Page 10 of Destructive Truths

“Grá tú níos mó.” Love you more.

“One day, I’ll come back for you.”

She’d lied.

Barely lucid, the musky, damp stench of mould penetrates my nose as I fight to pull my eyelids open. My entire body aches, battered, bruised, and bloody from hours of pain inflicted by my sadistic cunt of a father.

“You were always weak.” His roar rumbles like thunder, clattering off the basement walls. “Just like your whore mother was.” He swings the wooden baseball bat, smashing it against my rib cage. A loud crack echoes through the hollow space, and I grunt through the pain but keep my mouth shut.

“One taste of a Ryan pussy, and you think you can fuck me over?” he continues, greeting my other side with a matching crack.

The pain is excruciating, but I don’t give him the satisfaction of seeing me react. I harden my features, clamping my teeth tight and remaining stoic. He steps closer, lowering himself to my eye level. Placing the bat upright between his legs, he leans on the knob, using it for support as he hunkers down.

Aiming my murderous stare his way, I dampen my dry, busted lip with a swipe of my tongue. The coppery taste of blood greets my taste buds, but I push past the stinging sensation. “Perception, old man.” My words are strained as they croak past my lips. “What you may consider my weakness”—I pause, gently drawing in a breath and fighting against the searing pain in my chest—“I see as my greatest strength.”

“You stun me with your delusions. I told you once, and a thousand times after, a Ryan woman is a one-way road to a King’s downfall.”

Raising a brow, I release a strained laugh. “We will see about that.”

“Don’t get cocky, boy.” He slides his tongue across his front teeth. “My son—the one who should have been by my side all along—will arrive any moment, carting your precious addiction with him.”

My breath lodges in my lungs. It’s no secret that the last thing I wanted to do this morning was leave Saoirse alone and unprotected in her big, empty house. Sure, it’s one thing to slap a Glock in her hand and demand her to shoot at any unfortunate cunt that walks through the door uninvited. But it’s another to expect her to do it without hesitation. Saoirse is naïve to the legacy she was born into. She doesn’t know the first thing about being a queen amongst her army of kings—kings who would kill her without a second thought for a seat on her throne.

The Leinster Syndicate wants what’s rightfully hers, and they will go to any length to claim it. The second I walked out of her house, I knew leaving her was a piss-poor idea. I just hope Aodhán did what I asked, because if Donnacha got to her first… fuck.

“Let’s see how strong you are when I rip your little slut apart right before your eyes. You disobeyed me, boy. And that won’t go unpunished.”

Raising his bat, he uses the end cap at the tip to tilt my chin. “You chose the wrong side, Rohan. I don’t know who you’re helping, but I will find out. That, I can guarantee.”

My shoulders throb from my outstretched arms chained to the walls of this dingy basement, but that doesn’t stop me from tugging against the shackles clamped around my wrists. My knees ache from kneeling on the hard, damp concrete beneath me, and although it takes everything in me to keep my heavy head high, I do. Because there is no way I’m letting this bastard win. “I-I’m going t-to fuckin’ k-kill you.”

“Your threats mean nothing, boy. In case you forgot, you have no power here. Killybegs is my kingdom.”

That’s where you’re wrong. Killybegs belongs to her, as do I.

Sucking on my tongue, I gather enough moisture to spit in his face. His hands swipe at his cheek as he surveys me with a dangerous glare.

Done with his disgust-filled perusal, he rises to his feet and turns towards the table nestled in the corner, seeking his next torture tool. The longer he takes, the faster my chest rises, expelling heavy breaths.

When he turns back to me with a leather belt dangling from his grip, a reel of childhood memories flash through my mind, holding me hostage.

With every step he takes, I fight against the fearful little boy I once was, begging him not to break free. We are not him, not anymore. I remind myself. We are stronger now. Don’t let him win. The little boy inside me fights back the tears, but I remind him that I have him.

My name is Rohan, motherfucking King.

I am strength.

I am loyalty.

I demand respect.

The chains clang as I thrash, using all my strength to break the hold. But it’s fucking pointless. I’m trapped.

“You’d think you’d know by now that all the fighting gets you nowhere.” He circles me, stopping behind my back.

“Fuck y—” The leather cracks against my spine, jutting me forward as the burn scorches my skin.

“You are a disrespectful little son of a bitch. The heir you were supposed to be must’ve rolled down your mother’s leg.”

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