Page 14 of Illicit Temptation

“A fool who raised his hand to Shea O’Rourke,” I say, downloading the camera footage stored on this venue’s ridiculous excuse for a security system.

Rhys’ gaze cuts sharply to Archer. “I hear that’s a death sentence. Funny, you’re still breathing.”

I should have killed him. The Crests’ diamond business thrives on the suffering of forced child labor while their mothers are raped in backrooms by militias in war-tornAfrican countries.

But I don’t need to bring a war with the Crests to the O’Rourke’s doorstep after only a few months in their employ. Shea accurately pointed out the Crests have dangerous allies.

Blood from Archer’s nose drips onto the duct tape sealing his mouth. He squirms and thrashes against the ropes. My hands bled, learning to make those knots by that tyrant of a commander, Malone.

“Do Shea’s brothers know about this fucker?” Rhys asks, leaning on my open trunk like we’re inspecting a box of puppies.

“I’m guessing no. Because if Lachlan knew Archer Crest has been laying his dirty pipe into his angel of a sister, he’d already be six feet under.”

Even if that angel turned out to have an untamed lust for my cock.

Because I’m a little touched after three years in the fucking Algerian desert, I lean down and get up in Archer’s face. “When you’re back home tending to that broken nose, keep this detail in mind. In a matter of hours, I will drag Shea’s lace panties down her sun-kissed legs and taste that cunt of hers. I bet you don’t eat pussy, do you?”

Rhys scoffs a laugh behind his hand. “Easy, brother.”

“Just so we’re clear, mate.” I pull up Archer to a seated position, yank his tied hands to the edge of the trunk, and pin them there with my booted foot. “You stay the fuck away from Shea. She is mine.”

He eyes the trunk cap, knowing all I have to do is slam it down, and he’s not cutting any diamonds or sipping champagne for a while. Never again, if I sever the hands.

But my mental torture seems to have him rattled enough to fucking listen to me. “Rhys, hold this motherfucker.”

My brother takes my place while I fish out my phone. “Got it.”

“You see this?” I shove my phone with the video under Archer’s swollen nose. “This is you about to strike Shea-Lynne O’Rourke, sister to Kieran O’Rourke, the head of the Irish Mob in Astoria. You may not like that I roughed you up and hog-tied you or that you’re being shipped back to your Manhattan nest in a trunk. You may want to find someone to strike me back. I strongly advise against that. This is a one-time courtesy because, as much as you touching that princess sickens me, having a reason to beat the piss out of you was worth it. But next time, you’ll be tied toan anchorand dumped off the pier. Or you’ll get your toes, fingers,andballs cut off, one by one. It all depends on Lachlan O’Rourke once he gets this video. Of course, I don’t need to send it to him. That’s up to you.”

I like to give the guy a fighting chance, the way you toy with a wasp and a fly swatter, whacking it a little at a time and just when it tries to fly away...WHACK. I’ll let this parasite make his own stupid decision. That way, when he steps out of line and ends up dead, I won’t feel an ounce of guilt.

Archer’s eyes widen hearing me mention the Irish Enforcer, who he’s met. “You... You wouldn’t,” he mumbles behind the tape.

“Aye, I will. And when Lachlan tires from beating you to an inch of your life, I’ll be there to finish the job. Do we have an understanding, mate? I keep your secret and you stay the fuck away from what belongs to me.”

Archer spewing to the O’Rourkes that I plan to fuck her before I’ve had a chance to tell them myself that we’re married might be the sliver of hope he’ll cling to that they’ll let him live in exchange for that information. I won’t give him that.

He furrows his brows, and grunts in anger.

“Do we have an agreement?” I ask Archer again, puttingmy phone away and taking the trunk lid from Rhys. “You let this inconvenience go, and I’ll forget I saw what you did. Blink twice for yes.” I let the cap fall but catch it at the last second.

Archer rapidly blinks and lowers his head in defeat.

“Smart man.” I slap him in the face. “Rhys, pop your trunk. Let’s move him. Did you line it with a tarp like I told you?”

“Aye,” he says and helps me move Archer to his Audi. “You checked this part of the parking lot for cameras?”

“There was one by the dumpster that I disabled. I got a drone flying over the pathway checking heat sensors.” A toy I got from Balor that scans bodies in a predetermined proximity. It’s for bad actors who sneak up on people to either record shit or take a pop at someone unsuspecting. A signal will come over my phone if someone walks down the path.

With Archer packed up, I reach in and pinch his broken nose, crushing the cartilage until he’s screaming and sucking down more blood. Now he’ll squirm in even more discomfort for the long drive to Manhattan.

“No rush dropping him off,” I say to my brother.

Rhys grins. “I’m hungry. I saw a nice restaurant a few miles back. Might take a walk on the beach, too.”

“Savage.” I grip his hand and we do a bro hug.

“You sure you’ll get that sweet lass into your bed?” he questions me.

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