She’s lying. There’s more to it than that.
“Ahhh,” I say, circling the bed. I tap the crop on my hand and she flinches when it makes a snap sound. “So you’re the one in charge of policing us, then. Did you sign on with the police force, then? Did I miss your badge somewhere?”
“Oh fuck off,” she snaps, clearly forgetting she’s bound and at my mercy. She cringes when I raise the crop and snap it on her thigh.
“Watch that smart mouth, doll,” I warn. “I’ll not have you speaking to me that way.”
She grits her teeth and doesn’t answer.
“So who put you in charge, then?” I ask. “The villagers here, the local church and police, all know what we do. We’ve gotten along just fine until you came along.”
Her lips thin, and she looks away. I take the crop and place it on her cheek, guiding her eyes back to mine. She grits her teeth but looks my way.
“So answer me, Sheena. Why us? Why now? There are other mobs in Ireland you could just as easily trail.”
She looks away from me again, and her lack of response is telling. I’ve hit something here. Her vendetta against us is personal, as we’ve suspected.
She doesn't answer me. This isn't something she'll joke about. There's no smart retort, no wise crack. I've struck a nerve then. If this is something personal, I’ll have to dig deep to find out what the truth is. I pretend like I don't know, that she hasn't given anything away.
“So let me ask you a question, then,” I say. Standing in front of her again, I’m reminded why she’s here. I may have enjoyed dominating this woman, wielding my crop and belt and tasting those full, beautiful lips. I may enjoy the sight before me even now, while she’s restrained and at my mercy, bearing the marks I’ve inflicted on her.
But this isn’t about a quick, hard lay or a night of fucking.
This isn’t about picking up a girl at The Craic, or even about normal interrogation.
This woman has betrayed us. She’s dragged us through the mud and by Clan code, deserves death. My mission to extract the truth from her both vindicates The Clan and saves her from certain execution.
My phone rings again, and I go to answer it without taking my eyes off her. But when I lift my phone, no one’s calling. It rings again. Takes me a minute to realize it’s her phone that’s ringing, not mine.
She’s not getting this phone from me.
“Huh,” I mutter. “Same ringtone. That’s odd, isn’t it?”
Every mask that she wears falls when she realizes it’s her phone that’s ringing.
“Give it to me. Please, Nolan. Please let me answer my phone.”
Nolan? She’s supplicating with as much as she can muster, and it throws me off a bit. Why is she so desperate to answer the phone? Doesn’t she know anything she wants that badly is the very thing I won’t give her?
I look at the name on the caller I.D.
Tiernan.
Heated jealousy rips through me.
Her fucking boyfriend? She thinks I’ll let her talk to her fucking boyfriend?
I’m half tempted to whip her phone across the room and smash it. I go so far as to wind up to throw it, but she screams.
“No! Don’t. Please don’t!”
What kind of a woman with a boyfriend seduces a man with a blow job? I shut it off, shove it in my pocket, and stalk out of the room. I kick the door open, march to the large framed print above the sofa, and tear it aside. I flick open my safe, slide her phone in, then relock it. I place the painting back, toss the crop to the couch, and go to leave.
She can think about who she is, what she’s done, and what she’s yet to do for a good long while. I’m having my smoke and letting her fester.Chapter 6SheenaOh, God. Oh God.
Panic causes my breaths to come in ragged, shallow gasps. I’m drowning, unable to catch a breath. I made my way through the club, tried to seduce one of the most dangerous criminals in all of Ireland, got kidnapped and brought to their house, fucking punished and restrained and interrogated and nothing has made me panic until now.
Tiernan never calls me, but that ringtone’s specifically his. I have my phone set on silent unless he calls me, and he only ever rings in an emergency.
Oh God.
If he’s calling me, something terrible’s happened. I have to answer. It’s only been a matter of hours since I’ve seen him, and he wouldn’t call unless this was an emergency, I know he wouldn’t.
“Nolan!” I yell. If he hears me, he doesn’t answer.
“Nolan!”
Christ, even if I did get his attention, what would I say? Oh, hey, I know I’m your prisoner, but do me a favor and let me answer my phone?