Page 72 of Stolen Rival
“You’d better, because I am not a forgiving man. I am a vengeful bastard, and I will peel the fucking skin from your body piece by piece if you step out of line again.”
I draw back the gun, and his head falls forward. Jerking my chin at the open car door, I bark, “Get in.”
He slides inside and out of view. I put my gun away and glance over at Sorcha. Her eyes are wide, but the look in them isn’t horror or repulsion; it’s respect and maybe a hint of affection. I smile at her, then climb into the car.
“I hope you’re hungry,” I say as though the last sixty seconds hadn’t taken place. “I hear the chef makes a mean fillet steak.” I hit Andrew with a malevolent smirk and smooth my tie. “Nice and bloody, just how I like it.”
Chapter 36
SORCHA
I’m still strugglingto comprehend what happened back at the house between Patrick and Andrew, but rather than fear from witnessing the monster in action, all I feel is cosseted. Protected. Important. He threatened Andrew for me, and I can’t quite believe it.
Is this the turning point in our relationship? The moment when I stop being his rival and start being his equal? Well, as equal as Patrick would ever allow anyone to be. He’s still a control freak, and him defending my honor, so to speak, probably has as much to do with exerting control and putting Andrew in his place as it was about my discomfort around Dylan’s underboss. Despite that, I still have this warm and fuzzy sensation in my chest.
When Patrick suggested the fillet steak, I was dubious. The beef bourguignon was calling my name. But not only have I demolished every morsel of food from my plate, I leaned over and stole a bite from Patrick’s as well.
“Men have died for less,” he mutters as I pop one of his chips into my mouth.
“Yeah, but we know you’d miss me if I wasn’t here.”
I wait for him to deny it but he doesn’t. Instead, his hand closes around mine underneath the crisp white tablecloth and he squeezes my fingers. I offer up a smile and he winks.
Hewinks.
What is even happening?
Liam offers me his plate, but there’s only a long strand of asparagus left, and I’m not a fan. “Thanks, but I’ll pass. I have my eye on a slice of that banoffee cheesecake I saw on the way in. I couldn’t possibly ruin it with a tree trunk.”
Rosanna laughs, nudging me with her elbow. “I hope he got you something nicer than some flaccid vegetables for your wedding gift.”
My brothers-in-law look sheepishly at each other, then at Patrick, who smirks.
Darragh clears his throat. “It all happened kind of quickly.”
“You didn’t get them a gift?” Molly gasps, joining in on the ribbing.
Liam rolls his eyes. “Isn’t Patrick enough of a gift?”
God, this is all so normal. I can’t get enough. I feel as though I’ve entered the Twilight Zone, and tomorrow I’ll wake up and discover this was all a dream. I side-eye Patrick. “I’ve had UTIs that were a nicer gift than my husband.”
The entire table bursts out laughing, except for Andrew who is sulking in the corner like a child who’s had their tablet confiscated. Then again, if I’d had the barrel of a gun jammed under my chin earlier in the evening, I wouldn’t join in either.
Patrick cracks a smile before pulling me to him and planting a kiss on my forehead. I virtually melt under his attention. Since the Cathal incident and our honest conversation before we left the house, plus his defense of me to Andrew, the tide has turned, and I’m seeing him in adifferent light. It’s… confusing, but I can’t say I’m unhappy about it.
“Just make them babysit when the kids come. Bank all gifts as nights in lieu.” Rosanna takes a sip of her wine as Garrett’s head snaps toward her like she’s just said she can summon ghosts from her nipples.
“Did you not know your wife was an evil genius, Garrett?” Rosanna says. “You look like you’re having a learning moment.”
He shakes his head, holding up his hands to Darragh and Liam. “I’m not claiming this one.”
The men share a chuckle, but Liam leans across the table to me. “Trust me, you don’t want me to watch your kids.”
“Aye.” Patrick takes a drink of his water. “Because he’s still one himself.”
“Wouldn’t that mean he’s on their wavelength?” Darragh asks.
“Fuck off,” Liam drawls, leaning back and rubbing his stomach.
