Page 115 of Merciless Desires

“Don’t worry about it.” He grips my arm.

The contact shocks me, and I cower, covering my head. “No, don’t hurt me.”

Darragh crouches slowly, eyeing me like a wounded animal. His spicy scent hits me. It screams how powerful and masculine he is. Like his brother, Kieran. Like my father.

“I’ll never hurt you. I promise. But we have to leave right now.” He gently helps me to my feet and leads me out of the courthouse. Outside on the curb, a man opens the door to a limo.

I’m not surprised. He’s rich.

“Get in,” Darragh says, and I do it because I just don’t have a choice.

The driver gives me and my Clark Country jumpsuit a side-eye. Inside the limo, I feel worse. It’s the lap of luxury, and I’ve been reduced to rubble.

I reluctantly tell the driver the name of the motel. When the ugly red and yellow sign comes into view, I gasp. “The key. I don’t have the key.”

“I’ll get the key,” Darragh says confidently and coldly.

We park, and he struts into the office. Sure enough, he waves me over to the door with a key card. Either he convinced the clerk he’s Cormac, or Darragh is just as cunning.

“How did you get the key?” I ask.

Darragh scoffs, “Cormac hasn’t paid them in weeks. I did. And checked him out. Both of you. Get your things.”

“Where are we—” I step in, and the smell makes my stomach revolt. I rush into the bathroom to vomit, but Darragh grabs me.

“No, you don’t!” He runs after me, probably thinking I’m going to jump out the window. “Christ.”

“Get out of here!” I yell from the bathroom floor, hurling into the toilet. Now that I’m out of Cormac’s clutches and not fighting for survival, I find my voice, my strength, even if it’s a sliver.

Darragh stands over me, cursing under his breath. Next, the water is running, and he hands me a cup. “Drink this.”

I gulp it down, and then try to melt against the wall so he’ll leave me alone. “You don’t have to take care of me.”

“I’m taking care of the mess my brother made.”

Mess. That’s me. I’d like to argue, but I’m wearing a prison jumpsuit with my stomach hanging out.

I stand and start to shake. The more I talk, the angrier he seems. He stomps into the main room and opens drawers, cursing, slamming them because Cormac’s stuff is filthy and torn.

“I… I keep my clothes in that nightstand.” I think back to that moment when I emptied my expensive white and saddle brown suitcase and left Astoria with nothing.

Darragh walks to the closet with confidence and purpose. His long legs in sharply pressed trousers of an expensive suit spark another wave of arousal.

God, I don’t know when I felt desire last.

Darragh grabs the leather duffle bag Cormac refused to sell. “I bought him this.”

I’d heard pregnancy makes a woman ravenous for sex. Those feelings never came. Thank goodness, because I don’t want Cormac to touch me ever again. Yet, my hormones have woken up, watching Darragh deftly pack up my meager wardrobe out of the broken nightstand.

“Let me.” I reach inside and our arms tangle.

He’s so warm, and his hands feel so strong, but he snaps them back. With his eyes boring into mine, a flicker in my chest startles me.

“I… I can wear this.” I yank out an XXL dress Cormac bought me from a street vendor. It’s ugly as sin, and the fabric itches, so I don’t wear it often. Sliding into oversized sweats and a giant, stained T-shirt is too humiliating.

“Can you… Can you just give me a few hundred dollars?” I ask Darragh softly. “I’ll figure out a way to pay you back.”

“No. I’m not leaving you here.”

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