Page 29 of Stolen Rival
“A funeral, birth, or a wedding?” she asks, a clear tone of amusement in her voice.
I chuckle. My assistant is one of the few people I’ll take impudence from. Now, it seems, I can add Sorcha to the list.
“A wedding.”
“Better get my suit dry-cleaned,” Liam says. “Think it’s still got blood splatters on it from your last wedding.”
“Won’t happenagain,” I growl.
“True,” Darragh says. “There’s no one left in Ireland who wants to murder you.”
“Inaccurate.” Liam points to the back of the house where Sorcha is probably still outside with the guard. “I can think of one.”
“You’ll have to spend the rest of your life sleeping with one eye open,” Darragh says.
“I can handle a slip of a girl.” As she will soon find out.
Chapter 16
SORCHA
I barely slept.I should have forced myself to rest, considering today’s the day I escape this godforsaken place (providing Sean comes through for me) but a mixture of excitement, abject terror, and having no idea what time sunrise is had me awake most of the night.
My injuries are healing but it’s slow. There’s a real chance today will involve running, and even when I don’t have parts of my body stitched together, running is not my jam. But I’ll do literally anything to get away from Patrick Mahoney, even break a sweat or bleed.
I smile at myself in the bathroom mirror, the weight of the last few days feeling easier to bear because the light at the end of the tunnel is getting closer.
Another thrum of hope, of eagerness, laced with a jolt of icy vengeance shoots through my body like a hit of adrenaline. As soon as Sean gets me out of this place and Cathal is safely with me far away from here, I will make Patrick Mahoney, and his lapdog brothers, rue the day they ever laid eyes on me. He’sgoing to wish he’d shot me as soon as I opened the door to leave my family home.
A wave of grief threatens to tug me under, so I grab the edge of the sink and focus on some deep and cleansing breaths. It feels longer than a few days since I woke up in the hospital an orphan.
I’m supposed to be strong, to take it in my stride. It’s part of the role of being part of a prominent mafia family. But I’mnotpart of this life, not the way my brothers were.
I’m not logical like they’d have been if it was me who got killed and not them. I can’t just flick a switch and say “it was the cost of doing business,” even if Patrick was within his rights to slaughter my whole bloodline for what they did to the O’Sullivans. It wasn’t Patrick who broke the truce my Da told me about by agreeing to marry Niamh O’Sullivan. It was Da.
An eye for an eye is an antiquated phrase, but it’s always been a core tenet of our life. The O’Sullivans would take one of Da’s soldiers, and he’d take two of theirs. The Mahoneys would raid one of the O’Sullivan’s shipments, so they’d do the same back. It’s the circle of mafia life.
Which is all well and good in abstracts and theory, but right now? It’s not abstract or theory. It’s real, it’s raw. It’s agonizing. I rub my chest. I miss my family and want vengeance for what he did to them, and to me, by killing them.
I don’t have time to dwell, to let the ache in my chest fester and consume me. I need to escape, then I’ll let myself feel every single emotion simmering under my skin.
My hands shake as I tug my trainers on, but at least Patrick had warmer clothes delivered yesterday. There are a couple of jumpers, a bobble hat, and a puffy jacket. They’re not what I would have chosen for myself, but as long as they keep mewarm on my early morning walk to the orchard, I won’t complain.
Bundled up in all my layers, I head downstairs to meet my babysitter. Patrick might’ve said I could go outside, but he refused to relent on me having a shadow. He’s such a control freak, though having heard him on the phone to some Irish American-sounding man the two nights ago, I now understand why.
I was coming back inside from a walk out in the garden when I heard voices. I already knew that Patrick wasn’t keeping me alive to marry me out of the goodness of the swinging breeze block in his chest. But getting confirmation that heneedsa wife, and right now his only option is me, brought with it a deep sense of satisfaction. It felt like the balance of power was starting to shift in my direction.
Part of me wishes I could split myself in two: one version here to see the utter distress on his pretty face when he discovers I’m gone and the other hightailing it out as fast as my feet will carry me. I can’t fight the smile tugging at my lips. It’d be glorious. Wonder what he’ll do when he loses his second bride-to-be in only a week?
Right. It’s time to head to the orchard. The darkness outside my bedroom window is growing lighter by the minute. Soon the sun will tease at the edges of the horizon, rising on the day of my freedom. My shoulders and jaw are relaxed, and for the first time in days, I don’t have a throbbing headache or anxiety compressing my chest.
I don’t know how Sean will get to me when I have a six-foot-tall human wall escorting me around the grounds of Mahoney Manor, but my job is to follow his instructions. Beyond that, it’s on him until he clues me into theplan.
Grinning at myself, I pull my new coat onto my body, bouncing on the balls of my feet, excess energy surging through my veins at the prospect of getting out from under that arsehole’s thumb. Am I more excited about escaping or getting one over on Patrick Mahoney? Who knows? Maybe it’s both equally. Maybe he’s right and I’m not so useless after all.
I’m walking on air as I head down the staircase with a book clutched against my chest, meet my prison guard, and head out into the brisk morning air. He doesn’t say a word to me, doesn’t even grunt. He looks at me like I’m a gnat, an annoyance, and my mere presence in his life is an imposition.
Don’t worry, bud, the feeling is mutual.
