“You don’t scare me, Monster,” she says before wrapping her legs around my waist. She holds onto me as if I were a lifeline. As if she were drownin’ and I were the only thing that can keep her afloat. “None of you do. I wouldn’t be here if you did.”
All these years I’ve been alone. It suited me fine. I also learned never to allow anyone in, not into the depths of my soul where if they leave, it will hurt. Far too feckin’ much.
“I am not good for you,” I finally answer as I slam into her once more. I love how her tits move when I fuck her. When I fill her with every feckin’ inch of me.
“Do you want me to leave? Even with your dick inside me, you’re telling me you don’t want me?” In her eyes, I find annoyance. She has no feckin’ reason to trust me, the same as I have no way of trustin’ her.
“Aye,” I finally respond after a moment.
“Then let me go,” she hisses as she tries to wiggle away from me.Not a fucking chance.I grip her wrists and pin them beside her. Then I lose all feckin’ control.
“Like feck you’ll leave,” I promise and thrust deep. Over and over again.
My mouth captures her nipple, and I bite down hard until she cries out. Her cunt tightens around me, pulsing wildly around my cock. I suck the hardened bud and lave against it with my tongue, soothing the pain I’ve just inflicted. She still fights me, even though I feel the flutters of her walls. I reach up with one hand and grip her throat before slamming into her as deep as I can go. I don’t relent when I capture her other nipple and bite down. That, sends her over the edge. Her cunt tightens around my cock like a vice.
She’stheforbidden feckin’ fruit. I want nothing more than to bruise every inch of her. Then peel back her layers before gorgin’ myself until her supple juices are flowing down my chin, over and over again.
It doesn’t take long for my orgasm to shudder through me. I pull out quickly, grip my shaft, and I spray my release over her stomach and mound. It looks beautiful on her slightly tanned flesh. I’ve marked her.
There’s no going back now.
“Monster!” Rebel’s voice calls from down the hall.
“Feck,” I bite out as frustration races through my veins. I look at Miren who’s now giggling at my annoyance. “Don’t you go anywhere,” I tell her as I get up and cover her with a blanket. “Promise me.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” she assures me.
The coy look on her face makes my dick ache for more, but I need to see what Rebel wants. It’s probably important, or he would never have feckin’ called me down.
I rush from the room as I shrug on my cut and find the brothers all in the room we use for church. They’re seated around the table and look up the moment I walk in. The party has ended. There are no signs of any of the women around.
“What the feck is going on?” I settle in my chair and look at my VP.
The concern in his expression has me on edge. I don’t like not knowing what’s happening, especially when it comes to my men.
“Tye got some new info,” Rebel tells me before looking at our resident computer genius.
“I got into some emails, a long thread of them,” he tells me as he brings over a stack of pages. “But the two pages on the top will explain why we called you down. I didn’t think it could wait, and Rebel agreed.”
I glance between the men and nod. “Fine.” I pick up the first page and scan the details. My stomach drops to my feet when I read the communication. It seems Da wanted Miren’s mother dead. Da told Patrick about it, which shocks me because he hated the mob. “Da was workin’ with Bragan?”
Tye nods. “I found out when talkin’ to our contact at Scotland Yard, ye da was thick in with the Irish mob. This was since before you were born. Patrick wanted rid of Sinéad, and he went to ye da for help. They planned it right down to the hour.”
“But Sinéad found out?”
“Aye,” Rebel says then. “She ordered a hit on ye ma in retaliation. She wanted to put the fear of God in ye da. But there’s more, documents from MI5 confirming ye da was working with them.”
“What?” I drop one page and pick up another. My eyes can’t read fast enough. There are years’ worth of emails, communication between Da and the inspectors and detectives from the agencies in London. “They wanted Patrick. They wanted the whole feckin’ Irish mob.”
“And ye da agreed. In return, they would provide safety for ye and yer ma.” Rebel’s words don’t take long to sink in. Realisation hits me right in the chest. Da was trying to keep us safe, but he hid the truth from us because he must have known if I were to get taken by the mob, by Sinéad’s or Patrick’s men, I could have been tortured. It’s the only thing that makes sense.
“But instead of protectin’ us, he got himself and Ma killed,” I bite out before slamming the documents on the table.
Shoving the stack, I create a wave of paper that’s scatters across the floor. Pushing the chair back, I rise to full height and place both palms on the table. My gaze meets each man in the room, my focus on them as they look at me. I have to give them the next order, the plan of attack. But I’m too shocked to think straight.
I know Patrick and Sinéad have to pay, there’s no doubt about it. But right now, all I can think about is Da doin’ somethin’ stupid without tellin’ us. I spent my life hatin’ him. I blamed him for leavin’ us alone, and I should blame him for Ma’s death. He forced the hand of one of the most dangerous organisations in Ireland.
“Patrick did kill ye da,” Rebel says. “We’ve gone through the paperwork. Tye’s been working on it. There’s no doubt about it. Even though Sinéad is the head of the organisation, it was Patrick who pulled the trigger.”