Page 6 of The Enforcer's Redemption

My eyes trace up his body, see the ridges on his chest beneath the thin T-shirt that hides his muscles. I think he wears it too small on purpose. He's a large man. I admire what I can see and what I imagine too. But maybe it's his determination to protect me that does it.

"I've already got men at your father's home." He pats my shoulder and starts walking. "And we'll bring you anything you want—clothes, shoes… Feel free to enjoy a bath."

And just like that, he's gone and I'm hating myself again. I give in so fucking easily. All it took to make me putty in his hands was that? I'm shockingly weak, and my body needs to get in check or it's going to get me in trouble. The kind I can't get out of so easily.

5

DECLAN

No one has heard from Isla O'Connor in a few weeks. She's been locked away at my home while hers was burned to the ground. The news broadcasts report her as missing, and the ongoing investigation isn't ideal for Ronan, considering Isla is his accountant, but Sebastian's men destroyed any shred of evidence when they set that fire. It's the saving grace I ponder while Nicholas drives Brynn and me toward her father's home.

"Ya think he's gonna cause a problem?" Brynn, my second cousin and the troublemaking type, studies his weapon, which he holds in his hand rather than having it holstered like mine.

He's young and green, at least when it comes to this sort of business. I'm an enforcer, not a killer. There's no need for a weapon today. Mick O'Connor is well aware of the arrangement we have with him. It was his idea, a means to an end.

"Put that thing away." My eyes flick to the window as we pass fields of barley, large, sweeping meadows where cattle and horses graze. "O'Connor isn't an enemy." I'm enforcing the arrangement, and I'm doing O'Connor a favor at that. Hisdaughter would be dead already without Ronan's quick thinking and my action.

I feel the heat radiating off Brynn. He's here for action, to let some steam off. He doesn't understand the tact required in this position. I can feel his eyes burrowing into my skin as he stares at me, but I don't even dignify his gaze with a response. His demeanor is off, aggressive even toward me.

"You can't ever be overprepared." The grunt is his rebuttal, but he knows I'm in charge. He slides his weapon into a shoulder holster below his left arm, nestled under biceps so thick it's comical. The man has nothing better to do than sit in a gym for hours a day and body build. I'm fit. He's a meathead.

The car rumbles to a stop in the long, winding gravel drive just past the old towering barn to the right. A fence line runs the entire property, hedging in pastures and fields. The O’Connor family aren't farmers, but to every appearance, they seem to be. I push the door open and see one of the hired hands in the field next to a few cows—a ruse, covering the deeper operations here housed in other outbuildings.

"Mornin'," the man calls. "What can I do fer ye?"

"Mick?" I call out. Fog cloaks the old far property, holding the sun at bay this morning. Its thick moisture is heavy in the air, palpable as I shut the car door and hear Brynn shut his.

"In the house. Mind ye, the Missus weren't too keen on hearin' 'bout the fire." The man nods his head, and I watch a bulge in his lower lip shift as he spits into the alfalfa he stands on.

I tip my chin up and meet Brynn at the front of the car. We walk toward the house in silence. I imagine they're either devastated over the fear of losing Isla to our enemies or they've settled itthat she died in the fire. I've no way of knowing what they’re thinking. Ronan hasn't sent them word yet. That's my job today. For once, I get to bring good news to someone and not just lead and smoke.

"Jaysus!" Brynn grumbles as he shakes his head. "Doesn't even have the decency to come out when he sees us walking up." The dark expression he wears irritates me. His overinflated sense of ego makes me bristle. We do command respect, but this family is our ally.

I knock on the door and wait. There is shuffling there behind the door, and it swings open. Rebecca O'Connor, eighteen years old, not even finished with her schooling, stands with wide blue eyes and a pale complexion. Her strawberry hair is tangled, fuzzed around her face with curls springing outward. I can see she's been crying, as I expected they'd all been doing. She wipes her cheek and nods, stepping backward.

"Come in, Mr. O'Rourke…" There is a resignation in her tone, as if she's surrendering to fate. I wonder if Mick has told her about the arrangement with Isla and me. If they think Isla has passed on, whether they are already preparing Rebecca for her fate now. She's beautiful and any man would be lucky to have her, but her time hasn’t come yet.

"Your father?" I ask. I notice her stiffening as Brynn's eyes sweep up and down her body. She's wearing pajamas, a long, thick nightgown that disguises her feminine form.

"Through the kitchen," she says, nodding, and I rest my hand on the butt of my weapon as I tilt my head in that direction, standing between Brynn and the pale beauty he seems enamored with.

"Thank you," I tell her, and she nods again.

When Brynn has moved on, I follow him. We move together past the living room and into the dining room. The kitchen hosts a table and chairs in the far end for breakfast and Old-World-style cabinetry on the far end. The modern appliances seem out of place, but in a three-hundred-year-old farmhouse, anything made of stainless steel would.

Mick stands behind Brennan, his beautiful wife, with his chin rested on her shoulder, his arms wrapped around her middle. They stare out the window over the sink as she holds a bowl in one hand, wash rag in the other. It appears she's cleaning up from breakfast, and though there are tears streaming down her cheeks, she is every bit as beautiful as Isla. I can see where the younger girl got her good looks.

Mick looks up at me, straightening and squaring his shoulders. I've been here dozens of times. In my position, I see a lot of Mick and a lot of other men who work with us. Mick's tired eyes train on me for a moment, then sweep to take in Brynn. They've never met, but I can see the recognition in Mick's eyes. He knows we're here about his daughter.

"Do we have to do this here?" he asks. His hand still rests protectively on Brennan's side. She glances up at me. Her normal, cheery disposition has been replaced with that of a grieving mother. The whole atmosphere of this house is heavy.

"She's not dead, Mick." My words carry authority on every occasion, but in this instance, it makes them both stand taller and pay attention. "Just the house was lost. She's with me, at my home."

I fold my hands together in front of myself and rest my arms against my body as I sigh. The words sink in slowly, but Brennan begins to cry and clings to Mick. He embraces her, and any trace of mourning flashes away instantly. There is anger in his eyes, probably a demand for vengeance and justice. I cool him with another comment.

"And no, we didn't set the fire." My tongue draws over my lower lip. It's time to call in his debt, and the slight nod he gives me in response tells me he understands. I don’t have to do much enforcing on this. He's more than eager to make this transaction with me. If anyone understands the stakes, it's him. "Did you know she was skimming?"

I feel Brynn beside me growing antsy. I'm sure he'd rather be throwing fists, pounding Mick's face. I prefer to keep violence to a minimum unless absolutely necessary. There is no need to be pushy here.

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