Page 120 of Kneeling to Candy

“O’Conall. Finn O’Conall,” he says, revealing his identity.

“Wolf,” Butch growls out the interpretation, staring him down in challenge.

O’Conall shrugs, with a smirk. “That I am.”

Piero’s lips turn down, unamused. “Mister O’Conall, your identity still doesn’t explain why you’re in my private box.” He swings his attention to Duffy. “You need to remove your guest or I will.”

O’Conall throws his head back like Piero’s words are comical. It’s the kind of sinister laugh you’d expect from the villain in a horror movie, setting your nerves on end. It suits him.

After a few seconds, O’Conall collects himself. He smiles, showing his teeth as he waves his hand between himself, Piero, and Duffy. “Not possible, considering I’m a partner in this business arrangement.”

It all makes sense. There’s no way this operation could have survived long-term with Duffy at the helm, not with the boneheaded business decisions he’s made. The two Irish men are business partners. Our team’s earlier suspicion that Duffy was only the frontman and not the mastermind behind the sex ring is legit. And I bet my fake boobs O’Conall is the brains behind the whole operation.

The urge to head-palm myself is strong. How could I not see this earlier? Duffy and O’Conall were always together when talking business with Lorenzo, whether it was at Bianchi’s brothel or at this auction house. They shared me. Why not share a business, too?

“Hope you manage this business better than you manage your partner,” Piero chastises O’Conall.

Duffy frowns at Piero’s slight but says nothing, possibly suspecting he’d be forced to eat a bullet for talking back to the don.

“Rest assured, Signore Bianchi. I have everything…” O’Conall turns his murky gaze on me, “…under control.”

Unable to help myself, I snort. He’s delulu if he thinks he’s in control of anything, especially me.

O’Conall raises his eyebrow. “You doubt me, mo pheata?”

Feeling braver than I should in given company, I roll my eyes with exaggerated intensity, enough to ruffle the asshole’s feathers some more. “My name is Candy. Don’t make me repeat it. You will not like the outcome.”

Improvising on the spot, I grab the cheese knife from the charcuterie board and hold it against Butch’s neck. He stiffens but holds still, somehow knowing this is all part of the act. My biker knows I would never hurt him.

Using the knife like a makeshift razor, I glide it over Butch’s long neck. The hair stubble around his throat makes a scratching sound against the steel as I rest the blade below his scar, bringing it to everyone’s attention.

“This is what happens to those who step out of line with me. They lose their voice, if not their head.”

O’Conall’s eyes widen, almost like he’s impressed by my violent ways—fake or not.

“Goddamn!” Punk chuckles through the line. “Candy goes for the balls.”

“Shut up and focus,” Gauge chastises him through the comms.

Removing the knife from my lover’s neck, I lean in to lay a gentle kiss where the blade had been. Butch shivers, a low hum of pleasure in his throat. “Good boy.”

I pull away from my man, tossing the knife back on the spread of food, where it clatters on the table. All the men jump a bit, seemingly on edge with my little power play demonstration. I cross my arms under my chest, sashaying closer to my enemy with a fake smile on my face.

O’Conall’s lips quirk upward in the corners. He’s possibly enjoying this ballsy side of me, or he likes the idea of what he’ll do to punish me for being aggressively bold toward him—it could be either or both with him.

When I’m in front of him, I drop my smile, replacing it with a challenging stare before I continue.

“And two, I sure as shit doubt you. Seventy percent of the revenue of Denver sales going to my partner? Ha! Who the hell puts Duffy in charge of negotiating business deals? An incompetent fool, that’s who.”

My last remark strikes a nerve in my abusers. O’Conall flinches like I’ve slapped him while Duffy’s shoulders slump, making him appear smaller than he already is.

“I made the best arrangement considering we’re dealing with Signore Bianchi,” Duffy sputters heatedly, his ego clearly bruised.

Rolling my eyes, I clip, “Please. You barely negotiated.”

“We were caught red-handed poaching in his city,” Duffy whines, trying to defend his horrible negotiating skills. “We wanted to create an alliance, not a feud.”

“What is this ‘we’ shite?” O’Conall confronts his friend with a vicious sneer, his lips pulling back from his teeth. “I was never consulted on the hunting grounds or the business bargain you cooked up. Listen to me for once. Bite. Your. Tongue.”

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