Page 1 of Stolen Rival
Chapter 1
PATRICK
The thirteenth-century churchis decked out with flowers sprayed gold and black, the pews crammed with eager guests thrilled to be invited to the wedding of the decade. A union between the Mahoneys and the O’Sullivans will be talked about for years to come.
My marriage to Niamh isn’t a love match, for either of us.
It’s a way to band together against our enemies both home and abroad, to create an impenetrable force that will rule this region and send those who’d attempt to encroach on our territory scuttling back to their turf.
While I’m not marrying my soulmate—that never happens in our circles—there are some benefits to this alliance outside the business; I’ll have a warm bed to come home to, a wet pussy to fuck, and a mother for my children.
Liam, one of my younger brothers and my best man, stands beside me in a suit tailored to fit his broad frame. The vicious scar he received eight years ago in a deal gone wrong runs from his temple to his mouth, but even that doesn’t detract from his good looks. What it does is gives him a menacing air that makeshis enemies think twice before engaging him. My brother is vicious.
We all are.
It’s how we were raised. To be resilient, fearsome, ruthless. Just as well, really. Our parents were taken from us when I was twenty, killed by a drunk driver. An event that thrust me into heading up the family business and raising my two younger brothers long before I was ready.
A wave of guilt rolls through me. Fifteen years is a lifetime, yet my part in their deaths isn’t any easier to bear now than it was then. If it weren’t for me, they wouldn’t have been on that road. Made me grow up fucking fast, that’s for sure. Just as well. None of us would be here if I hadn’t. Weakness equals certain death in our circles.
Liam murmurs a question about me being ready, and I nod. The organist begins to play, and the congregation rises to their feet. My fiancée makes her way toward me, dressed in the finest ivory silk. Her proud father glances at her with every other step, and her mother sits on the left-hand side of the church with tears already ruining her carefully applied makeup. Her brother makes eye contact with me, and an understanding passes between us. A silent promise to respect and look after his sister, even if I don’t love her.
It’s a request I readily accede to.
Securing the hard-fought turf in Ireland that my father carved out more than thirty years ago is my top priority, one I undertake with pride. The Mahoneys and the O’Sullivans will make a formidable union, an impenetrable force. Together, we will render the McCarthys weak and ripe for takeover.
For too long, that misogynistic prick, Brendan McCarthy, has ruled this island, and he’s way past his due date. Once myorganization doubles in size, he’ll be the minority player, and will either bend the fucking knee, or die. His choice.
Niamh appears more nervous with each step she takes in my direction, her knuckles white as she clings to her father’s arm. I smile in encouragement, and when her eyes meet mine, her shoulders relax.
The sound of a bullet whizzing past my left ear sends me to the ground. The church erupts into chaos. Snatching my weapon from its holster, I tuck and roll. A volley of gunfire echoes off the stone walls. Guests dressed in their finery dive to the floor, taking cover behind the flimsy wooden pews.
I empty a magazine, taking out three men with headshots. Reloading, I fire off more rounds. Darragh, the youngest of the three of us, has a smear of blood across his cheek. I’ve no idea if it’s his blood or someone else’s, and I don’t have time to check. He’s more than capable of taking care of himself anyway.
“Fuck!” Liam curses from somewhere behind me. He emits a roar followed by more cursing.
“You hit?” I take out another masked gunman with two to the belly.
“Flesh wound. I’m good.”
Silence falls as I empty my second magazine. I pat myself down. I’m out. A high-pitched whistling rings in my ears, and I shake my head to dispel it. Bodies are scattered across the floor, most unmoving save for one or two groaning. My first thought is for my brothers. I search behind me, relief coursing through my veins as I lay eyes on them.They’re okay. They’re okay.
I scan the pews, looking for my best friend, Cillian, the only other non-family member invited that I actually give a shit about. He sticks his thumb in the air, although I can tell he’s shaken up. That’s nothing compared to his wife, Molly, who’s clutching her husband, her skin pale, her face slack with disbelief.It’s unsurprising. They’re not a part of this world. Cillian is a trauma surgeon and Molly, a cardiac specialist.
Thank fuck they left their baby at home with a sitter.
“What the fuck?” Liam grinds out.
Ignoring him, I holster my weapon and stumble up the aisle. Niamh lies beside her dead father; her hand still tucked in the crook of his elbow. A bubbling sound comes from her chest, her features twisted in pain. She doesn’t have long. Splashes of red stain her ivory gown, the contrast as grim as the events that have taken place here today.
I crouch beside her, stroking a few blonde strands off her forehead. Cillian drops to his knees beside me, triaging my dying fiancée. Even though it’s pointless, I don’t stop him. I may not be a doctor, but I’ve seen enough death in my life to know when a person is past saving.
“Patrick.” Her strained voice is barely audible.
I lean forward, putting my ear next to her mouth. “Yes, my love?”
“I’m sorry.” She’s gone before I can tell her she’s got nothing to be sorry for. As I stare into her lifeless eyes, a fire explodes within me, one born of a vengeance, of a vicious need to maim and kill. Todestroy.
And I will.
