I purse my lips thinly, but my dismal silence is all the answer Cian needs. His shocked expression tinges red, eyes narrowing into slits beneath their thoughtful clouds. I tense when he stands up, sauntering over to the dresser to pull open the middle drawer. He takes out an array of t-shirts before settling on a bright one, and unease worms through my veins.
“Why are you trying so hard?” I ask, my voice a shaky whisper, and Cian turns to me with level, fiery eyes. The heat from my breakfast seeps through the plate and burns my thighs, and cautious curiosity rampages through my chest. “I already told you I’ll help you get Byrne. You don’t need to be nice to me.”
“I know I don’t need to. I want to,” He declares gravely, and my breath hitches as Cian walks back to me, shirt in hand. Looming over me, he unfurls the shirt to show off the pristine, green and I wince at the saturated color. “You intrigue me. You’re intelligent, and you survived being brutalized by Byrne for five years. Sure, you’ve got some damage, but not as much as one should expect. I know you’ll help with him, but who’s gonna help you, huh?”
My mouth dries, and I frown up at Cian before he jerks his chin at me. I set my plate on the bed, slowly standing despite my fraying nerves. I hold my sheet tighter around me, and he frowns in disapproval. Snatching the shirt under his pointed look, a palpable shift ripples through the room as I scramble into it.
The neck’s tight. The short sleeves tickle my biceps, and the shirt was so long it stops at my mid-thigh. Hooking my fingers under the neckline, I tug hard, and the tick-tick of ripping threads floods the small space between me and Cian. Satisfaction tilts the corners of his mouth while I frown in distress. Clutching at the shirt, discomfort slithers between my shoulder blades.
“Not so bad, right?” He prods gently, and I shake my head. Cian doesn’t push me for more, and I grab my plate to sit on the floor once again. “Now . . . about what I wanted to talk to you about, Sorcha.”
Chapter Six
Cian
I step into my bedroom to pause at the sleek, toned body displayed on my bed. Bella gestures me wordlessly with a crook of her long finger, her eyes gleaming in the gloom of drawn curtains. Scanning her long legs, the wide flare of her hips, I scoff in disgust and roll my eyes. Immediately, her sultry expression sours. She sits up to cross her arms under her bust, shoving her tits up higher for my viewing pleasure. Only, she doesn’t understand. I loathe the woman. Sure, others have had arranged marriages in the past. Hell, my parents did too, but they made it work. Bella and I will never be able to make anything work.
“You can’t ignore me forever, Cian,” her voice dripping with venom. Walking to Bella’s clothes neatly folded on the nightstand, I grab them to throw them at her. Like fuck I can’t ignore her forever, and her temptation makes no difference. After all, I know what lays behind those thick lips and big eyes. “Cian!”
“Get out. If I want you, I’ll call for you,” I snarl nastily, and she gapes in affront, covering her throat with her hand. “Don’t make me tell you again, Bella. I won’t be nice about it.”
“How are we going to do this if you can’t tolerate me?” She questions, and I still to level Bella with my gaze. Irritation ravages my chest, and the fire reflects in her ocean blue eyes. Scowling, she pulls her shirt over her head before throwing her long, perfectly toned legs over the edge of the bed. “Seriously, Cian. We’re going to be married in less than a year. You need to get over it.”
“You’re assuming I’d touch you afterwards. I won’t,” I say callously, and Bella freezes as her eyes, wide and alarmed, meet mine. My dislike of the situation boils over, and I gesture around me in a sweeping motion. “Do you think marrying me comes with no risks? Do you want to know the percentage of women in my family that have been targeted by people looking to weaken the O’Deas? I’ll give you a hint—every one of them. Have you forgotten what happened to my cousin’s fiancée? Sofia was shot in the head when she was pregnant and died.”
Bella pales considerably at my revelation, slumping as she drops her thong to slide and hangs it around her ankles. I chuff a disgusted sound and shake my head, wondering if she really hasn’t considered what this contract means for her. It means she’s a risk. She’s prey and it’s constantly open hunting season. All women in the mafia are, whether you’re an O’Dea or a Mackenzie. Anyone associated with us is in grave danger.
“You’re right, Bella. I’m marrying you in less than a year. But the contract doesn’t include children or that I have to get you back if you’re kidnapped. I don’t have to save you if your life is in danger. I don’t have to protect you in any way. This contract is advantageous to me, because I have to save your fucking family from collapse,” I spit, reaching to grab her by the jaw and force her to look at me. Bella whimpers, sniveling back as her true, pathetic nature shows. Squeezing until she cries out in pain, I dig my nails into her fresh, soft skin that she prizes so highly and lean to whisper in her ear. “How’s this? I can do this all night long.”
I purr in her ear, relishing her violent shiver, and duck to soak up the fear that rolls off her in waves. All Bella has is her beauty, but she’s weak and inflexible. There’s certainly no charm or wit under this beautiful shell. Not only does she lack brains, but she doesn’t understand her place at the fucking bottom of the ladder.
“Now, get the fuck out of my room,” I jerk her head hard, and Bella flails off the bed with a wrenching cry. She isn’t sexy as she trips over her thong before yanking it up with trembling fingers. She doesn’t dare look at me, rushing out of my bedroom, and I wipe my hand on my shirt to rid myself of her stain. “I need someone to come change my sheets.”
I inhale deeply, closing my eyes, and hold my breath to starve the anger simmering in my veins. The silence rings in my ears, and gradually, Sorcha’s image wafts out of the abyss behind my eyelids.
Pinching the bridge of my nose, I bluster a rough sigh and flop my head back, rocking on my heels. For days, I’ve resisted the urge to go to Sorcha and talk to her. To figure out what she’s all about. To discover how she’s managed to avoid the sway of Byrne’s torture. One moment, she said something with such clinical expertise, and the next, she was shielding herself from me like a child who didn’t understand the rules of hide-and-seek.
I convinced Byrne I was in love with him, and his treatment was proof of his love for me.
What a fucking mental acrobat I would’ve loved front row seats to see. Sorcha played the long game and was intelligent enough to pull it off. Her feat, escaping Byrne so seamlessly—I want to applaud her! And now she’s on my side with her terrifying mind.
Though, I can’t place if she’s terrifying, or terrified at the moment. I crack open my eyes to stare at the ceiling. I’ll crack her open eventually. What I need to do is consider my next steps carefully.
I walk to my closet to throw open the door, kneeling down at the back of the space to palm the safe. Rolling my jaw absently, my fingers deftly turn the knob to unlock the heavy, secure box. Bella’s image flashes in my mind’s eye, and a soft scoff flows from my nose.
What’s wrong with a man being unable to feel safe in his own home? Grabbing the folder tucked inside, I sit back against the wall between drapes of silk shirts.
I flip open the thick folder, a handful of notes and slips of paper threaten to fall into my lap. Sorcha had said that criminality is respective to the institution against which it’s directed. What kind of crimes did Byrne perpetrate against me? For years, his house had been in decline due to his attempts to get his idiot son into the business.
A tickle of a thought passes behind my eyes; if Byrne had spent even a modicum of his intent and time on Bella, she would at the very least be competent. Yet, he’d pounded into her that her only worth was to marry into my family somehow. Despite my repugnance towards her, Bella’s a sad state.
But pity plays no part in this game, and I shake my head viciously. Bella’s who she is, made into what her father wanted her to be, and the reasons why
don’t matter.
“Cian?” The soft voice strokes my ear drums deceptively, and I grunt loudly in greeting before my sister pokes her head into the closet. Siobhan smiles wryly, wandering in to sit across from me. The closet isn’t so small that our feet almost touch, but she leans over her knees to stare at me shrewdly. “What’re you thinking? About Byrne?”
“Yes. The woman Byrne gifted me gave me some useful information,” I reply, reaching to rub my scalp thoughtfully. “I wanted to ask you, too, what do you think he could be planning? I’m less concerned with his goals than how he could achieve them. According to Sorcha, Bella abandoned her father of her own free will. He didn’t order her to for the sake of appearances and her bid to be my wife.”
“Sorcha?” Siobhan clicks her teeth, resting against the shoe rack to take a deep breath and hold it. Her long, brown hair’s tied up on her head in a loose bun, and she taps her knees with slender palms. Her face is a perfect mask of wonder. My sister licks her lips heavily before her gaze meets mine. “Well, Byrne knows he can’t woo you the way he did Dad. With the FBI nearly catching him, his son in jail, and his daughter denouncing him, he doesn’t have the recourses or the standing to leverage you. My thoughts immediately turn to him trying something to you that only he would then be able to fix, but . . . I can’t think of what that might be. He has nothing you need. You’re the future Boss of Boston after all. What else could you need?”
That’s in line with what Sorcha said. I ponder within the gated confines of my own mind, setting my head back against the wall to stare into space.
Byrne needs a bluff, and to be flexible. Both those require something plausible to happen that sways in his favor.
“What’re you thinking, Cian?” Siobhan mumbles inquisitively, and I rub my jaw and neck roughly.
“Byrne blames us for his failures as a parent and a major family head, but he’s not justified, which is why he’s trying to come at us from the inside. He ensured I’d take Sorcha in by going over the top, making her look pathetic—”
“You’re known for your heroism, dear brother,” Siobhan grins widely as she cuts me off, and I cast her a pointed look. “Continue.”
“She has no directions or any specifics to look for, though,” I frown as my thoughts churn over the arch of my sister’s sweeping hand. She nods, pulling her knees up to rest her chin on them under tightly knit brows. “She was told to come here and spy on me, and if she did well, he’d let her go. Sorcha isn’t stupid. Far from it, in fact. She planned this, maybe for years, to get away from him, and he fell for it. Byrne has to recognize that she’d flip once she wasn’t under his thumb anymore. He’d only be able to get this trick to work once, though. He can’t implant someone else naturally into my home. I highly doubt the possibility escaped him.”
“So, does that mean Bella’s the spy and this other woman is here to trick you?” She asks gravely, her voice dribbling with distaste. Fuck, I’m so proud of my dear sister. She’s one of the smartest of my siblings. I should’ve known Siobhan would catch on. “That would mean Dad put you in a position like this on purpose, and I don’t think he’d do that. Not when it comes to the contract.”
“Supposedly, Bella did it on her own, and Byrne went ballistic afterwards,” I reveal, and Siobhan’s expression morphs in thought. Rubbing my shoulders, my back tightens to my bones as Sorcha’s mangled body flashes across my eyes when I blink. “I can’t ignore the possibility it was an act, but I also know Bella is incapable of thinking this far ahead or with any particular depth. No doubt, she did it, because she wants to cling to this life. Bella’s not cultivated enough to understand the shadow behind the grand tapestry. Not to mention. . .”
“The terms of the contract,” Siobhan says ominously, and I jerk my head in a nod. “I wonder why they’re so unfavorable not just to her, but to you, too, Cian. No children? No protection? Nothing? It’s almost as if it’s nothing more than to appease the situation and get rid of a potential enemy.”
“That’s my thinking as well. Right now, Bella’s trying her hardest to earn my favor, but that’s nothing more than flashing her tits. She has no other negotiating skills, and if Dad was looking for someone innocuous, she’s perfect for the role. I think,” I pause as Siobhan gags in disgust, a grim smirk tilting my lips briefly. “I wouldn’t be surprised if Dad did this to get everyone off my back for a while so I can deal with Byrne in peace. That’s what the contract says to me, at least.” Our father is a brilliant bastard, and he’s been playing this game for far longer than I’ve been alive. So has my Aunt Fiona.
“Hmm,” She holds her knees with her palms, shaking her head under my curious gaze. “I think, when you’re dealing with someone that doesn’t have a plan, you can only be on the backfoot. This woman, Sorcha, she’s valuable. I think it’d be best to utilize her as Byrne intended.”
“Yeah, I’ve already told her she’s going to be introduced as a housekeeper when I spoke with her after breakfast this morning. She starts tomorrow,” I reply flippantly, suck in a sharp breath and hold it. Discomfort slithers between my ribs. “If Bella’s departure was an act, I’ll know soon enough.”
Chapter Seven
Sorcha
Anxiety ripples down my back and legs as suspicious eyes scan me heavily. Cian’s head maid, a woman in her sixties, maybe, frowns openly, hostility thickly glazing her stare.
“I’ll get her a—”
“That won’t be necessary, Kaitlyn. She’ll wear this fine,” Cian cuts her off smoothly, his voice authoritative as it settles on my shoulders. Gulping down the dense lump in my throat, I stare at my bare feet even when the older woman’s gaze leaves me. The t-shirt and loose, soft shorts Cian provided me with cling to my skin uncomfortably, and I grip the front of my shirt with clammy palms. “I probably don’t need to tell you this, but be gentle with her. She’s had it rough. As of today, Sorcha is doing only light work. Carpets, laundry, common spaces, etcetera. No kitchen, no bedrooms, and certainly not my office.”
“Of course, sir.” Kaitlyn replies obediently, and I tense up as Cian puts a hand on my shoulder before walking off through his home. Clenching my jaw hard as a heavy silence descends on me, I chance a look at her. She smiles tightly, the lines around her mouth deepening with distaste. Suspicion blazes so clearly from her eyes, dull with age, and she smooths the front of her shirt stiffly.
“Um—”
“We’ll assume for a moment you’re not completely useless,” She snipes sharply, and I clamp my lips shut. My mouth dries as she gestures me to follow dismissively, my knees popping in protest. “You’ll start with the living room.”
Plodding behind her, I tighten my grip on my shirt as Kaitlyn stops in front of a closet at the lip of a hallway. I look over, the short portal leading directly to a large kitchen. Holding myself taut, my gaze wanders back to the large living room. My bedroom was large, too.
This house is designed a lot like the house I rented a room in during college. The thought zaps my brain, and images brand the backs of my eyelids whenever I blink. A wide, short hallway separates the living room and kitchen, but the dining room was probably open. There’s an office on the first floor to compensate square footage on the second floor. Or that’s what I think, anyway. I don’t know the layout for sure.
But Cian’s home seems a lot bigger than it is. That, I’m positive about.
“Here,” Crashing through my thoughts, Kaitlyn thrusts a bucket into my arms, and I grunt lowly from the force she uses. She sneers openly at me, briefly losing her composure before fixing her expression. Still, she can’t hide how much she hates me from her eyes, and I wrap my arms around the red, oval bucket. I don’t blame her, if I were the head maid, I wouldn’t want to be training some lost cause. Bending to grab a smallish shop-vac, she pushes the wheeled drum to bite my shins. “Follow me.”
Working the bucket handle over my arm, the contents rattle to catch my attention. A big, stiff brush and a smaller soft brush clink around, and alarm bells rin
g in my ears.
She’s going to make me wash a carpet by hand?
“Um—”
“Hurry up, or do you want to make me mad on your very first day?” She glares at me, and my cheek twitches before I shake my head mutely. Grabbing the handle to the vacuum, I drag it along behind her as she strides to the other end of the living room. All the furniture has already been piled up in the opposite corner, between the hallway and the front of the house. Unease worms deep into my gut, and I grit my teeth. “Start here. I’ll get you water and soap.”
Snatching the red bucket, Kaitlyn marches off toward the kitchen, and I watch her go. So, it’s going to be like this? Of course, it is.
Hugging myself loosely, I close my eyes and take a deep, stabilizing breath and hold it before exhaling slowly. When Cian suggested this, that I become a housekeeper, I knew the staff would be harsh. Kaitlyn’s justified in being suspicious, and I only have one option now.
Take it quietly. Like always.
I just have to do this, and then I’ll be free. Cian promised me freedom and it’s something I’ll gladly take. I trust him much more than Byrne, and Cian is the lesser of two evils. Callous, yes, but much better than what I was used to. My heart aches as his image blossoms in my mind. Our conversation floods my thoughts, and I take solace in his phantom words. I just have to do what he says.
I crack open my eyes to find Kaitlyn eyeballing me shrewdly, and the blood drains from my face at the disgusting amount of steam rising from the bucket. Bubbles cling to the lip, and she sets it down with a harshness that makes the water slosh out over the side. Steam billows as the water seeps into the carpet, and I flex my fingers in foreboding.
“D-do you have gloves for me?” I ask tentatively, already knowing the answer. Kaitlyn scoffs and rolls her eyes, and I bite back a frown. “You need to give me gloves. The water’s too hot.”
Callous King (The O'Dea Crime Family Book 1) Page 4
