“Seems like it,” Keenan says with a mirthless smile. He yanks a straight-backed wooden chair from the table where the older man sits and pushes me to sitting. I bow my head and stare at my hands, because I don’t want to see them looking at me. I hate it here. I hate these men. I don’t want to give them the satisfaction of eye contact.
“Tell me, son,” the older man says. I look up quickly, my plan to look away forgotten that quickly. The older man is Keenan’s father. Are the others his brothers?
“We went to the lighthouse as we discussed, though nothing there clued us in,” he begins. I clench my palms. Who do they think they are, trespassing on my property without my permission? And what do they mean, nothing clued them in?
“Saw signs there was more than one person living there, though,” he says. “I noted that the vantage point of the lighthouse gives full visibility to the ports and harbor.”
What does that matter?
The older man nods wordlessly, and Keenan continues.
They recount what happened, and I watch, still gagged and humiliated, as they relay what they did while on my property. Tears well in my eyes I can’t wipe away, for these men have been cruel. They trespassed on my property, violated my privacy, and took me against my will. What will they do next?
“Well done, Cormac,” the man says, without taking his eyes off Keenan. Cormac doesn’t respond, and Keenan continues.
“When we got outside, we heard a little noise in the garden shed. We investigated and found the girl hidden in the shed. When we opened the door, she attacked us, so we had no choice but to restrain her.”
“Define attacked,” the man says.
“She tried to hit me with a trowel and kneed Cormac in the bollox,” Keenan says. The two men on either side of the older man, the leader of this group, snicker, but one stern look from their leader, and they quickly sober.
“Did you punish her?”
My pulse races, and I feel my entire body grow cold and still. I try to swallow but my throat won’t work. Punish me? For what?
Keenan shakes his head. “Not yet, sir.”
My heart taps a crazy, erratic beat in my chest. Not yet?
The older man grows impossibly sterner, his brows drawn tightly together, his lips curving downward. I shudder. He’s terrifying. “Not yet? Explain yourself.”
He’s expected to have already done so? Why?
“What we found her in possession of required immediate attention, sir.” His jaw tightens, gaze unwavering. “But I won’t neglect her punishment.”
He plans on punishing me, then?
“Good,” his father says. “You don’t need me to remind you how essential it is you establish immediate respect. The girl will learn her place, and swiftly. No one raises a hand to the heir to the throne. No one.”
Heir to the throne?
“Absolutely.”
“You’ll give her her first lesson before the sun sets, or you’ll answer to me.”
Keenan’s gaze doesn’t waver. “Yes, sir. You have my word, sir.”
“Now show me what you found.”
They lay the items they took of my father’s on the table in front of them. I’m so angry at them for taking his things, for violating him and me this way. I try to protest, I try to grab them, but my protests are muffled behind the gag, the bonds holding fast. Tears of frustration and anger trail down my cheeks. My nose tingles, and the lump in my throat wells while I cry in silent misery. The weight of grief I feel from my father’s death seems heavier to bear because of what they’ve done.
How could he have left me like this? Defenseless, and in possession of something as volatile as these things appear to be?
“What are they?” the older man asks Keenan.
“Every fucking transaction we’ve made since last year. Names of who we’ve hired, payouts made and received, every single one of our arms contacts.”
The small group of men curses. One mutters, “She’s a motherfucking spy?”
“Obviously, ya wanker,” one says, and then the older man holds up a hand for silence. He turns his impenetrable gaze to mine.
“Remove her gag. Give her a chance to explain herself.”
I wonder even now if I should tell them the truth, but it seems disrespectful to the memory of my father to tell them anything. They’ve already taken me here and have no qualms about hurting me. Why would they believe me?
Keenan stalks to me, his face set in granite, and yanks a sharp blade from his boot. I blink and try to back away as he approaches me, but I can’t. Is he going to cut me? Right now, right here, in front of all of them? The bounds keep me tightly secured, and the men surround me.
The bullies. The cowards. As if a girl like me, unarmed, could do a thing to defend herself?