Page 31 of Stolen Rival
My legs shake as I approach the wooden spike with Sean’s head on it. Having to walk past it to get back into thehouse is no accident, it’s my punishment, driving home the fact that Patrick owns me.
As I drag myself back inside, the crippling pressure on my chest makes it hard to breathe. My rescue attempt was over before it even had a chance to get off the ground. No matter how smart I think I am, or who I think may come for me, Patrick is always a step or two ahead.
The house always wins.
Patrick always wins.
There was never a way for me to get away from him. From the moment I woke up in the hospital, he’s had the upper hand. He’s toying with me, like a mouse caught in a trap, still alive, still frantically scrambling, but it’s just a matter of time until I die.
As I climb the staircase, trudging back toward my room, Patrick’s low voice meets my ears. “You should have listened to me,mo mhuirnín. Now you’ve cost more lives for nothing.”
Lives, plural. Who else met an untimely end with Sean because they were here to help get me out? My stomach lurches, threatening to bring the rhubarb back up. I ignore him, reaching for the handle. I need away from this man before I do something stupid. I have Cathal to think about. I can’t afford to have this animal behead me like he did with Sean.
“Sorcha?”
I pause, if for no other reason than it’s unusual for him to say my name. I don’t look back toward him; I can’t bear to look at the smug superiority waiting for me in those menacing blue eyes.
“Our wedding is scheduled for a week on Saturday.”
So soon.
Any remaining fight leaves my body on a heavy breath as I step into the room where I’ll live out the rest of my days. Myelation from only an hour ago is a distant memory, evaporated along with the morning mist.
Resignation seeps into every muscle in my body. There really is nothing left for me to do but marry the monster who killed most of my family and hope it’s enough to save my brother.
Chapter 17
PATRICK
“Get your coat on.We’re going out.”
Sorcha glances up from the armchair in the corner of her bedroom where she’s reading Shakespeare’sThe Taming of the Shrew.She must’ve been in my library and helped herself, yet more evidence of the size of her balls. Not that I care if she’s picked out a book to read, but she doesn’t know that. Her choice is interesting. She clearly sees similarities between her situation and Katherina’s.
“I’m fine here.” She returns her attention to the book.
“It wasn’t a suggestion,mo mhuirnín.” I stride across the room and snatch the book out of her hands.
“Ow. Paper cuts. Jesus Christ, what is wrong with you?” She sucks on her thumb, and my groin heats.
Subjugating her will be a fucking joy, one I’m eager to undertake. But not until we’ve been to see Dylan. She’ll expect me to fuck her right after the wedding. Not doing so will confuse her and tip her off balance—exactly where I want her to be. As long as she’s kept busy questioning my next move, she likely won’t make hers.
I snap the hardback shut and toss it on her unmade bed. “You have two minutes to put your shoes and coat on and meet me downstairs.”
“Or?”
A slow smile inches across my face. I almost want her to defy me here where I can control the narrative much easier than when we’re out in public. That way I can put her in her place and show her that for all her backchat, she’s as powerless as a gazelle running from a lion.
I did think killing another of her dad’s soldiers and putting his head on a stick would bring her more to heel. There’s a part of me that’s impressed with her courage and entirely unimpressed by her father’s lack of foresight. If she’d been in our ranks, a Mahoney sibling, she’d have been every bit as powerful and equal as Darragh and Liam are. But she’s been left to languish out of generational misogyny. It’s a shame, she could come in useful, but if she fucks up my plans, no amount of courage will save her from a bullet.
“Two minutes. And make your fucking bed.” I leave her door wide open and head for the stairs. Her mutterings reach me, but the floorboards creak, which means she’s out of the chair at least. I’m not sure whether to be pleased or disappointed.
“You sure you don’t want to tag along and watch the game?” I ask Liam who’s tucking into a full fry-up like it’s his last meal.
He shakes his head. “Nah. I’m good. Got a bit of business up north.”
“What’s her name?”
“Who says it’s a woman?”
