Page 2 of Riordan's Revenge

“I did.”

A pause followed. Her male friend choked. “What the fuck, Cass? Who is he?”

“His name’s Riordan.”

“Which tells me nothing. Is he dangerous? Why the fuck didn’t ye cuff him?”

“I’ll explain everything. Can ye bring him inside? Be gentle with him. He’s important to me.”

Her friend grumbled a complaint but came to my door, the cool night air brushing over me where two meaty hands pulled my lifeless body into a fireman’s lift.

“Heavy fucker,” the man complained.

I swung under his rolling gait, then we reached a building, and my eyelids cracked open enough for me to witness the stone steps he climbed turn into a marble-floored entrance.

I stared, trying to work out where the hell I’d been taken. Somewhere fancy. My narrow glimpse reminded me of the stately homes my mother would take us to for family days out. Centuries-old stonework and echoing rooms. Elaborately framed doorways and oil paintings on the walls.

My captor, because I was an idiot to think anything less, jogged upstairs with me, my head bouncing off his broad back, then we entered a room and I was set down on a sofa. By luck, my eyes stayed open enough so I could take in the three people with me. The woman, braided hair, perhaps in her mid-thirties, snapped on lamps then settled into an armchair, her gaze on a pacing Cassie who was still in the same sequined black dress as last night. Then to the huge Scotsman who’d carried me. I was a big man, but he was a beast, not that I could’ve swung for him if I tried.

The woman reached for the man’s hand, and they swapped a worried look. They centred on Cassie, though this attention gave me nothing on who they might be.

My working theory? For all Cassie had pretended to be Arran’s friend, she was something else. Working for a rival, probably. Which was entirely fucked up because I knew he cared about her. I’d got entirely the wrong impression as well.

From the first moment of seeing Cassie, I’d wanted her. Attraction had smacked me down, enough for me to realise I’d needed to push her away. I’d faked a sex act with another woman to deter her interest and cut off mine.

Thank fuck I’d never kissed her. The regret hit a strange void inside me.

The big guy caught her wrist as she passed and slowed her pacing. “Sit, Cassiopeia. Tell us what the fuck is going on.”

She eyed him but dutifully dropped into a seat.

Then she stared at her hands.

The woman tried this time, her tone gentle. “Ye never mentioned a boyfriend. Is that what he is?”

“He’s… It’s hard to explain.”

“Is he a member of Arran’s crew?” she pressed.

At Cassie’s tiny nod, the man swore then abruptly left the room.

Cassie watched him go. “He isn’t my boyfriend, not exactly, but he is mine.”

Hers? My heart thumped out of time.

“You’re going to have to walk me through that,” the woman said.

Cassie sighed. “He has green eyes.”

“Do we think that’s a good enough reason to kidnap someone?”

Crumpling down in the chair, Cassie ground her fists into her cheekbones. “Fine, no, it isn’t. But I also knew he was mine from the first time I saw him. Isn’t that how ye felt with Da?”

Da, as in Dad?

They were her parents?

There was a passing resemblance to the huge man—black hair and blue eyes—but not to the woman. She was short, like Cassie, but that was where the similarities ended. In her face shape and mannerisms, there was nothing of Cassie, nor did she seem old enough to be her mother, but that didn’t mean much.

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