Black Heart (Cursed Hearts 1)

“How are ye feeling, lass?” the man asked softly, acting unconcerned about the gun currently aimed at his family jewels and probably for good reason, Marty realized.

“And if I shot you…..” she prompted, already having a good idea what the answer would be.

“It wouldn’t affect me at all, lass,” he said with a careless shrug.

With a sigh, she lowered the gun, noting that he didn’t seem to care one way or the other that the gun was no longer aimed on him, further confirming her suspicions. The man could disappear, move through walls and God only knew what else, so it didn’t exactly take a genius to figure out that her one and only weapon would be useless against him.

“Where’s my husband?” she asked, trying to mask her fear for Tristan.

She still couldn’t get over the sight of him being thrown across the room and slamming into the wall like that. He shouldn’t have been able to move after that, but somehow he’d managed to crawl towards her before he passed out. He had to be okay, he had to be, she told herself as she tried to remain calm.

“He’s downstairs with my brothers,” the man said slowly, sounding as though he was choosing his words carefully.

“I see,” she said absently with a small nod as she tried to wrap her mind around everything that had happened in the last few hours. Not only wasn’t she crazy, but apparently she could see ghosts. She wasn’t exactly sure what she was going to do with that information so she decided to focus on getting them to leave. She raised her gun and pulled the trigger, taking him by surprise.

“What the bloody hell did ye do that for?” he demanded, startled, but in no way harmed by the bullet that passed through him.

“Would you have allowed me to use the phone?” she asked, dropping the gun on the ground so that she could tighten her hold on the sheet wrapped around her.

Frowning, he shook his head. “Of course not. Ye’d only call for-“

“Help,” she finished for him as she headed for the door, shooting him a glare that dared him to stop her. Ghost or not, she would kick his ass if he tried to stop her from going to Tristan.

“Ah, hell!” he groaned, disappearing before she reached the door.

Knowing that this might be her only chance, she didn’t bother stopping to change her clothes. She rushed towards the bedroom door, praying that she got to Tristan before they could disappear with him. She just hoped that the gunshot did its job and that her father and Tom were on their way to-

“Please, you have to help me!” the bloodied man that she’d somehow forgotten about demanded as he grabbed hold of her wrists. Seconds later he made her pray for death as pure dread and ice cold fear shot through her.

*-*-*-*

“Calm the f**k down, lad!”

“Get the cuffs the f**k off me, Shayne!” Tristan snapped, gritting his teeth and slamming himself back into the wall, chair and all.

He ignored the throbbing in his head and the fact that each breath he took was accompanied by searing pain and slammed back against the wall again and again until he felt the chair finally break apart. His hands were still cuffed tightly behind his back, but as long as he could move he didn’t give a damn. He needed to get to Marty and he needed to get to her now.

“I told ye that she was alright,” Shayne explained quickly as he reached out and grabbed hold of Tristan by his shoulders to steady him when he stumbled.

Tristan shook him off and moved past Shayne, ignoring the large bastards standing around his kitchen, glaring at him. He didn’t know who or what they were and right now he didn’t care. He’d deal with them later, but for right now he needed to see Marty with his own eyes and touch her to know that she was okay.

“Lad, she’s fine!” Shayne said, appearing in front of him and looking him over, his expression becoming concerned seconds before it turned accusing. “Ye could have killed him, ye dumb bastard!”

The larger of the men suddenly appeared in the kitchen doorway, his glare locked on Tristan as he leaned back against the doorframe. “That’s the plan.”

“Well it’s a dumb f**king plan!” Shayne snapped, shifting between Tristan and the large man who looked ready to carry out that plan with his bare hands, but Tristan didn’t have the patience or time to deal with this bullshit. He pushed past Shayne and the large bastard that he was going to beat the shit out of later. He headed for the stairs when the bastard’s next words, and the four men that suddenly appeared in front of him and grabbed him, stopped him.

“Ye didn’t seem to think so fifty years ago,” the large man announced, shooting Shayne a smug look.

“Things were different back then, Liam,” Shayne shot back.

“Unless the curse suddenly changed in the last fifty years, I would say that they’re exactly the same,” the man named Liam who looked so much like Shayne, Tristan now realized, said tightly, his brogue becoming more pronounced with each word.

An uneasy feeling crept up his spine, but he pushed it aside. He had more important matters to attend to, like his wife who was upstairs and finding out why she’d fired a gun. It had done a damn good job of waking him up and taking about ten years off of his life. The only thing that was stopping him from completely losing it was Shayne. If Marty was hurt, Shayne would be doing everything in his power to help her.

“Get. The. Fuck. Off. Me!” he snapped, emphasizing each word as he struggled to get free.

“Calm yerself, lad,” one of the men said.

“This is for the best,” another one of them said, but he wasn’t listening. At least he wasn’t listening to them, but to the heart-wrenching scream that tore through the house.

Fear shot down his spine and he swore that his heart stopped beating when he realized that it was Marty screaming. It was like nothing he’d ever heard before. He wasn’t sure how it happened, but one second he was standing in the kitchen, struggling to get to Marty and the next he was in their bedroom, his arms free and wrapped around Marty as she shook and cried in his arms.

“Ye son of a bitch!” he heard someone yell.

“No! Please, don’t! I didn’t mean to hurt her!” a new voice cried.

He pressed a kiss against the top of Marty’s head as he looked up and watched while Shayne and the six men who seemed determined to rid the world of him, circled around a man soaked in blood. Marty’s fingers dug into his skin. She held on tightly to him as she sobbed against his bad shoulder.