Page 70 of Dirty Eoin

I clench my jaw in disgust. With two little boys of my own, I know this is every parent’s worst nightmare. The dirty pedo fucker deserves everything that’s coming to him.

“What are you going to do to him?”

I know he’s not expecting me to take part. That the future Da Duster wants to command the stage and have me his captive audience so I can witness all three hundred and sixty degrees of his fucked-up darkness.

Maybe all the wives have to go through this initiation ceremony as a welcome to the O’Connell family.

Or perhaps not.

Sarah’s never mentioned it. Neither has Jessie.

Maybe I’m receiving this preferential treatment as, having already birthed a Duster heir, I’m as good as blood in their eyes. That it doesn’t matter what I witness as I’m guaranteed to forever keep quiet.

He walks towards me until we’re inches apart, and my eyes scan his face. He’s obviously run his hands through his hair several times as it’s streaked with blood, and he’s also wearing flecks of it on his skin.

My eyes drop to his full bottom lip, and he licks it in silent response. Arousal flows through me. I want that mouth on me, and he knows it.

I lift my eyes and our gazes connect. Lust is blazing in his green depths, and it’s no doubt reflected in my own. He wants me. The feeling’s mutual, no matter how much we try to deny it.

I curse my body’s betrayal as much as I curse him.

“You tell me, Jaine.” It’s whisper-like. His gaze never leaves mine.

Today’s a Ma Duster test. I realize that now. Have I got what it takes? How will I react? What sentence will I hand out? Will it fit the crime in his eyes?

The latter is what’s most important.

The Dusters run a tight ship, but at the heart of their organization beats a strong sense of kinship from the top tier all the way down. Same as bikers.

Mr. Unfortunate hasn’t stolen or killed. He’s done something far, far worse. He’s hurt their family.

“I want you to rip out his heart and make him eat the fucking thing.” I announce the pedo’s death sentence loud and clear.

His nostrils flare then he nods slowly.

“As you wish... wife.”

A reminder of exactly what I am.

For now.

He’s staring at me with his head cocked, making him look slightly deranged. He’s trying to gauge my reaction to his use of that one single word.

My reaction? Wet. Because right now, he looks hot, dark, and dangerous.

A heady combination. And my favorite.

I swallow thickly, which I’m sure won’t go unnoticed by him. I’m playing a dangerous game. I may have bitten off way more than I can chew, but there’s no turning back now.

He finally breaks eye contact before walking toward the only other piece of furniture in this frigid space. A wheeled trolley filled with various surgical instruments and torture devices similar to the one in the dripping concrete tomb under Play.

I watch as he picks up a scalpel before holding it up to inspect its gleaming surface.

“At my wife’s request, your last supper will now be served, you filthy piece of scum.”

For whatever reason, his voice sounds more Irish when he’s in killer mode. It’s then I realize that he’s not so dissimilar from Delaney. That there are two sides to this Irishman. Unlike Delaney, Eoin is in complete control of his inner demon, just like he is with everything else in his life.

I watch as the scalpel cuts deep into the pedo’s torso, blood pushing past the splitting flesh to spill and pool on the floor. The smell of shit fills the air, and the puddle is instantly made bigger by the added contents of his bladder.

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