Page 27 of Stolen Rival
“I don’t know who taught you to court women.” I rub at my neck, mostly to prevent him from grabbing it again. “But choking isn’t my kink. And leaving bruises around my throat doesn’t quite send the message to people that we’re all loved up.” I push past him, ready to run out the open door like a deer being chased by a predator. “I’m going out into the gardens. Your heavy will find me in the rose garden reading a book or stealing fruit from your trees.”
“You’ll wait to be escorted outside, Sorcha.”
I’m already striding to the back of the house. I don’t flip him off, but I don’t slow my pace either, which serves to do nothing other than make my side throb. I half expect him to appear behind me, to spank me for my missteps, for my sassy mouth, my insolence, but instead, when I open the back door, a man in a giant’s body is already there, waiting for me.
I fucking hate Patrick Mahoney.
I want to scream but bite it down and smile instead. Because the hardest part is behind me. I’ve gotten permission to get to where I need to be, when I need to be there. All I have to do now is wait.
Chapter 15
PATRICK
“There isno way she’s making it to her next birthday.” Liam adds another two fingers of whiskey to his glass. He raises it in the air, a toast to the sanity slowly draining out of me like hope from a condemned man.
Except I chose this.
No, not chose. Niamh was the wife I chose. This one is a necessity. I despise feeling as though I’m cornered, that circumstances outside my control have forced me into making a decision I would not ordinarily make. It makes my fucking skin itch.
“She doesn’t have to.” I round my desk and retake my seat. “If everything goes according to plan, Dylan will sign the American business over to me, then conveniently die. After that, I have no use for her.”
“So, you plan to just… kill her?” Out of the three of us, Darragh has the closest to what I guess would be described as a conscience. Not that it stops him doing what needs to be done, but he at least has a moment of sympathy for those who suffer at our hands.
Ido not have that emotion.
“That depends on whether or not she continues this intractable behavior.” I scrape a hand through my hair. “Just because the agreement with Dylan is likely to have a no-divorce clause in it doesn’t mean she can’t meet with an unfortunate accident. And if she doesn’t quit the backchat, that’s precisely what will happen.”
Liam chuckles. “The red hair should have given it away. Remember Fíadh?”
“Oh yeah.” Darragh grins. “She was a spitfire.”
“Which is why you dumped her after a week,” I say.
“Aye, but what a week.” Liam stares off into the distance. “She wasn’t just a spitfire out of the sack.”
I roll my eyes. “Can we focus now? The call is in five minutes.”
Knots in my stomach pull tight. I don’t often suffer with nerves, but I can’t hide the bride switch from Dylan any longer. There may be an ocean between us, but news, both good and especially bad, travels fast in our business. I want to be the one to fill in the details of the O’Sullivan family’s untimely demise and the subsequent McCarthy massacre.
Dylan doesn’t care who I marry, as long as I do, but the last thing I need is him thinking I’ve lost control of my own fucking territory.
I don’t fucking lose control.
On the dot, I make the call, putting the phone on speaker so my brothers can listen in. They’re not here to contribute, but this saves me repeating how the meeting goes. On the third ring, the call connects.
“Patrick.” Dylan’s Irish accent has faded after decades living in the United States, but it’s still there, if faint. “How are you doing, son?”
I bristle. Only one man has the right to call me son, and he’s been in the ground for fifteen years. Liam shakes his head, correctly reading my irritation.
Painting a smile on my face that should transfer to my voice, I say, “All good here, Dylan. More importantly, how are you?”
“Ah.” He sighs. “Hanging in there.”
“Are you still having chemotherapy?”
“Yes, although it’s not working like it once did. Still, we all have to go sometime.”
He seems remarkably calm about it all. I can’t say I’d feel the same in his situation. Then again, when a doctor says you’re terminal, what else is left other than acceptance. In our world, showing weakness is pounced upon. Even when your body is eating itself from the inside out, there’s an expectation on the leader to show no fear. To remain in charge of their empire.
