Page 40 of Stolen Rival
PATRICK
After a night spent tossingand turning, at three o’clock I give up on the idea of getting any sleep and traipse downstairs to my study. Settling behind the antique desk passed down through several generations from father to son, I fire up my laptop.
Might as well use the time productively.
I pore over the files I’ve spent weeks putting together which detail Dylan’s various business interests. My brothers and I might be his only living blood relatives, but it’s not a given that I’ll inherit his territory.
Not with Andrew hovering in the shadows like a vampire preparing to suck us dry.
Once the deal is signed, I’ll ship Andrew to Ireland where I can keep an eye on him. If I were in his shoes, I’d be bitter as fuck to lose out on the immense power and wealth Dylan has amassed and just waiting for my chance to take what I believed was mine. He’ll be no different. Besides, I’ve already selected my underboss to run the day-to-day U.S. operations, a man who’s worked for me for a decade and one I can trust with mylife.
All I need now is for Sorcha to play her part as we wait for Dylan to pass. The latter is a given. The former… the jury is out. She might have behaved herself at the wedding reception—if it could be called that—but there’s no way she’s found her submissive bone just because I put a ring on her finger.
She’s waiting in the wings to cause me the most amount of pain, and a meeting with Dylan is the best shot she’s got.
Of course, she’ll die if she ruins my plans, but I’m not altogether sure she cares. Cathal, on the other hand, is her Achilles heel, and I intend to use that to my advantage.
Floorboards creak upstairs, and it’s not long before a bleary-eyed Liam strolls past my office, pajama bottoms hanging off his hips, his bare chest on display.
“Put some clothes on,” I bark. “I’m expecting Sorcha down here soon.”
He reverses course, bracing both hands on either side of the door, his broad frame filling the space. “Sex is supposed to put the male species in a good mood, not a crabbier one.”
I glower at him. Not that my death glare will have any influence on Liam’s behavior, but that doesn’t stop me. “Put a fucking shirt on.”
“Why?” He grins. “Afraid your new bride will compare us and find you wanting?”
I shoot out of my chair and stride across my office, clamping my hand around his neck. “Don’t fucking disrespect my wife.” It doesn’t matter that he’s pulling my leg. I won’t fucking have it, not even from my brother.
He slams his fist into my arm, once, twice, a third time. When I don’t let go, he brings up his knee. I narrowly avoid a direct hit to my balls by swerving my hips to the left. Fightingwith my brothers is nothing new, but this is the first time it’s come with a violent urge to break his fucking neck.
“I mean it, Liam. It doesn’t matter how this marriage came about, she’s my wife, and I won’t have you marching about the house half fucking naked, nor talking shit about her.”
“Jesus Christ.” He shoves me in the chest, and I let him go. “You need a sense of humor transplant.”
“And you’ll need a set of new teeth if you don’t put afucking shirt on.”
Flipping me off, he pivots and bounces up the stairs hopefully to get fucking dressed. I sigh, pinching the bridge of my nose. The day hasn’t even begun yet, and already I’m knackered, my temper on a knife edge.
That’s what you get for being your version of a gentleman, dickhead.
I’d gone to Sorcha’s room last night with the intention of making her mine in every sense of the word, but one look at her pale face and the slight tremble to her chin, and I’d changed my mind. There’s plenty of time to show her what being my wife entails, and regardless of my reputation, I’m not in the habit of forcing women to fuck me. When I do take her, fighting me off will be the last thing she’ll want to do.
I pick up the pile of papers and slide them into the zipped pocket of my carry-on bag. Once we’re on the plane, I’ll read them again, although by now I could probably recite the facts and figures from memory. Still, it doesn’t hurt to over-prepare, not when there’s so much at stake.
Leaving my bag in the hallway, I make my way to the kitchen and flick on the kettle. As I’m pouring boiling water into the teapot, Liam appears again, this time clothed. I motion to the pot, and he nods, dragging out a chair at the kitchen table and floppinginto it.
“What time are you leaving?”
“Seven.” I make the tea and push his mug across the table, taking the seat opposite his.
“Feel ready?”
“Yeah. If anything, I’m over-prepared.”
“That’s good.” He takes a sip. “Sure you don’t want me or Darragh to tag along?”
“No. It’s better if it’s just me and Sorcha. I don’t want this to feel like a business trip.”
