, still holding the gun, across Jenna’s cheekbone. “I make the rules here, bitch. You give me what I want, I maybe give you what you want. Now where are the papers?”
    Farrell strode into the alley, moving toward the man with single-minded purpose. He was only vaguely aware of the man’s slow turn toward him, the look of surprise in his eyes as he registered Farrell’s approach. It was all secondary to the rage boiling his blood.
    He grabbed the man’s gun and tossed it aside, then lifted him a foot into the air before throwing him against the church wall. He was still scrambling to get to his feet when Farrell reached for him again.
    He held the thug off the ground, his feet kicking frantically as Farrell held onto the leather jacket with one hand and punched the man’s face with the other. The bones of the man’s face gave way under Farrell’s steady blows. It was satisfying, familiar. The crunch of it, the slight give of flesh, the warmth of his blood when it started flowing. The man’s eyes were swollen shut when Jenna’s voice cut through the haze in his mind.
    “Stop it, Farrell! Enough!”
    He didn’t turn to look at her. If he did that, he wouldn’t want anything but to take her in his arms, to make sure something like this never happened again.
    And he wasn’t done here.
    “Who sent you?” he asked the man, head lolling to one side as a rivulet of