“Who are you?” I ask him. I need to know. I imagine my future husband sent someone out to do his dirty work for him. Will this be someone I’ll share residence with? A mate of his? Maybe he’ll think it fun sport to share me with his brothers. I cringe to think of what awaits me next.
I expect he’ll ignore me, but he doesn’t. Instead, says in a low voice, “You’ll see soon enough. Come with me.”Chapter 5CormacI want to marry this woman now. I want to take her with me, make her mine, carry her away to my home in Ballyhock. Away from the men who hold her prisoner. Away from Martin and his filthy, conniving band of manky sons of bitches.
If her brother shows his motherfucking face, I’ll make him lose the few teeth he has remaining before I slit his thick, meaty throat. Happily.
She’s learned her lesson, I’ve no doubt. I reckon she’ll remember the way she squirmed under the cane I wielded. Christ knows I won’t forget it. For the first time since we’ve started all this, I’m grateful for the fucking duty I have to fulfill. I’m eager to claim the beautiful, innocent girl for my own.
And she is a fucking girl, her virginal body untouched. It’s a requirement for any arranged marriage between Clans, of course. But now that I’ve seen her, now that I’ve glimpsed her luscious curves and milky white skin, I long to take her beneath me, to fully claim the lass as mine.
She’s nine years my junior. The first time I took a man’s life, she was still in fucking grade school. But it’s no matter. Age is just a number for anybody. It’s even truer in families like ours, when social norms and expectations are shite.
I can imagine her smooth, soft skin beneath my palm, covered by thin fabric when I braced my hand on her lower back, when I wielded the cane on her upturned arse. I can still hear her soft cries, still feel her flinch in pain when the rod connected.
I whipped her soundly, and I’d do it again if I had to. And now something deep inside me wants to make it better. To wipe her tears and soothe the pain.
I wonder how she’ll react when she realizes who her punisher is.
I take her hand and lead her to where my men wait in silence. I’ve got to give her credit. She holds her head high, unblinking, though she winces a bit when she walks.
“Where are we going?” she asks.
“To meet your future husband, lass. You’re to be married now. Thought you knew that.”
“Like this?”
She gestures to her mangled clothing with her one free hand, the other pinned firmly in my grasp on her wrist.
I shrug. “That’s not part of my job. Though I reckon someone’ll fix you up first.”
We walk in silence for another moment before she asks another question.
“Do you know my husband?”
“Aye.”
She swallows hard. “You work with him, then.”
I don’t respond.
“Is he… is he an evil man?”
Christ, the way she feigns bravery but can’t mask her shaky voice raises my ire. What have the fucking Martins told her about me? But I want to see what she’s made of.
“They’re all evil, aren’t they?” I say truthfully. “You’re talking fucking mafia.”
She swallows hard. “I know, but…” her voice trails off as if she’s trying to collect her thoughts. “I thought… it’s just that… well, some are more evil than others.”
She isn’t wrong.
We both grow silent as we go up a flight of stairs. I was told to bring her to the library when we were finished. At the very top, we’re greeted by two of Martin’s brainless, beefy henchmen. They wear suits, their weapons drawn, both parked at either side awaiting us. They don’t acknowledge us at all but stand stock still.
“You don’t recognize them,” she says. “They didn’t greet you. You’re with the McCarthys, then.”
She doesn’t miss much. Very observant.
Martin greets us when we enter the hall, his voice tight and controlled. “She’s been punished, then?” he asks, his voice laced with utter disdain, as if he wishes he could have hurt her himself. Fucking bastard.
“Thoroughly.”
A muscle clenches in his jaw. He sweeps his eyes over to her. “Good,” he says. He looks at her as if she’s distasteful, pursing his lips and grimacing. “She ought to remember her place now.”
“Aye,” I growl.
I look over Martin’s shoulder to see Keenan standing, his eyes narrowed on Martin. “Hand her to me. I’ll see to it she’s brought to the ceremony and waits for her betrothed.”
I push her toward him, I’m that eager to get him away from Martin. She stumbles, and I take a step toward her to steady her. I right her. Martin’s narrowed, beady eyes watch my every move.
“I’ll be sure she—” Martin begins, but Keenan already has her, chastely holding her elbow and taking her toward the exit. He’s the one in charge now. Not Martin.