by Jane Henry
They aren’t the only ones, mind. The O’Gregors and Martins make up a good deal as well. But it’s the McCarthys I’m after.
They’re the ones I’ve set my eyes on. They’re the ones who deserve my hatred and vengeance. And I won’t rest until they’ve paid for what they’ve done.
I get to my car and slam the locks. I yank down the visor and flick the lighted mirror on. I fix my makeup and hair. I keep styling products and a makeup bag in my glove compartment, a change of clothes, and several wigs in the back. I’ve got everything I need, even a fake I.D. and passport. Tonight, I’ll change when I get to the club.
Ever since I was attacked at The Craic, the owners and bouncers take good care of me. Probably helps they know who I am.
They all should know who I am.
I’m Sheena Hurston, and I take no prisoners.
Chapter 3
Nolan
We show up at the club at half past eight, and it’s already teeming with people. Something about free food brings people out of the woodworks. Within two minutes of entering, Boner’s got a plate of tacos, Tully’s dipping chips in guac, and Lachlan’s got a margarita in each hand.
Ah, to hell with it. I grab a sombrero from the bartender, fill a plate with mini tacos, and toss back a virgin margarita. Not bad.
“Filled your belly?” Lachlan asks. His eyes are already glossy, as if he hasn’t eaten food all day and just made a meal out of margaritas.
“Aye. You ready?”
He nabs one more margarita, then jerks his head to the back.
“Brother, there’s a girl up there who’s had her eyes on you since you walked in.”
“Yeah?”
“Ten o’clock.”
I scan the room until I see her. Her jet black hair hangs down her back with waves that beg to be pulled, just grazing the top of a perfect, pert ass. She’s got full red lips and exotic dark eyes done up with some sort of fucking magic. When she catches my eye, she grins at me, beckons one finger, then heads to the back.
I’m not here for a one-night stand. I’ve got a job to do. I’m supposed to find Sheena. I’m supposed to get answers. And I’m the one that does the beckoning.
“Should see what she wants,” he says, grinning at me.
“Fuck off. I’ve got a job to do.”
“But you have to fit in, don’t you?” he asks. He sips his drink, then jerks his head to the back. “Got to have a woman on your arm, or you’ll stand out.”
“The boy has a point,” Boner says, his arm already around the waist of a pretty blonde.
“Right atop his head,” I say, right before I duck Lachlan’s left hook.
We head to the back, the part of the club where the action is. The bar is almost a front, though not quite. At the back, we gain access to the hidden part of The Craic, where the real fun begins.
This is no tame club, but one of Ireland’s most exclusive sex clubs, no vanilla allowed. Hell, I’ve missed this.
I miss the way it feels to have a woman under my control. To dominate and master. I miss inflicting pain mixed with pleasure. I miss the pleas and the screams when I grant an orgasm she begged for.
It’s teeming with people here, but I don’t have to look far to see the black-haired seductress from across the room. She’s perched on a stool, her drink in hand. She takes a toothpick with a cherry on it out of the glass, captures it between her lips, and with her eyes locked on mine, licks it.
The low pull of seduction curls in my belly. It’s been a while since I’ve had a woman at the club. I don’t quite know why.
And this woman knows exactly what she’s doing.
We had an incident last year involving Cormac’s Aileen and fucking Sheena, the reporter. They were set up by rival mafia, attacked. We got to them just in time. Even though Sheena and I had a history, I was the one that wrapped her in a blanket, took her to the hospital wing of our estate, and made sure she was okay before we let her go. It was the right thing to do.
But I’m under no delusion. We aren’t friends. There’s no love lost between us. I did what any goddamn guy would do in that situation. Hell, she probably hates me, and she’d have reason to.
“Any word on the reporter?” I ask the boys.
Boner’s locking lips with the blonde, but he shakes his head no.
Lachlan snorts. “Did a thorough sweep. She isn’t here tonight.”
All the more reason to pursue the black-haired beauty. If Sheena isn’t here, I’ll have to move on to plan B to find her. And that means I’ve got the rest of the night ahead of me.
Just to be safe, I scan the place myself, looking from one person to the next. In the far right of the room I catch a glimpse of red, but when I make my way over, I see it isn’t her at all, but a much older woman.
Sheena’s on the young side. Fair skin dotted with freckles, delicately arched light brown eyebrows over beautiful light gray eyes.
Really a shame she’s my nemesis.
The black-haired woman, on the other hand, promises a night of fun. I take in her vivid, dark brown eyes, clear porcelain skin. She’s wearing a green and black snake-skin sheath dress that hugs every curve and leaves little to the imagination. I swallow hard.
“Evening,” I say when I reach her. “Buy you a drink?”
She smiles and doesn’t answer, but pushes herself off the stool and beckons her finger to me.
“Ah, no,” I say. “I’m not about to blindly follow you. Not until we’ve at least made each other’s acquaintance.” I give her what I hope is my most charming smile. I’m interested. I’m totally fucking interested, but I’m not the type to follow a girl who beckons.
“It’s too loud in here,” she says in a French accent, her voice a soft purr. “Let’s get some privacy? Then you can ask all the questions you’d like.”
I’d follow her all night long to listen to that voice, that accent.
She turns and walks away, clearly confident I’ll follow.
So maybe I am the type, because I find myself dodging between people, keeping my eye on her as she leads to the more private rooms.
She stills before we head down the hall, squares her shoulders, and swallows hard. Is she afraid? I wonder what scares her.
I watch her curiously. What’s her game plan here? I’ve learned to translate body language, to learn how people give physical cues to how they feel. When we enter the hall, she’s momentarily off her game, no longer the coy seductress. Finally, she takes a deep breath and moves on.
I look over my shoulder and catch Lachlan staring at me. He pumps his fist in the air, clearly eager to see me hook up.
Am I that uptight?
I give him the one-fingered salute and follow her down the darkened hallway. I need this.
A girl doesn’t beckon a stranger at a sex club because she wants sweet, vanilla sex. The Craic welcomes all sorts, and even has a club safe word.
I’ve missed this. I’ve craved this. I need it.
She doesn’t enter a room, though. She’s waiting in the hall, leaning her hip against a doorframe.
“You came,” she says in the same low, seductive whisper. Her accent is intoxicating. “Do you have plans this evening, sir?”
Fuck, she knows how to play the sub card well. I can already taste her.
I did, but my plans are shot to hell, so I’m thinking that’s a no.
I shake my head. “No.” I pause, folding my arms over my chest. “Do you?”
I don’t miss the way she looks at me, her eyes roaming over me. She swallows hard, and for one brief moment, it seems as if her mask drops. Her nostrils flare with an intake of breath and her lips quirk up at the edges. It’s an odd reaction.
Does she like what she sees? Or is it something else?
“You,” she whispers. “I’ve seen you here before.”
Has she? How come I’ve never seen her?
“Have you?”
“Yes, sir,” she whispers. That sweet voice whispering that word I haven’t h
eard in so long makes my need grow even stronger.
Sir.
I take a step toward her as if drawn by her spell, the faintest scent of her exotic perfume permeating the air between us. Her beautiful eyes widen as I approach, and she swallows visibly.
I reach for her and weave my fingers around the back of her neck. I close my eyes and kiss her cheek, a chaste kiss. Her skin is velvety soft, and when I kiss her, her breath comes in little gasps. One hand reaches for my wrist not to stop me but to steady herself, and her eyes flutter closed.
I pause. There’s something about this that’s so familiar, I stop for a moment.
I’ve met her before. I’ve touched her before. And it didn’t end well.
But no, that isn’t possibly. I’d remember a girl like her.
“Please?” she whispers. “The bedroom, sir?”
Yes. I want her alone. Maybe if I get her alone we can figure this out.
“Are you sure we haven’t met?” I ask her, just to be safe.
She shakes her head. “No, sir. I’d remember a man like you.” She’s using all the classic lines, but hell, I like them.
I lead her down the hall to a room I’m granted permission to use. I may not have been here recently, but I’m part of The Clan. And they take good care of us here.
I reach for her hand, and again, I’m surprised that this feels familiar. I look back at her sharply, but she only gives me a wide-eyed look.
“Something wrong, sir?” she asks in that adorable French accent.
“Are you sure we haven’t met?”
I don’t miss the way her eyes quickly flit from mine before she answers. In my line of work, you learn to note signs of guilt.
“I don’t know how,” she says. “This is my first time here.”
I’m either going mad or about to make a big fucking mistake.
“Are you sure?” I ask her.
“Of course, sir. I’ve just come from my home in Paris. Visiting a friend. I’m told this club is one of the best in Ireland.”
“Aye.”
I open the door and lead her in. I’m dying to get her alone. We’re both here for the same reason.
The room is small and immaculate, with a camel-colored leather loveseat, and an overstuffed chair.
We don’t talk. Despite what she’s said, we both know we aren’t here for conversation.
I tug her onto the loveseat and she arranges herself easily on my lap, straddling me. My cock stiffens, pressing into her arse, and when she weaves her arms around my neck, I give into this. I need this.
She kisses my cheek and I wrap my arms around her waist.
“This is what I’ve wanted,” she whispers. “A man like you, so big and strong. Mastering me. Dominating me. Will you do that, sir?”
“Christ, yeah.” Hell, it’s why I’m here.
“Thank you, sir. I will do my best to please you, sir.”
She slides off my lap and onto her knees before me, her hands resting on my legs. She kneads my thighs, her dark eyes still holding mine.
“May I, sir?’
Christ, yes.
I swallow and nod.
“You may.”
She squirms and bites her lip, her lowered eyes and panting breaths belying her arousal.
“Thank you, sir.” She holds my gaze and unfastens my trousers, her eyes on mine, before she guides my swollen, stiff cock into her hand. She groans, bends, and licks the tip. I swear my eyes roll to the back of my head. God, I need this so bad my mouth is dry.
“Is that good?” she whispers.
I open my eyes and nod, just as she lowers her mouth to my cock.
She’s good at this. She’s fucking good, using her hands and lips, suckling and making me groan.
But as she continues, something’s off.
I like to dominate a woman sucking my cock, and if she’s a sub, she’ll like that. I bend and fist her hair. She takes her mouth off me for a moment.
“No, sir. No hair, please.”
No hair? When she’s got gorgeous locks like these?
It’s my first clue.
I move my fingers to the nape of her neck, and she continues to suckle. I look closer. The lighting’s dim in here, but I think beneath her makeup I see the faintest dots of freckles.
Wait a minute.
I freeze when I notice a sliver of flaming red hair where her forehead meets her scalp. She’s wearing a wig. The disguise is excellent.
Bloody hell.
I try not to tense. Try not to let her know the fucking gig is up.
But I know why she’s familiar.
She’s the woman I rescued.
The one who trespassed on our property, who I punished soundly and warned never to come back.
I looked all around the club for Sheena Hurston, came here tonight to find her, and she’s on her knees before me, sucking my cock.
I want to lift her up by the throat and instill the fucking fear of God in her. She doesn’t know that I know who she is, but she’s bright. If I let on that I’m angry at all, she’ll catch on.
She didn’t want a one night stand. She wants something far more insidious than that.
Two can play at this game.
I reach for the buckle of my belt beside me and yank it through the loops of my trousers. She watches me with a smile, her mouth still around my cock.
“You like to be spanked?” I ask her. I bloody well don’t care if she does, she isn’t leaving here until I whip her pretty ass red.
She grins. I wonder if it’s part of the act, or if she really does like to be dominated. If she didn’t, would she be here? In any event, she won’t like the kind of spanking I’m about to give her.
I’m about to take control of this in a way she won’t like at all.
“Touch yourself,” I order.
With a moan, she sucks my cock and reaches her hand to her pussy. I fist the buckle and wrap my belt around my hand, leaving a little tail. I bend over, then slap the leather on her arse. Just a gentle stroke to excite her, even though I want to whip her to tears.
She flinches then moans, squirming, stroking herself. I intentionally give her light, sensual lashes with the belt, enough to stoke a kinky girl’s arousal.
“Just like that,” I tell her. “That’s a girl.”
She smiles around my cock, flinching a bit when I let the belt fall again.
The next stroke is harder. She jumps, and her eyes widen. She freezes, her mouth still on my cock.
“Too hard?” I don’t fucking care if it’s too hard. I’ve only just begun. Still, I don’t want her to know that.
She pauses, then shakes her head.
She sucks me harder.
I hold her gaze, lift my belt, and slap the leather again. Harder. This is a vicious cut, one that will leave a lasting burn. She winces and her eyes water a little.
“Thought you liked a little pain?”
She release my cock. “I do. I do, sir.”
But I’ve had enough.
Holding her gaze, I slide my cock back in my trousers and pull the zipper, even though it fucking kills me. I could take advantage of her right now, but I won’t. Violating her is tempting as fuck, but I’ll maintain my control. If there’s anything I’ve learned in the brotherhood of The Clan, it’s control.
Her brows furrow in confusion.
“Sir?”
“Thought you had me, didn’t you?”
Her eyes widen with panic and she looks quickly to the door, when my phone rings. She takes it as an opportunity to try to escape. She pushes to her feet but I grab her arm and yank her back to me.
My phone rings again, and this time I realize it’s in her fucking pocket.
She’s over my lap in two seconds flat.
“Leave me alone!” she screams, all pretense of a French accent gone. “I’ll call the cops.”
“Ah, just like you did last time, mm? How did that work out for you?” I lift my belt and whip it hard on her upturned arse. She calle
d our friend, Walsh at the station, who rang us directly. We’ve got plenty of local law enforcement on our side.
“Let me go!”
“Let you go?” I ask. She squirms, but I pin her in place. “You tried to con me, didn’t you? Stole my phone? What else were you planning on stealing, hmm?”
“Fuck you!”
I lash her again, and again, deliberately laying the leather in hard, vicious strokes that make her scream and writhe. “You ought to know better by now, Sheena.”
She howls and tries to get away, but she can’t. I hold her down and whip her backside until I know she’s good and sore. I don’t overdo it. With folded leather I could welt and harm her, but I’ve left her fully clothed. Still, it’ll hurt to sit for a fucking week. She’ll remember this.
She’s a sobbing mess over my lap when I’m done. I drop the belt and stand her up in front of me.
“Now that’s for trying to con me,” I tell her, panting from the exertion. I want to shake her, but again, I hold myself back. Still, she’s due for a warning. “You ever fucking do something like that again, the next spanking you get over my knee, I’ll bare you first.”
“How dare you!”
I shake my head with mock regret. “You have no idea, doll.”
“Don’t call me that. Don’t!”
As if she tells me what to do? Telling me she doesn’t like it means she just guaranteed that’s exactly what I’ll call her.
She’s glaring at me and swiping at her tears. I reach for her and yank the wig right off. Vibrant red hair cascades down her shoulder. She growls at me.
“How’d you change the color of your eyes?” I ask her. “Your eyes were gray.”
“Are you that dense?” she asks.
“No, but maybe you are, talking to the man who just whipped your little arse like that.”
“You can’t do this,” she says. She wriggles and squirms in my arms.
I tuck her easily against one arm, take my phone from her pocket, and dial Boner. “Situation in a private room.”
I tell him where I am, and half a minute later, Lachlan, Tully, and Boner stand in the room, staring at Sheena’s disheveled appearance, the black wig on the floor, tracks of black mascara streaming down her cheeks.
