Page 19 of Líadan's Code

Brendan

Lía is prowling our home, unsettled, and I’m not sure why.

“Hey, beautiful, what’s going on? Need to go find some lowlife to hit on you to kill? I’m sure there’s a rapist rat bastard somewhere we can take to our hideaway,” I tease her gently.

There’s a darkness in the love of my life that’s been brewing since the day her father tried to destroy her. Seventeen-fucking-years-old. His actions make me disgusted, and only one thing is certain.

One day Líadan will take over for her father and change everything. She’s the O’Brien’s Boogeyman, just like Seán wanted her to be, but the issue with creating a monster is you run the risk of not being able to control her anymore.

When Lía gets like this, we’ll hit the bars, and the first truly disgusting man who attempts to drug her, or touch her without her consent is her mark for the night. While her father keeps her busy, Lía’s need to quench her bloodlust comes in many forms.

Sometimes she needs to fuck it out and cut me as she rides me. Others, she simply needs to know there’s one less monster on the streets.

“I don’t know what I want,” she mutters. “I feel like something is about to happen, and I don’t know what it is.”

“Your fingers are twitching,” I comment, moving closer to her. “Neither of us have a magic wand to tell the future. You’re safe, you’re mine, and no one is ever going to take you away from me again.”

My fingers ghost up her arms, lighting her up with goosebumps as her breath hitches. Her raven-black hair is curled wildly from the braids she puts her hair in when she works for her father, and she’s wearing a long-sleeved maroon dress. March is still very cold in Chicago, so she tends to wear layers even while she’s inside.

She looks fucking adorable under the psychotic exterior tonight though with her knee-high gray socks.

“Yours,” she whispers, her gorgeous green eyes slightly amused and aroused. I’ll take her this way over the anxious pacing mess she was a moment ago.

“We can fuck it out or you can go to the gun range and practice?” I suggest, kissing her forehead gently. I had the tenderness beaten almost completely out of me at a young age. The only person I am willing to bend for is Líadan.

“I know you love your knives, but it’s important to be able to shoot straight.”

Snorting, Lía’s lips tip up farther. The smiles are sometimes hard to find, but God is she breathtaking even with her snarky resting bitch face. I’ll take her anyway I can.

“I really hate shooting a gun,” she admits. “There’s something so much more intimate about seeing your enemy’s entrails fall out of their body. To the family and Daddy’s enemies, Líadan O’Brien is a ghost. I don’t attend any events or church services, and most people don’t know what I look like.”

“Your father spent a lot of time hiding you away,” I agree, reaching out to play with a curl reverently.

All the while, I imagine what it would be like to use my power tools on Seán. I also got a new toy recently that’s reminiscent of draw and quartering. It stretches the body until the ligaments begin to tear and rip apart.

It’s becoming one of my favorite items to literally pull information from people. The slow motion gives people a lot of time to process how painful it’ll inevitably be if they don’t give me what I want.

Too bad I’m going to kill them anyway in most instances. Those who live walk as living proof of how terrible and dangerous I actually am. Lía doesn’t have to live in the public eye because I do all the shit she doesn’t have to. I usually show my face when I interrogate people, while she wears her mask to hide her truth.

Rightly so, too. When she finally tears away the veil, she’ll become a target until she eviscerates everyone who stands in her way.

“Do you really want to do all of those things?” I ask her. “Church is really fucking boring, and the priest constantly mutters under his breath as if he can exorcise my demons.”

“I love your demons, though,” she says, pressing her body against me. She smells like cinnamon and apple spices, no matter what the season.

I think that’s one of the reasons she loves her apple cider donuts so much, when they come into season at the farmers market. I don’t even mind that they rarely make it back home to share.

“Want to play with them?” I growl, dropping my hands to tangle in the hem of her dress. Turning my head, I capture her lips to devour them as I fist the material of her dress, stretching it, so I can raise it until my fingers can hold onto her waist.

Walking her backwards, Lía doesn’t make a sound when she bumps into the large glass window facing the park. It’s almost nine at night and there are few people out.

Pulling her dress up and over her head, I toss it to the side. Dragging the bra down, I dip my head to suck and nip at her breasts, spending extra time on her nipples because she loves it.

Her low, throaty moans are music to my ears as I make her writhe against the cold window.

Her skin is overheated, and her fingers tug at my hair as her sweet cries echo in our home. I love that I get to wake up with her every day, even though sometimes it’s by her own demons.

“Brendan,” she gasps, telling me she’s done letting me play. Unhooking her bra, I toss it to the side before turning her to face the window, pressing her against it.

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