by Jane Henry
“What is it?” I whisper, conscious of how easily we could be overheard at the door.
“I… I don’t like my belly,” she whispers.
“What?”
Is she crazy?
“I don’t… don’t touch me there,” she says, squeezing her eyes shut as if it pains her to say it.
“What?” I whisper angrily.
“It makes me feel so fat and chubby when you look at my belly. It’s your fault I have no knickers on, nothing to hold in my… jiggles.”
She’s mad. Absolutely mad.
“You’re out of your mind,” I hiss in a whisper. I don’t want to be overheard either. “Your belly’s fucking perfect.”
Her eyes fly open and she looks at me warily. “You’re just saying that.”
I will literally never understand women. My patience is also at a low.
“I am not just saying that, and if you say such a thing again, I’ll take you over my lap for real.”
She blinks, and whispers, “That little session a moment ago was fake?”
“Aye,” I tell her. “A reminder. A warm-up. But you’re damn close to getting a real spanking.”
She squirms a little. I cup her bare arse in my palms and bring her body closer to my mouth. I breathe hot air on her belly, then lap the same place. She shivers and moans a little.
“I love your belly,” I tell her, shaking my head. “It’s fucking gorgeous. All of you’s gorgeous. I can’t get you out of my fucking mind.”
She doesn’t respond. When I look up, she’s biting her lip. Probably takes quite a bit of self-control to keep herself still when I’m doing this. Finally, she nods. “If you say so.”
“I do.”
“There were...others who’ve not...appreciated these...curves,” she finally admits.
“Tell me their names,” I say. “Give me a fucking list. I’ll make them pay.”
She grins, but I’m only half joking. I give her a half smile. “I’m not the others, love. I adore every fucking thing about you.”
She bites her lip and looks away. “I suppose if I say you’re mad, I might earn that real spanking?”
“Absolutely.”
“Well, then,” she whispers. “I won’t say that.” I can tell she thinks it, though, but still, she’s doing really well. Women are such funny creatures, always their own worst critics.
“I’m proud of you,” I tell her. “Behaving like such a good girl.”
She smiles softly at me. “No one’s ever told me I was a good girl before.”
I kiss her bare thigh. “They ought to.”
I bring my mouth back to her belly and suckle the sweet, sensitive skin until she bucks and moans.
“There,” I say, getting to my feet, satisfied I’ve left bright pink marks all over her body. “That ought to remind you to behave today.”
She brings her hand to her arse. “And if those don’t, these will.” I realize she’s thinking of the little welts that crisscross her arse.
I nod and get to my feet. “We do have to go,” I tell her. “But you watch your texts and respond to me today. Aye?”
“Aye,” she says, and when I give her bottom a little squeeze, she amends, “Yes, sir.”
I open the door, half expecting to see a line of McCarthy men outside, but when we exit, the only person anywhere near us is Maeve. She’s got wee Breena by the hand.
“Hello, there,” she says with a smile. She looks from me to Megan, then back again. I think she’d likely not suspect anything was out of the ordinary if Megan didn’t stammer and flush so.
“Aunt Maeve,” she says. “Well, I didn’t know you were there.”
Maeve gives her a knowing smile. “Was just taking her out for a walk in the garden,” she says. “Can I give her a sucker, Carson?”
“Aye.”
“I just saw Keenan and Cormac heading outside. They said something about the guard?” she asks.
“We’ll find out what’s going on,” I tell her.
“Well, I’m off to work,” Megan says.
“Right, then,” I mutter. “I’ll join Keenan and Cormac outside.”
“Don’t you worry at all about Breena,” Maeve says. “She’ll stay with me for the day. And tomorrow, we’ve got a potential new nanny for you. We need to interview them first, though.”
“Aye.”
I want to give her a goodbye kiss, a squeeze of the hand, anything at all to let her know she’s on my mind. But she turns and leaves before I can do anything. Maeve stands looking at me for a moment, but when I turn to her, she only smiles.
“Careful, son,” she says quietly.
“Careful about what?” I say, but it’s foolish pretending around Maeve. She’s raised three sons, and those aren’t counting the ones she’s raised as if they were her own as well. She’s the mother of all of us in the Clan.
“You could lose yourself to a girl like Megan,” Maeve says. “And you’d have to beat off half the Clan.”
“Aye,” I say. “Don’t I know it.”
She smiles to herself and tucks a stray hair from in front of Breena’s eyes behind her ears. “How are you, son?”
I have to look away. The compassion in her eyes brings back the old sadness that clings to me. The waves of pain that surface when I think of Eve. When I remember the ache of her loss. Just when I think the wound has scabbed over, something else reminds me of her all over again. Breena’s laugh, or the twinkle in her eye. When the early roses bloom in spring. They were her favorite.
I swallow hard but it doesn’t help. There’s still a lump in my throat.
She shouldn’t have died.
It’s why I’ve done what I have and why I’ll continue.
I hate the thought of anyone in the Clan thinking I betrayed them, but Christ, if only… if only they knew, maybe they’d understand.
“I’m alright,” I lie with a sigh.
I reach for Breena’s free hand, and the three of us walk hand in hand to the door. I kiss her sweet cheek when I leave her with Maeve.
I have more than one job to do today.
Chapter 8
Megan
I know who my cousins are, what they do. And even if I deceived myself into believing that they weren’t outlaws who flaunted the law, conversations with their wives would prove otherwise.
But Carson... I have to let myself believe he’s good. I have to. He seems distant sometimes, brooding, and I don’t know if it’s just who he is, if it’s because he’s still grieving the loss of Eve, or...something else.
I want to know who he really is, what makes him tick. What his heart longs for and how he deals with the loss of Eve. Though all the men of the Clan share similar traits in some ways, they’re all so very different as well.
My phone rings, and I answer it quickly. It’s the head nurse at the hospital.
“We’ve had several discharges today,” she tells me. “And for once we have enough staff. Fancy taking the day off? You worked three doubles last week.”
A day off. The concept is utterly decadent.
“Aye,” I tell her. “Thank you.”
But I don’t tell anyone. I need to think, to process.
I need to read that diary. I feel as if it’s the key to Carson; it’ll help me understand him better. My conscience pricks me, telling me it isn’t right to read the diary of my friend. But she’s not here anymore. I am. Carson is. And I know she hid that diary for a reason.
I consider going to my room, so I can lock the door and have privacy. Eve lived in Stone City. She and I spent many a night there, and something about that place brought out a part of her she kept hidden when she was here. I have so many memories with Eve in Stone City. My cousins think nothing of it at all. They think it a useless, seedy place, and in recent years, much of it has gone to rot. But there’s the little creek where Eve and I drank shots of moonshine she bought from an old woman she knew who lived by the creek. The little shop that sells homespun sweets, and the used book shop
we’d frequent run by an older couple who’d ply us with steaming mugs of tea.
I make up my mind. I’m going there. I can’t explain to anyone why or how I’m going, so I decide to keep it to myself. Sometimes, when you’re under the protection of men like my cousins, it’s better to ask forgiveness than permission.
So I leave as if I’m going to work. Nolan sees me by the garden. Though he and Sheena live off property now because they needed more room, they’re here more often than not. I think it’s the pull of family.
He tries to flag me down, but I pretend I don’t see him beyond the wave hello.
I see a flash of red hair behind him. Sheena? My heart beats a little faster. She’s an investigative reporter, and my gut says she’d see right through me. It’s like living with a damn detective on your property.
I walk down the path that leads to the garage, where the family cars are parked. We walk almost everywhere we can, but today I need my car, and no one tagging along behind me. I roll my eyes heavenward. The protection of the Clan is nice sometimes, but… well, at other times, a girl needs a little freedom.
I blink in surprise when I find Lachlan in the garage, leaning under the hood of one of the cars. I try to leave before he sees me, but it’s too late.
“What’s the story, Megan?”
Dammit. They’re everywhere, like those little black ants that traipse after your picnic basket.
“Didn’t know you were here, just getting my car,” I say.
He puts the hood of the car down and wipes his hand on a rag. Damn. He’s bare from the waist up, glistening with sweat, and like all the men of the Clan, heavily muscled and inked. More than once I’ve thought, if I were a younger woman… But no. I don’t go for the young sort. He’s as much a brother to me as any of them.
“Alone?” he asks.
Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. They’re so fucking predictable.
“No,” I snap. “I’ve got the guard with me, but they’re under my invisibility cloak so I can at least pretend to some feckin’ privacy already.”
His jaw firms, and he wraps the dirty rag around his hand. “Is that right?” he asks. “Keenan approved of this, did he?”
I normally have the guard follow me to work, until I’m safe inside the hospital, and they’re waiting for me when I leave. No one at the hospital knows this, though.
“Since when do I have to get damn near everything approved by Keenan? Next thing you know I’ll have to tell him when I wipe my arse.”
“Good idea,” Lachlan says, his eyes flashing at me. “I’ll call him right now.”
And the son of a bitch takes his mobile out of his pocket.
Thankfully, Fiona chooses just that moment to come into the garage. She’s the spitting image of her sister with her flaming red hair, freckled cheeks, and pouty lips. She looks from me to Lachlan, and freezes. Her eyes widen, and she drags her gaze down his naked torso, but doesn’t linger. She snaps her eyes back up to his face and flushes red.
“I’m sorry to interrupt,” she says. “I was just… well, Keenan said I could…” her voice trails off.
Lachlan reaches behind him and takes a black t-shirt from a shelf. When his back’s turned, she lets her gaze roam over his naked, muscled torso with unreserved lust. I bite my lip so she doesn’t see me smiling. For a younger guy, he is quite the picture.
He tugs the t-shirt over his head and turns to look at her.
“Keenan said you could what?” His voice is hard and stern, and she squirms a little.
“Go for a little test drive.”
He purses his lips and his jaw firms. “Test drive? You mean with someone else, aye?”
This car’s hers, then, but she isn’t legally allowed to drive until next year.
“Well,” she says, pausing to bite her lip. “Sheena was going to start teaching me, you know.”
“I know,” he says. “That’s why I’m here. Checked the tires, checked the oil. Wanted to be sure it’s ready before you go.”
“Thank you,” she says softly. “But Sheena can’t come.” She looks to me. “Do you have time, Megan?”
“So sorry, love,” I tell her. “But I have to go to work.”
Liar. I hate lying.
She sighs. “My friend Nicola taught herself, you know. She just—”
“Just what?” Lachlan snaps. “Got behind the wheel of a fucking car and watched YouTube videos to teach herself?”
“Well, no, she—”
“Took her life into her hands breaking the law? Hmm?”
Fiona clams up.
“You know the law,” he says, pointing a finger at her. Oh, Lord, he’s intimidating when he looks at her like that. I give the lass credit. Even I would’ve run for cover if taken to task by a man like him. But he isn’t finished yet.
“The law says you hold a learner permit before you start anywhere near the public roads, and you only drive alone if it’s a work vehicle.” He pauses. “Like a tractor. And until then, you do not get behind the wheel of that car.”
She scowls at him. Oh, how I know that feeling. It’s amusing to me how clear he is about the law when he’s a man of the Clan who flaunts laws just about every day.
“I’ll take you,” Lachlan says. “Let me get my keys and wallet. We’ll drive down behind the church. Parking lot’s empty, you can practice there. With me. With your seatbelt on and two hands on the fucking wheel.”
Fiona’s eyes look like full moons. “You don’t have to do that,” she stammers. “No, really, Lachlan, I—”
“I’ll be right out. You stay right there.” He goes into the house, and the door slams behind him.
I turn to look at her and shake my head. “Infuriating, isn’t it?”
“Aye.”
I want to tell Lachlan it may not be the wisest idea for him to teach her to drive. She’s liable to crash the damn car being that close to him.
Then I realize this is the perfect time for me to take my leave.
“I have to be going myself,” I tell her. “It’s likely best we keep that between ourselves, hmm?”
“Aye,” she whispers with a wink. “The girls of the Clan stick together. Don’t forget I owe you one, too, Meg.”
She ought to know about Clan girls sticking together. It was only a few months back the lass lost her head at a party and called me to bail her out. She knew that if Nolan and Sheena found out, she’d be grounded for life, but I’d been in her shoes before. It’s easy to make mistakes, and sometimes it helps to have someone in your court.
I get into the car and quickly back it out. I wave to her, back out, and get past the guard by telling them it’s just a quick errand and yes, of course Mr. McCarthy knows I’m going out alone, thank you.
And before I know it, I’m driving alone down the road that takes me to Stone City. My bag’s on the seat beside me. Eve’s diary’s in there.
I can’t get it out of my mind. I miss my friend so badly, it’s a gnawing ache inside. It isn’t fair that she’s gone. It isn’t fair she doesn’t get to see her baby grow up or see what a wonderful father Carson is. I don’t realize I’m crying until my eyes are blurry.
I pull over to the side of the road. Halfway between Stone City and Ballyhock lie green pastures and farmland, dotted with white fluffy sheep, lined with rickety, handmade fences.
I wipe my eyes. I take a breath and hold it, nervous about what I’m going to do. What I have to do. It isn’t wrong, reading the private thoughts of someone who’s no longer here, is it?
I want to hear her voice again.
With trembling fingers, I take the diary out of my bag. I turn the first page gingerly.
We found out today that we’re expecting a baby. Well. A second time.
I blink in surprise. She was pregnant before? The entry goes on.
I hope this time I can carry the baby to term.
I close my eyes. Oh, Eve. I didn’t know.
I hope Carson never finds this, and if he does, it means I’m gone. I do
n’t ever want him to know what I’ve done while I’m still here. Betrayal to the brotherhood of his Clan would be the deepest of betrayals, second only to an affair. Maybe even equal.
Betrayal? My mind is swirling, spinning. There’s a heat in my chest I can’t quench, a burning in my eyes. It feels like someone’s tightening a rope around my midsection. But still, I read on.
I have to tell someone, even if it’s the blank pages of a book.
It began with blackmail. Cian O’Gregor knows who I am. He knew my mum and knew that I was raised in the back of a brothel. My mum did what she could. She raised me to read and write, even though I didn’t go to school as a child. I was an awkward teen, never having been in a school environment. I kept to myself. It was easier to have no friends than to try to pretend to be like the others. Mum gave me books upon books and orchestrated my education. But I knew who she was. I knew how she got her money. And I knew that the track lines on her arms that she told me were scars weren’t old. She serviced the O’Gregor men, and she did it for drugs.
I shake my head. I had no idea. No idea. I read on and on. I read about her mother’s prostitution, Eve’s growing up in the rented room in the back of the brothel. How Eve would go for walks or out with friends to clear her mind when her mother was “working,” how she came to know what her mother did for work. And how the year she was ready to graduate, she found her mother’s dead body. Killed by overdose.
The pages of this book are so sad, so tragic, my heart feels as if it’s being torn into a million pieces. I hate this for her. I hate this for me. A part of me would have preferred to stay ignorant of this. So I could have remembered my friend as the innocent she was.
And then there was Carson.
She writes about meeting him. One night in a pub, they shared a drink. It was an immediate connection, immediate attraction. She didn’t know then he was a man of the Clan. He didn’t know she was born and raised in Stone City, one of the most run-down, impoverished cities in all of Ireland. But they made it work. They moved off-site near the McCarthy family mansion. He kept his work separate from his personal life, and she did the same. They fell in love with each other, both ignorant of the fabric that wove their pasts together.
