Page 68 of Stolen Rival
I’d rather take my chances with whatever sinister creature’s lurking in the shadows than my husband. The irony is something else.
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.” Andrew, Dylan’s underboss, leans against a tree, cigarette in one hand as he holds out an open pack to me. I look over my shoulder for signs of a chaperone. No one is here, just us. And based on what I saw in New York, I wish there was someone. I don’t trust Andrew and I don’t fucking like him. Anyone who’d spur someone on to beat their wife is no friend of mine.
“You didn’t,” I lie.
Andrew pushes off from the tree trunk and walks a few feet toward me. “Are you okay? Did something happen?”
I back up. “N-no. I’m fine, th-thanks.” Andrew is an untrustworthy prick who hates Patrick with every fiber of his being. It’s not a guess. The man has a truly awful poker face. It doesn’t take a lifelong-trainedmafia genius to figure out why either. He wanted Dylan’s empire, and now that Patrick has it, he’s butthurt.
Well. I’m not giving him any fuel against Patrick. He may be a shit husband, but he’s my husband all the same.
Andrew takes another step toward me. Again, I step back.
“Are you sure? You’re shaking. Or… vibrating with rage. I can’t quite tell.” He holds his hands up, cigarette glowing between his fingers. “If the urge to kill strikes, I request that I’m not the victim.” There’s warmth and humor in his voice. All fake. “I get it.” He shrugs.
Bet you don’t.
“I’m a stranger you’d rather not share feelings with. But surely there’s someone in that big old house you could confide in? A problem shared is a problem halved and all that.”
He’s talking more than I’ve heard him talk in the short time I’ve known him, but I can smell a ruse that stinks of horseshit. Whatever I say, he’ll use against me. To many men in this world, women are a means to an end.
“I know what it’s like to be here against your will.”
I suck in a breath and don’t let go. If he’s going to share dirt on the Mahoneys, I’m all ears. But he’s not getting anything out of me in return.
“They’re treating me like an outsider, not the boss’s right-hand man.” There’s bitterness in his voice that sounds like it shouldn’t be ignored. Something inside my bones tells me I need to warn Patrick about this man. The way he spat out that sentence is more than him sharing his feelings. There’s retribution threaded into every syllable.
“ForyearsI did everything but wipe the man’s arse, and this is what I get for my trouble?” He waves his hand at the tall perimeter wall that encloses the Mahoney property. “And now I can’t even hold meetings without a fucking babysitter. Doyou know how that makes me look?” He straightens his back, towering over me.
The urge to run surges through me. Instead, I inch away again, widening the space between us. Andrew doesn’t seem to notice, too caught up in his stream of consciousness.
“I can barely take a shit without having to report it to them.”
I glance at the house, scanning the windows. No one is watching. I’m on my own.
“Um, I should…” I hook a thumb over my shoulder. “It’s getting late.”
He looks at the house too, then returns his attention to me, hands at the sides of his head in an attempt at reassuring me. I’m not reassured, I’m freaked out. I feel cornered.
“My apologies, I didn’t mean to speak out of turn. I’m frustrated, that’s all.” He takes another drag of his cigarette before flicking it into the near distance. “Still grieving Dylan, you know.”
Even in the fading light, his eyes swim with lethal intent. My survival instincts are screaming. Trust Patrick to call off his goons the one time I need them.
“I’m sorry for your loss.”
He smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes, not even close. “You understand grief. You know, Sorcha, we could be allies. We’re both trapped, both prisoners, both at the mercy of the fucking king.” Bitterness leaks out of him. A man with revenge on his mind is a danger to be around, especially when it’s just us out here in the almost-dark orchard.
For all his faults, I have never seen Patrick come close to raising a hand to a woman or speak to a woman the way I heard that man in New York speak, and this man standing in front ofme was all too eager to spur him on. That’s not an ally; that’s an enemy.
“I’d better go.” Turning around slowly, I make my way back to the house, Andrew’s stare burning into the back of my head. As soon as I know I’m out of sight, I break into a run. It’s only when I’m safely in my bedroom that I take a full breath.
However angry I am with Patrick, I have to find the right time to warn him about Andrew and hope he listens.
Chapter 35
PATRICK
It’s beenthree days since I cut down Sorcha’s hopes of a future without me with a few well-chosen (or maybe ill-chosen) words and our paths haven’t crossed once. She’s avoiding me and I don’t blame her. Some days, I’d like to escape me, too.
