Kieran works for . . .him, the motherfucker who ruined my life. I can feel it in my bones. My imposing abductor claims the seat he offered me.
A scrawny hip pops against the table, pausing into a leaning position. I jerk my head back in shock at the sight of bright red hair shaken down the back of a waitress who only has eyes for Kieran.
Oye!Writing “help me” or a more detailed “The man is holding me against my will” on a napkin is utterly useless. In a thick brogue, the waitress asks Kieran his order.
The corners of my mouth crease as I teasingly say, “Yoo-hoo . . . excuse me,bonita.”
“The lassie‘ll order first,” he nudges his chin in my direction.
Oblivious, she twirls a tress, asking, “What happened to your hair?”
“The lassie,” Kieran grits, the side of his fist banging on the table.
Anxiety arrests me for a split second. Heart rate and breathing spiked, I roll my shoulders.
“You don’t need to address her like that,” I growl. It’s become my sworn duty to advocate for the greater female race, even if thechicatotally disregarded me.
Tension permeates between us, and the waitress’ hip no longer uses the side of the table as leverage.
As I settle back, legs locked about the ankle, the waitress grins at me. “Aye, sweetie,whatcan I get ya?”
“The best you have. I’m a McFarland.” I wink.
Twirling a fiery strand around her fingertip, the waitress silently begs confirmation from my abductor.
“Best ya have.” Kieran dismisses her with a flick of his massive hand.
“I’m not certain what your aim is,” I measure out, eyes locked onto his and mentally warning myself not to gulp or look away, “but I’ve traveled to exotic islands. Paris, quaint towns in Italy, Spain, and Portugal.”
He frowns, impatiently waiting for the punch line. “And?”
“And . . .”Despite my paranoia while meandering through the wooded area, Ireland is shaping up to be one of the most stunning places I’ve ever toured. Though, it isn’t the point I’m trying to make. I clear my throat. “Andyou’ll have to do much better at pulling the wool over my eyes. Nevertheless, I know what—”Role he gave you.I clear my throat.“Comesnext.”
A single, sexy brow lifts, questioning.
“We paint the town,” I drop the cliché, “then you . . . kill me.” In my brain, that sounded friggen straightforward. As if I’d blown the lid off my tormentor’s entire plan. That’s whathepaid for, I’m sure. A crazy Irish dude to break me.
Kieran’s eyes drink in the curve of my face. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do to shield myself from him in this second. Although he doesn’t seem the type, he hesitates. “Give you a good time . . . kill you? Anything else?”
The words catch in my throat. I’m much too tired for the psychological torture and choke on emotion. “That’s your plan.”Your paid orders, you sick bastard!
“No.”
“Then wh . . .”
The pony door swooshes open. One after the other, servers rush to the table with a feast of meats and appetizing vegetables. For the next few minutes, they shuffle in and out of the half-door while I inhale the succulent aromas.
Oye Dios.The couple who never came up for air stumble out the doors in each other’s arms. I was too preoccupied with watching the feast to notice them walk past us to leave. Just as the doors close, I gasp at the sight of a pig head.
Kieran grips a turkey leg. “Dig in.”
Face clouded with suspicion, I eye the food.
Kieran rises and grabs a plate, piling on a turkey leg and more provisions than I’d have in a month as an adolescent. When the plate clatters in front of me, I regard him with a defiant, raised eyebrow.
“You will eat, Ava, so help me. I’ll take you over my leg, pull down your pants, and thoroughly swat your roundedarse. What’s it gonna be?”
Gripping a fork in hand, I shovel a bite of creamy mashed potatoes in my mouth. I pull my lips tight and snarl a grin. He sits back down.