Jerking her chain, Byrne presses his foot into her slender back to force her to arch. Staring at her as he hastily pushes aside her hair with his free hand, I stuff my hands into my pockets to stop myself from strangling him right here. I can’t stain my mother’s most sacred space with the likes of him.
I can’t leave her to suffer his wrath either, though. He fuckin’ set me up, piece of shit. If I decline his ‘gift,’ he’d use it to say I’m not capable of managing the families. That I’m going to destroy the others one by one, starting with him. How do I get out of this situation?
“ If that thing is my gift,” I snarl, pointing at Byrne as my rage finds an outlet. An almost comical, light bulb moment brightens the room, and his expression twists in confusion. “Why are you dirtying it with your feet? How dare you present me with a birthday gift and then trample on it in the same minute!”
The atmosphere shifts noticeably as I storm the distance between us to grab the woman by the forearm, one of the only places her milky skin isn’t bruised. Byrne sputters stupidly, stumbling back onto two feet and dropping the heavy chain in shock.
I see red . . . I breathe flames.
My hand trembles as I push her hair down to unfasten the headdress bound too tight around her. The leather falls away to reveal cuts in her mouth and ears where the metal rivets had dug into her. Touching the bead of blood that dangles from her ear lobe, I watch it fall onto the ground in slow motion.
“Are you trying to gift me damaged goods?” Venom dribbles from my tongue, and Byrne pales as my gaze snaps to him. Over the woman’s head, I glare hotly at him. “I wouldn’t buy something this obviously used from a Goodwill for fifty cents, and you’re trying to pass it off as your best? This is the best you could do, Byrne? And not only that, but on my birthday, in front of my family, you’re trying to disrespect me this way?”
I sling question after question at Byrne that I know he can’t answer. His plan backfires spectacularly as he clams up. His face twists, beet red and angry, and all the attention he orchestrated now serves to berate him rather than congratulate him. This moment would only be better if he squawked like a parrot, but he simply turns on his heel and shuffles out the way he came. Briefly, I debate going after him, but a weight in my arms stalls my train of thought on the tracks.
The woman collapses against me, and my eyelid twitches in irritation as I hook an arm under her bruised knees. Disbelief plays the scenario over and over behind my eyes as I sit her in my vacant chair. Slumping over the armrest, she hiccups a breath despite seemingly being unconscious. She’s not shaking as bad anymore. Is that a good thing? I don’t know.
Tapping my outer thigh agitatedly, I tear my eyes off the woman to gesture to one of the service staff milling about. Taking a moment to breathe deeply, I clench my hand into a tight fist by my side.
“Everyone leave so I can decontaminate my mother’s garden.” My deceptively calm tone rings out in the silence, and I watch a man younger than me cover the unconscious woman with a thin tablecloth. Immediately, guests start to file out, not wanting to incur my anger. Shockingly, even Bella gets up and flees out of the very edge of my peripheral vision. Good, I’m too furious to deal with the likes of her right now.
Only my father, Aunt Fiona and I remain. My siblings know when I’m too angry myself to speak to them, so I’m pleased they know when I’m at my limit. I cover my mouth to hide my grimace while the reality of what just happened replays in my mind. Rocking back on my heels, I exhale a shaky breath through dry, stinging nostrils.
The woman in the chair cracks open her eyes, but it’s clearly a struggle. I crouch down, flicking a lock of her hair back to cup her chin. She gulps hard, her lips trembling as I finally see the color of her orbs.
“Son,” My dad calls, and the woman tenses as her irises disappear again. Her eyelids flutter, but she struggles to fight off that soul-sucking exhaustion caused by fear. “What are you thinking?”
“Go to sleep. You’re safe, I promise,” I murmur, ignoring the question for the moment. The woman blinks hard, and I reach to close her eyes forcefully with my palm. Shuffling to make the most of the chair cushion, she covers her head with the tablecloth. She’s beautiful . . . which is ironic considering the circumstances.
She’s a little, tiny animal hiding in a little, tiny space, and bemusement tickles my ribs as I straighten. Sure, she’s bruised, cut, and probably broken . . . but something about the woman calls me to her. After all, I did tell her she’s safe. I’m an O’Dea and we’re never the type to go back on our word.
I turn to my father, his eyes narrow and critical as they meet mine. “It was all I could think of to get out of it. I didn’t consider Byrne to be that much of a twisted shit. If I declined, he could use it as ammunition that I’m going to get rid of him and make a case that others are in danger as well.”
“It’d be difficult for Byrne to make a case considering his most recent fuck up,” He says, and I look over as my father strokes his chin thoughtfully. “Though, I do seem to remember how uncertain my takeover was for the families. It was the smart thing to do—make it personal against him, not his position.”
“They routinely shit themselves trying to be valuable, Colin,” Aunt Fiona says, her eyes flashing with pride as she scans me shrewdly. “What’re you going to do about the repercussions of this? Byrne needs to be replaced, and now, no one can deny it’s only a matter of time. We might’ve known for a while, but with your contract with Bella, we staved off the rumors. She publicly denounced her father and his idiocy as a power play, but if he falls before you’re married . . .”
“You mean if he’s taken out or kills himself first. Byrne will never let himself fall,” I correct my aunt warily, reaching to pinch the bridge of my nose. “I’m hoping he kills himself and saves me the trouble, but if not well . . . I honestly don’t give a fuck. I don’t appreciate getting a person as a present, and that motherfucker has the audacity to put his fucking foot on her in front of me. Not to mention, she’s all bruised and banged up. At the very least, make sure she doesn’t look so pathetic.” I may sound like a resident asshole, but the only thing running through my mind is the sinister smirk on his face as he did it. What a disgusting pig.
“I wonder why he did it,” Aunt Fiona says, her voice lilting ominously. Curiosity raises my brows, and she points at the girl in the chair with suspicion darkening her eyes. “Why does she look so . . . deplorable? Why did Byrne make such a huge show just to give you a girl that looks like that? Why kick her in front of you? Byrne may seem like a fumbling idiot short term, but he’s always known how to play the long game. Nearly being caught by the FBI wasn’t even due to his mistake, remember. It was because he got sold out by his son after the kid got caught himself.”
“I don’t know,” I admit, my gaze finding this small, frail woman hiding under the tablecloth. “I suppose I’ll have to ask, and if she tells the truth, maybe I’ll let her live if that’s what she wants.”
“Sir,” Irritation burns my eyes until they land on my mother’s head maid.
What’s her name again? Ah, yes, Kaitlyn.
I shake my head roughly; taking the bleach bottle and towel she holds out listlessly. “Would you like me to put the girl upstairs?”
“No. I’ll be leaving shortly. I need to think this through,” I say, and turn to my father and aunt to nod at them. “You’re still welcome to come tomorrow, of course. I just want to gather what I know and hopefully talk to this one a bit before committing anything more to the issue.”
Chapter Three
Cian
“She lives,” I muse while the woman blinks blearily, and I shut the door quietly behind me. She lays on the floor, not the bed I put her in the night before. The red marks on her face are covered in liquid band-aid, but her oceanic blue eyes are crystal clear and sharp. “Why are you on the floor?”
Staring at me in almost a creepy, unblinking way, she doesn’t answer, and I step deeper into the room. Suddenly, sh
e scoots back half under the bedso quickly, I would’ve missed it if I blinked. The bemusement of finding her face down on the floor vanishes, and I purse my lips thinly. I sit down in the middle of the room, crossing my legs to brace myself on my palms behind me. Bright, blue eyes gleam with suspicion, but she doesn’t hide any deeper.
“I’m Cian. What’s your name?” I ask as thoughts whiz in my mind as fast as I can toss them aside. This woman’s painfully aware, painfully understanding. . . painfully everything. The fact that she isn’t a broken husk is clear in her eyes as they sparkle suspiciously. She’s either got the mental fortitude of a brick wall, or she’s new. “How long did Byrne have you?”
“It’s S-sorcha,” She croaks, and my chest tightens as her voice scrapes my ear drums. Licking her lips, she rests her temple on the carpet to relax a little. “Five years. Happy birthday.”
“Thank you. I turned twenty-eight,” I say quizzically. “Sorcha? That’s not a name I hear every day. Why’d Byrne do this to you?”
“He wants me to spy on you so he won’t lose his comfy couch and second breakfast.” She mutters, struggling a bit, and I tense in alarm. Leaning down to look at her more easily, I frown at the conviction and pure hatred glistening in her eyes. Very carefully, Sorcha worms out from under the bed, her long, lithe limbs angling sharply. Her breasts bounce as she hugs herself protectively, her arms and face a stark contrast to the traditional places I’d expect to see marks of abuse. The huge, red mark on her ass glows as she sits gingerly on her ankles.
Wait, those are movie references.
“Why would you say that? Did you overhear him or something?” I ask warily, and Sorcha frowns as she scans me critically. Slowly, I hold up my hands in surrender. “I’m not in the habit of hurting people for no reason, Sorcha. I just want answers. If you could give them to me, I’d be grateful. I wondered yesterday, too. . . why only your face and arms? Was it to make me more sympathetic to you? Am I simply playing into that idiot’s greasy hands by bringing you back here?”
“I volunteered,” Sorcha points at her face, riddled with tiny cuts and red indents. “Because I hate him, and I want him to pay for everything he did to me. He told me if I helped him, he’d let me go.”
“Help him do what?” Bracing my palms on my knees, I tap my fingers thoughtfully as Sorcha appraises me like a piece of meat. A sardonic smirk stretches my lips, and I shake my head. “Don’t stop now. You’d only make a better case for yourself by elaborating. You can’t just say ‘I volunteered to spy on you for him’ without telling me the rest, Sorcha.”
She keeps her mouth shut, though, to grab the thin sheet on the bed and wrap it around her. Sorcha’s eyes never leave mine, not wavering in the slightest. I don’t know what to make of her. Clearly, she wants out; why else would she escape Byrne just to get caught in the claws of a worse monster? The risk was worth it, if she could pull it off. Except she hasn’t made up her mind about me, yet.
I tense when Sorcha crawls the few, short feet to me. Her wild hair flirts with the carpet, and my heart stutters at the thick, wide scars running down her back. Some of them stretch from her shoulder blade to her ass cheek, are pink and puffy, and I hold my breath. Obviously, I’m wrong. “What are you doing?”
“Look at me,” Sorcha breathes against my chin, and my gaze snaps to hers. All the rage of a woman on a mission glared back at me as fire flickering in her orbs. The blue of her eyes tinged green from the emotions she lays bare to me, and I suck in a sharp, shallow breath. “Are you going to kill Byrne?”
“ Eventually,” I reply, the answer rolling sluggishly off my tongue. Her eyes flare, and Sorcha covers my hands with hers to lean in uncomfortably close to me. The smell of her wafts up my nostrils, and I crane my neck away to clear the tightness from my throat. “What are you doing, exactly?”
“You don’t like this,” Sorcha pulls back, giving me space to breathe, and I blink hard as I catch myself. Turning back to her, my chest tightens as she smiles a tiny, genuinely relieved tilt of her mouth. “That’s good. My mom always told me that anyone who was never uncomfortable was never worth trusting.”
“I have a feeling you’re not the kind of person to hide under the bed, Sorcha,” I say, curiosity sticking to my ribs like tar, and her smile widens a bit. She winces, covering her mouth, and the sheet falls from her shoulder. Goosebumps blanket her body, and she shivers before I clear my throat to redirect the conversation. “Tell me about what Byrne is trying to do. We can work something out, you and I.”
“It started becoming a known issue when his son got caught and threw him under the bus,” Sorcha begins, grabbing the sheet to pull it tight around her. Gathering the extra fabric into her lap, she covers her head before continuing. Maybe, it’s a tic. She’s been with Byrne for years, and who knows what she had to do to maintain her sanity. “Everyone heard him screaming. I got caught a few times, and he’d grumble about how he should’ve killed Marrin when he was born. How he regretted letting him live. It’s not a secret that Marrin tried to save himself by giving Byrne up, but he didn’t take it well at all. And then, Bella went in front of everyone and denounced the entire Byrne family, and that only made him even more mad.”
“Are you saying he didn’t tell her to do it?” I ask sharply, and Sorcha nods firmly as I tighten my grip on my knees. “I’d thought he tried to salvage the situation by removing her from it so he could cling to whatever little power the contract would give him.”
“No, she did it on her own. I don’t know why, but after that, Byrne went off his rocker a bit,” She confirms, and I cup my chin as my thoughts beat against the backs of my eyes. “Then, when your engagement to her was announced, Byrne started talking about destroying you from the inside for ruining his life and family. I don’t know how why his twisted mind immediately went there, , but he told me if I got any useful information on you, he’d let me go. That if I contributed to O’Dea’s downfall, I would be freed.”
Surprise rockets through me when Sorcha smirks a little, a bitter amusement flickering in her eyes. Everything she said seems genuine, but how much can I trust her? She made her choice to tell me these things, but what am I going to do about it?
“He sent you, who has every reason to despise him, to a place he can’t get to, where you’d be free to do and say anything, and . . . he expects you to do the job rather than just appeal to me? You already know he wouldn’t let you go, Sorcha,” I say astonishedly, and she sits back against the bed almost leisurely. Her shoulders unknot from her ears, and Sorcha nods as she unfolds her legs. Little toes wiggle and flex out of the very bottom edge of my vision, but I ignore them to frown at her. “Why, if he thought there was any chance in Hell, would he do that?”
“You know,” She starts, and my brow twitches in interest. Turning her face from mine, her smile droops, and shadows play on her fragile features. “I may or may not have led him to think that, after everything, the only way to cope was to convince myself I loved him, and everything he did was his way of showing me he loved me, too. Honestly, you might be shocked how difficult it was. It took me a long, long time, almost two years. Sometimes, I even believed it myself when things got really bad.”
Shocked silence thickens the air between us, and Sorcha retreats under her blanket with each passing second. All I can do is stare, wondering who the fuck she was and how in the absolute shit had she managed to con Byrne? “How old are you, Sorcha?”
“Twenty-seven,” She grumbles, hiding behind her sheet; like she thinks I can’t see her if she can’t see me. Or, maybe, it’s to alleviate the pressure of this all. I imagine this is quite the ordeal. “I was about to graduate from college with my bachelor’s in criminal psychology.”
“Ho—” I catch myself, and Sorcha peeks out at me from behind the sheet. My mind works furiously, and I cover my mouth to hide my frown. Closing my eyes, I take a deep breath to gather myself as this conversation spirals out of my wildest dreams. “Okay so . . . how did Byrne get his hands on you, then?�
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“I’m not telling you that,” Sorcha glares in warning, and I exhale slowly with a sharp nod. “I want him to suffer. It’s for a good reason. As long as you believe that . . .”
“I think your hatred for him is genuine, Sorcha,” I assure her, and she pulls back her makeshift curtain as relief softens her face. Slowly, I haul myself to my feet, and she immediately pulls her knees to her chest and hugs them tightly. I step away, rubbing my face and up into my hair with my palm. “I need some time to think this over, but you’re in no danger here. I’ll have someone bring you something to eat and wear. There’s a remote on the nightstand, you can watch whatever you want. Breathe, and know you won’t have to face anything like what you did with that pig.”
“Can I …” Sorcha pauses uncertainly, and I arch a brow quizzically as she covers her face again. “Can I have anything I want to eat?”
“Yes. Anything you want, Sorcha. If you ask me, you deserve whatever you want. No one should have to endure life with him.” Reassuring her, my cheek twitches as her breath hitches loudly. My heart squeezes when the sheet rustles, and I walk over to gingerly put my hand on her head. Sorcha’s golden locks shine, and a thin film of grease coats my palm. “Take a shower, too. No one will barge in on you. No one will stop you. It’s over now, Sorcha. You can finally rest here.”
Chapter Four
Sorcha
Covering myself hastily, I shovel the last of my French fries into my mouth as the door to my room opens slowly. Cian’s eyes seem to rip through the protective sheet, and I tense when a large, warm palm caresses my head briefly. It’s a habit of his I’m noticing, something he’s been doing when he comes to see me, and I may be enjoying it just a bit. throat tightens, and the bed dips by my shoulder as he sits next to me.
Callous King (The O'Dea Crime Family Book 1) Page 2
