Page 61 of Stolen Rival
“We can’t embody a state of war forever. We’re tied to one another for life. We might as well make the most of it. Besides, since neither you nor Darragh have stepped up, it’s down to me to breed the next generation.”
“You’re the eldest. It should be you who takes the first bullet. I’m enjoying the single life far too much to even think about settling down.”
“You’re all heart. Was there something you wanted?”
“Just checking in. I arrived home, and you weren’t here. I thought she may have killed you and was burying your body.”
“If you must know, we’ve called a truce. Things should go a lot more smoothly from here, which is good timing because we’ve a fuck ton of work to do. And I still need to decide what to do with Andrew.”
“I don’t trust that one.”
“Nor do I, but until he specifically steps out of line, there isn’t a lot I can do. You know as well as I do that the merging of two territories is difficult, and the last thing I need is for Dylan’s underboss to meet his maker before Dylan is cold in theground.”
“I’ll keep an eye on him. You’ve got enough on your plate.”
“That would help. Thanks.”
“I’ve got a meeting this evening. I’ll have him tag along. As long as he’s breathing, we might as well make him earn his keep.”
“Good plan. I probably won’t be back before you leave. I might take Sorcha for a bite to eat.”
“Jesus fucking Christ Almighty. The glacier isn’t just melting. It’s vanished.”
“Fuck you.” I hang up, but for some ungodly reason, I’m grinning from ear to ear.
I return to Cathal’s room, but it’s empty. I bet she’s taken him to the lake again. It wouldn’t surprise me if the only time that poor bastard got to breathe fresh air was during Sorcha’s visits, although I’m not basing that opinion on anything factual. But I make a mental note to ask Sorcha just what stimulation and rehabilitation her brother receives at this facility, if any. There must be other options that will give him a better quality of life.
Sure enough, they’re out by the lake. I toss a couple of euros into the bird-feed machine and make my way outside. The grass beneath my feet is spongy and filled with moss and weeds and dandelions, which is probably why Sorcha doesn’t hear me approach. I get within ten feet of her when her voice floats toward me on a mild spring breeze.
“Don’t you worry, Cathal. I’m working on a plan to get us both out of here as soon as possible. Then we’ll be together forever. You and me against the world.”
I freeze, ice slithering through my veins. Her obedience play is all an act. She actually still thinks there’s a way to escape. If I wasn’t so bloody angry, I might think her naivety was endearing.
Except… am I angry, or is it disappointment? I’m not the kind of man who analyzes his feelings, but what I do know is that the void that had begun to fill is suddenly a gaping chasm of nothingness.
I back away and return to the facility, tossing the duck food into the nearest waste bin.
Sorcha can plan and scheme and plot a way to escape, but I’ll be there at every turn to stop her.
Chapter 31
SORCHA
If I hadn’t heardthe mad craic the Mahoneys were having downstairs over what sounds like a poker game—where at least one of them is being accused of cheating—I’d think I was here by myself.
That’s notactuallypossible. I’m never alone anymore, not really. But I haven’t seen much of Patrick in three days, not since our trip to visit Cathal, and when I have seen my husband, he’s been back to his cold, dismissive, aloof self.
I feel like a pinball ricocheting around this colossal, too-quiet house, and part of me got my hopes up about maybe having a sex do-over with my husband now we’ve sort of buried the hatchet.
And, to everyone’s surprise, not in each other’s backs.
But apparently, Patrick is so arrogant he thinks fucking me once is enough to get me knocked up. Must be a one-and-done kind of guy. Either that or he simply doesn’t have the same kind of drive I do. Every night, I’m haunted by the phantom touches of his fingers onmy skin. Every morning, I wake up hot, bothered, and ready to ride my favorite vibrator—which I remembered to snag from my parents’ house before we left.
That’s not the point. The point is, I feel like he’s avoiding me, and I have no idea why. And if he thinks he’s getting out of his agreement to let me escape from this gilded cage and go and do somethingfun, then the ax I thought we’d buried will end up sticking out of his forehead.
I can’t stay here much longer, or I’ll go crazy. Aside from the housekeeper and a few of the staff, there’s too much testosterone flying around in this building. I miss my friends, mygirls, spending time with people who don’t have a permanent overhanging frown, a surly disposition, and a constant short fuse. I’d even take Eabha’s constant oversharing of her sex life in granular detail instead of this.
When I push the door to the study open, three heads turn in my direction. Crotchety Smurf, Testy Smurf, and Prickly Smurf all have cards in their hands and stacks of money on the table in front of them. Both Liam and Darragh have glasses of whiskey, but I notice that Patrick is drinking water. Hmm. Come to think of it, I haven’t seen my husband touch alcohol once. Is he a recovering alcoholic or teetotal out of choice?
