Keenan (Dangerous Doms 1)

Keenan and Cormac exit. Keenan hands one of the men a set of keys, and the possessions he stole from the shed. I don’t even know what the items are, but they were my fathers, and it seems wrong that this man just marches in and takes them like a great big bully.

He’s issuing orders left and right, and men are promptly moving to obey. “Alert my father that we need to speak to him promptly. He turns to Cormac. “Bring in Nolan and Boner.”

They need more men to deal with me? I’m unarmed and ignorant. Why such a reaction?

What did my father do?

Cormac nods. Though Cormac’s bigger, Keenan’s in charge, then. But when Keenan opens my door and yanks me out, I’m reminded he isn’t exactly little himself. Though I’m tall, I’m weakened from hunger and no match for this muscled, fierce man. He pulls me out of the car as if I’m a little doll, gripping my arm so painfully, I pull away instinctively in self-preservation. I can’t speak because of the gag, but if I could, I’d have plenty to say. I kick my foot at his shin. It worked once before. He easily deflects my kicks and gives me a fierce shake.

“Don’t you dare,” he growls. “Unless you’d like to be properly punished before we’ve even entered.” I shiver in fear. I’m outnumbered and in danger. It’s a reminder of my decision to not fight, not this time, at least.

I walk quickly to keep up with his large strides, observing everything I can on my way. The garage houses rows of expensive-looking cars, well-cared for and in pristine condition. A small staircase leads up to a large door, and when we step into the house, there’s a door to the left. I look quickly and surmise it’s the kitchen, though of course I’ve never seen anything quite like it. My little kitchen at home could fit into the corner of that room and be swallowed whole. There are people bustling around in there, and several look curiously our way, but I’m quickly whisked away to the right.

We walk down a large, brightly lit hallway. I’ve read of places like this, with rooms upon rooms. How I’d love to explore this place without the watchful, angry eye of these men on me. It smells clean and welcoming, mild notes of cinnamon and nutmeg in the air. At the end of the hallway, we step through a doorway that opens to a large, airy entryway. A massive, intricately-carved doorway stands slightly ajar. Everything here is whites and ivory, blinding and beautiful. I look up, the ceiling so high I couldn’t touch it if I stood on the topmost rung of a ladder.

I take this all in in seconds, as Keenan drags me to a doorway in the hall, and before I know what’s going on, we’re descending a flight of stairs. I stumble, weak from hunger and dazed from the sudden turn of events, but he quickly turns, lifts me in his arms, and carries me down the rest of the stairs. For one split second, my hands encircle his neck instinctively, and I gasp from the nearness and raw, masculine power that radiates off him in waves. I swallow hard, but before I can even form a cohesive thought, he tosses me back to my feet and continues his rapid march to wherever his destination is.

I hear voices before I see them, and when he drags me into a room, I nearly black out from the fear that hits me in the chest.

We aren’t alone. There are men here. Lots of them. Scary, muscled, terrifying men, and their eyes are on me.

This room is nothing like upstairs. It’s windowless and dark, the only light cast from overhead lighting. I look around wildly, panic gripping my chest. The stark barrenness of this room incites even more fear. It isn’t just what I see. It’s what I don’t. There’s no natural light, no fresh air. No sounds echo beyond the walls of this room. Whereas upstairs smells homey and welcoming, this room smells sterile and cold, like fear and desperation. I don’t need them to tell me they do wicked, evil things in this room.

The men watch me, their gazes predatory and calculating, and I shiver when I realize my predicament. I’m one helpless female in a sea of dangerous, evil men. This room is a makeshift prison, and I wonder if it harkens back to a medieval dungeon of sorts. The rest of the house looks modern and sleek, but they’ve left this room untouched.

One man, easily the oldest of them all, with gray in his hair and beard, sits at a plain black table, his eyes fixed on me unblinkingly.

“I see you found what Father Finn referenced?”

The men around him chuckle nervously, as if trying to placate him and unsure of what he’ll do next.