Page 27 of The Devil We Know

I stop struggling, crane my head around and look at him as I exclaim, “I wouldn’t fucking do that if I were you.”

He doesn’t remove his hand from my back, but he stops pulling at my clothing, his narrowed eyes locking with mine as he snarls, “Or fucking what?”

“Or my fucking father will have your head.”

He’s obviously taken aback for a moment, and then he chuckles quietly as he asks, “And who the fuck might that be?”

I never speak of my father. He’s one of my best-kept secrets and the reason I’ve changed my name and pretended to be an orphan for my entire adult life.

And I’m fortunate that he allowed this. I mean, it’s only because it was my mother’s dying wish, and if nothing else, he loved her, but I’ve always been grateful that she gave me the out that I deserved.

I swallow the lump in my throat, bracing myself to say his name for the first time in decades, and it takes me a moment to center myself.

The man waits impatiently, and I can tell my borrowed time is almost up when he rolls his eyes, then once again starts messing with my clothes. I finally spit out, “Seamus Killeen.”

He freezes behind me, the hand against my back easing slightly as he says, “Fucking Irish? Are you serious?”

I nod almost frantically, continuing to swallow the giant lump in my throat. And then he adds, “And what’s your name?”

“Jessica.”

He steps back from me, and I slowly straighten and then step away from the table, adjusting my rumpled clothing as I turn to face him. He looks me up and down again and then says, “You do realize if your daddy gave you to me, I’m still going to fuck you, right?”

I nod, knowing how this all works. I’m just trying to roll with the punches as best I can. “Yes, but I’m pretty sure if it’s not legal, he will be very upset. And you know what happens when my daddy’s upset.”

“I don’t see why he would care if I got a taste beforehand.”

“He didn’t protect his baby girl’s virginity this long to have someone take it before the wedding.”

“Wedding?” he asks incredulously. “Who said anything about a fucking wedding?”

“Don’t fucking ask me,” I say seriously. “I was just told to come here and find Matt. And here I fucking am.”

He sighs heavily. He steps into me, his hand coming up and gripping my jaw as he says softly, “And what’s stopping me from just taking what I want and then disposing of you?”

A chill runs down my spine, but somehow, I manage to meet his eyes without flinching as I whisper, “That’s certainly your right if that’s what you choose. But you also know you’ll be choosing war.”

“What if I don’t care about war? What if I yearn for it?”

I laugh again. This one isn’t quite as maniacal as my earlier laughing fit, but the more he talks, the more likely it is that I’m going to go completely insane. “Well, maybe you better be asking other people if they give a shit about war or not. Before you start making that decision for everyone.”

Annoyance crosses over his features, and his grip on my jaw tightens painfully. He pushes me away forcefully, and I fall back on the table.

I quickly stand again, not wanting to leave myself in a position that leaves me too vulnerable, which is laughable, considering I’m basically at the mercy of a man I don’t know and have given personal information to that could help me or hinder me.

He pulls his phone out, tapping the screen and then putting it to his ear. After a moment, he says, “Get everyone together. We have a situation.”

He ends the call and returns the phone to his pocket, saying, “We’re gonna get their opinion right now.”

I give a short nod, checking my clothes to make sure everything is back to rights, but when I go to step toward the door, he steps right in front of me, his hand squeezing my neck mercilessly. I grab onto his wrist with both my hands, attempting to ease the pressure on my throat as he lifts me so I’m on my toes, and then he’s right in my face as he says menacingly, “But just know that I am no one’s pet. I’ll listen, and then I’ll fucking decide what I do with you.”

I nod in his grasp, and after one final extended squeeze, he releases me. I fall to the ground, choking and coughing. I can only think about Antoinette’s long lecture on never letting the enemy speak.

I’ve only ever given into violence on one occasion where it was literally kill or be killed. I didn’t react overly well to that, but I managed to sort it out and come out of it generally unscathed. But I can see how living in a murderous rage could have you turning a blind eye to right and wrong more regularly. How living your life not knowing what may happen one moment to the next would have you in fight mode twenty-four-seven.

I push myself up onto my hands and knees, coughing, and for a brief moment, I wish I had a weapon within easy reach so I could eliminate this fucking prick. I also recognize that this would be premature on my part and most likely get me killed without question, but that urge is still there.

After a few moments, I manage to stand on my feet, and he looks at me with disdain, most likely because finding out who I am has made him have to have a discussion rather than just doing what he wants.

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