Page 102 of Dirty Padraig: Dirty Dusters

There’s no hesitation. “I was worried you would call off the wedding to Sophia and insist that we marry.”

I dry laugh. “You are no fucking better than them, Jaine, do you know that?” I whisper-hiss.

“Who?” She frowns.

“My family! They made decisions on my behalf based on their assumptions, and you did exactly the same.”

She stares at me. She knows I’m right.

Violence. Death. Murder.

I need to make someone bleed. Spinning around, I punch the glass between us and the outside world before proceeding to tear the room apart.

Blood.

I need a blade and someone to blame. I need to hear the constant dripping sound of the place hidden so far below ground no one can hear my playthings fucking scream.

Panting, I face her with my blood dripping on the floor, and all the while, she stands there watching me. She wants me to react. To say something to her. To do something to her.

I will not salve her conscience for her.

I wipe the spray of my own blood from my face with the back of my hand and watch as her gaze tracks my every movement, her tongue flicking out to lick her pouty lips.

Aroused.

Jesus Christ, she’s aroused by what she’s just witnessed. It would appear Jaine gets off on fear. She gets off on violence. She gets off on me.

And it’s why she also gets off on my brother.

I want her to see me kill. Not him. Because he’s nothing compared to me. Not when it comes to creating a bloodbath.

I say nothing as I watch her use our limited water supply to wet a towel and then tend to my cuts. When she’s done, I grip her chin hard, forcing her to look at me. She doesn’t pull away. Green eyes bore straight into mine.

“You had no right,” I hiss.

“I had every right to protect my son,” she bites back.

“From his own father?”

“From his father’s enemies. We already have reason to believe that Finian was targeted because someone is aware of his true parentage.”

“Who knew?” I frown at her.

“Molly.”

“And who would she have told?”

“That’s what I’m trying to find out and why I’ve been going through her phone.”

We stare at each other. It’s not enough. It still doesn’t excuse what she’s done. Nothing ever will, she must know that.

“Dare.”

She utters the word she knows she shouldn’t. She knows she’s deliberately dancing with Death himself now that she’s stared into the depths of my fucked-up soul.

Dare I what?

Kiss her? Kill her? That’s the only two options available to me.

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