Page 22 of The Irish Arrangement

Anger trumped the fear searing through my veins. I was livid, exhausted and fed up with this rough manhandling. I could walk. Why couldn’t they fucking tell me what to do, where I could go, and let me walk like a normal person?

“We need to get her to the estate,” one said to the other, grunting as he fended off my kicks.

“She’s not cooperating, though, is she?” the other snapped back.

“Then sedate her.” The first one gripped my arm and wrenched it back, preparing to jam a needle into me.

“Stop!” My throat was hoarse from screaming, but I refused to let them treat me like a prisoner like this. I would protest and fight back until my last goddamn breath. They would win. They were bigger and stronger, armed with muscles and drugs. But I refused to make it easy for them.

“What the fuck is going on?”

The two men went still at Declan’s bellow. They didn’t release me, holding me tight as I still wrestled to get free. My husband’s loud footsteps sounded down the hall as he rushed up to us, and I slowed my efforts to escape. Panting and furious, I stared up at him.

“She was trying to run,” the second guard said.

“I was not,” I shot back.

The guard narrowed his eyes, clenching his jaw like I’d pissed him off by arguing back.

“You surprised me.” I exhaled long and hard, weary and tense. “You ran after me, and I reacted in fear.”

“She ran from us, sir,” the first man said. “We were attempting to transport her to the estate as you’ve requested, but she’s straining to get away.”

Declan furrowed his brow, noticing the syringe in the man’s hand. He knocked it to the floor, gripping the front of the man’s shirt.

“Are you fucking stupid? Drugging her?”

The guard nodded. “A sedative. Just to transport?—”

“No drugs.” He punched him hard. “She’s my wife. She could be carrying my fucking heir.”

I stayed quiet, biting my cheek. Actually, no, I’m not. He had no clue I would fail him with that task.

Once he finished punching the guard and warning him not to drug me—ever—he turned to me. His chest heaved. His eyes burned with impatience and annoyance.

“You'd better behave.” He pointed at me, and the second guard released me. I rubbed my arm, glaring at my husband.

“You'd better fucking behave, or I’ll teach you another lesson about what happens if you try to run from me.”

Of course, he’d assume that I was putting up such a fuss because I wanted to run. I doubted there was anything I could do, anything I could even say to persuade him that I wouldn’t escape until our deal was done.

Six months, asshole. Then I will run.

Instead of finding anything to tell him, any placating agreement to lower his rabid obsession about keeping me under his control, I settled for nothing at all.

Glowering at him, I tipped my chin up and relied on silence, loathing him with every fiber of my being.

No matter how good he'd felt when he forced that orgasm out of me last night.

9

DECLAN

Cara didn’t say a word. She didn’t run, either. With the way I found her in the hallway, held up by the guards who were tasked as her personal security, I wondered who to believe, whether they’d caught her trying to escape again, or she’d been startled.

But drugging her? No. Fuck no. I wouldn’t risk anything complicating the health of my potential child. I’d only fucked her once last night, but even that could be enough. All it took was once.

After I showered and went to my bedroom, I failed to sleep. Intending to sample her sweet, tight pussy again, I found her in the guest room and debated taking her again.

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