Page 11 of Stolen Rival
Going well so far.
It’s a matter of seconds before there’s a key turning in the lock. The door opens. I pounce, swinging the pointy end of my weapon at his face as I roar.
“Fucking hell!” He puts his arms up, my shard of glass catching him on the forearm but not doing enough damage to kill him, and I now can’t get near his neck because his hands are in the way.
I don’t need to ask who he is. He’s got the same sloped nose, slanted smirk, and solid jaw as his fucking brother. Another Mahoney. Might not be Patrick, but I’ll take whoever I can get at this point. An eye for a fucking eye and all that. Patrick has killed everyone I love; I’d give damn near everything I have left to even the score.
The man in front of me, blocking the doorway, has an intriguing, gnarly scar down the length of his cheek. If I get close enough, I’ll give him a matching one on the other side.
Rage surges through my body, right down to my bones, and I lurch toward him. He ducks around me, but not fast enough to create much space between us. My back is to the open door. I could run, but I need more information. Who else is in this house, for starters. “Where’s Patrick?”
The pointy end of my weapon is pressed against his throat because the arrogant fuck dropped his hands low enough for me to get the jump on him.
A tiny bubble of blood appears along the edge of the glass, and a deep satisfaction comes over me. Getting my own back on these arseholes for what they’ve taken for me might not ever be enough, but it’s a start.
“So, he brought you back here?” He rolls his eyes. “Always the fucking crazy ones with that mad bastard.”
A feral growl grows in the back of my throat, until a low, blood curdling chuckle from behind me makes me freeze. I risk a glance over my shoulder, then whip my attention back to the other Mahoney under my makeshift weapon.
“Don’t move, Patrick. I’ll sever his fucking jugular.”
He snorts. “Aye. Take you a while to saw through that fucker’s thick neck.” The sarcasm… impatience… and worse, indifference that drips from his every word gets my back up.
I press harder, more droplets of blood appear on the sharp edge of the glass.
“For fuck’s sake.” Firm arms band around me from behind, capturing my biceps and pinning them against my body. “Would you catch yourself on?”
Ha. If he thinks I’m going to give up and let him have his way with me, he’s got another think coming.
I bet he’s riddled with STIs from the very long line of notches on his bedposts. I’ve heard all about the Mahoney boys; they’ll dip it in anything that’s wet. Bet Patrick’s forced all those women to fuck him, too. He might be handsome on the outside, but he’s ugly as fuck on the inside.
I’m pulled back as his brother rubs his neck. “Your new girlfriend’s not the full fucking shilling, Patrick. Not to mention she’s supposed to be in the ground, not in our guest room.”
The snarl that comes from me probably doesn’t help my case, nor does the flailing of my legs, and I thrash my limbs in a bid to throw my attacker off so he drops me. Guest room, my arse. It’s as clinical as the inside of a damn hospital.
I can’t swing my arms, but I make short stabbing gestures with the glass all the same, just in case I can land a blow.
“I’m not his fucking girlfriend,” I spit.
The growl behind me sends mixed signals through my body. A bolt of heat, and a surge of indignation.
“She’s right, Liam. She’s not my girlfriend.” He grabs my wrist and shakes until I let go of the piece of glass.
Liam licks his lips, his eyes traveling the length of my body before settling over my shoulder.
Fuck.
I’m not going to be Liam’s anything either.
Patrick’s putting pressure on my wound as he holds my arms against my body. The throbbing is so insufferable that it’s making me dizzy. The edges of my vision blurs, and from the dampness spreading on my shirt, I think I’ve popped more than a stitch, though I’d die before asking these wankers for help.
If he keeps squeezing, I might die anyway. No amount of willing my body to get free is making a damn bit of difference to the fact Patrick’s built like a brick shithouse.
When he speaks again, his voice is painfully close to my ear. “She’s my fiancée.”
Chapter 6
PATRICK
