Page 81 of Broken Blood Ties

It doesn’t budge. Dropping my shoulder, I ram the door, thinking she’s set a chair or something against it.

“Ow!” Summer shrieks, and I wince when the door suddenly gives way, and she rolls out of the way like some ninja.

I roll my eyes and force open the door so hard it bangs the wall behind it.

I step inside, looking to where Summer now gets up. Her hair has fully fallen from its clip, and her eyes are red and puffy. She scowls at me when I offer her the to-go container of our house burger and fries. Shaking the contents in front of her must trigger her because she swats at the container until it falls to the floor. But that’s not what garners my attention.

I snatch her wrist and yank her toward me.

“Kieran! Stop!”

I force her hand where I can see it and growl at the blood on her knuckles. “What’s this?”

She retracts her hand. “You trapped me in here.” Her voice is raw, hovering just over a whisper. I scan the walls flanking the door where several Summer-sized fist holes have been punched through the drywall.

Huh. Fighter indeed.

“I’ll have Cormac bring some medical supplies.”

“Don’t bother,” she deadpans.

I turn, extending my arm to close the door. Her nostrils flare when I stride over to her and seize her hand. Her knuckles are swollen with patches of skin torn away, exposing bright red cuts scattered across her skin. Summer’s eyes flick down to her fist and she pulls at her fingers. I don’t let go. In fact, I tug her into me.

Sweat beads on her brow, strips of her silky hair stick to her reddened face. She narrows her gaze on what appears to be my jawline, and the combination of her bleeding hands with her snarling attitude—she looks almost savage.

I’m acutely aware that her scent reminds me of fresh squeezed orange juice and fresh misting seawater crashing against a beach. There’s an urge to kidnap her and fling her on my yacht, never looking back.Fool!There are bigger events at play.

A knock on the door has me clenching her hand too tightly, and her pulse quickens.

“Boss?” Cormac’s tone is solemn.

“Go away.” He knocks again. “Now, ye bleeding eejit.”

Summer tilts her head and quirks her brow. “Wow. Your leadership qualities are fantastic.”

“Almost as good as yer ability to keep yer identity hidden.”

Her face squishes together as she tries to hide her wince.

Low blow, Kieran.

The door bursts open, and I drop Summer’s hand as Cormac strides through. “Boss. Salvatore is here.”

Summer’s fight dies instantly. The redness in her face gives way to a ghostly white, even those pink luscious lips look washed out. With a sharp inhale, she backpedals, her steps seeking refuge deeper into my office.

I nod toward Cormac and pull my jacket around my front to button it. He steps out, and I move to follow, gesturing to Summer to move before me.

“Please, Kieran. He’ll marry me off. He’ll ship me somewhere that benefits the Cosa Nostra and the Cosa Nostra only. It’ll be a sixty-five-year-old bastard that uses me for his own pleasure, and I’ll be locked in his house, beaten to submission. I won’t have a life. I won’t see my sister. My students.”

The image she’s conjured up infiltrates my brain and I snarl. “Ye don’t see yer sister now,” I say, running over the scenarios in my head.

She glares at me. “I won’t have a life.”

“Ye don’t have?—”

“Don’t say I don’t have a life. YouknowI do.” Her breath hitches under the weight of emotion while the sheen of unshed tears pool at the edges of her lower lids. I’m drawn to the deep pools reflecting the meager office lighting, and the hurry to speak with Salvatore is forgotten as I watch those tears suspend in a delicate balance, never quite spilling over.

It’s in those bright clear irises, in her fragile state, and in the silence in her eyes—ironically speaking volumes—that I decide what I’m going to do. Her lifeisover as she knows it.

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