Page 55 of Illicit Heir

"You were in the middle of the fight. Of course you destroyed it," I insist.

He arrogantly smiles. "I don't think accusing me of things is any way to thank me."

More rage fills me. "Thank you? I have nothing to thank ya for except busting up my pub and making us put it back together again."

He jerks his head backward. "Ya don't? I paid for this place to be rebuilt. I just made it clear that no one will destroy it ever again. Don't ya have any gratitude?"

I want to call him out on his lie and prove to him that he didn't give me the money. But then I'd have to tell him where I got it, and the guilt around that fills me once more.

Plus, Caleb would kill me if he knew I slept with an O'Connor.

"Cat got your tongue, Lauren? Looks like there's something ya want to say to me." He studies me closer.

I'm suddenly worried that he knows the O'Connors came into the pub. Is that why he's been gone? Did he go after them?

Is Devin dead?

My heart races faster and my palms turn clammy.

Why am I panicking over this? I don't care about that asshole.

Ugh! I wish that were the case!

"Well, whatever ya got to say, ya better say it now," Caleb offers.

I hold my tongue, glaring at him and not trusting myself to speak.

He grabs my chin. I try to move my head, but I can't. He's got too tight a hold on it. He leans closer, demanding, "Say thank you."

My pride won't let me. He grips my chin harder, once again ordering, "Say thank you, Lauren."

I decide it's not worth letting my ego win. I mumble, "Thank you."

"For what?" he pushes.

My pride hits a new low. He stares at me until I say, "Thank you for telling the patrons to support the new rules."

He cocks an eyebrow. "And what else, Lauren?"

My gut spins. "I don't know. There's nothing else to say."

He grips my chin even harder, and I wince. "Why don't ya thank me for giving ya my money?"

"It's not your money," I snap before I can think about it.

Disapproval washes over his expression. "No? Then who gave ya the money, Lauren?"

My entire body trembles. I claim, "We told ya. It was left at the door by an anonymous donor."

He shakes his head. "No, it wasn't."

My fear grows.

He knows.

He has to know.

I can't speak, for fear what I might say and what he'll do next.

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