by Jane Henry
“Guess you found the reporter,” Lachlan mutters. “Bloody hell.”
“Clearly.”
“Need help, boss?”
“Aye. She isn’t going home tonight.”
She screams so loudly, Lachlan jumps, but Boner’s prepared. With a grin, he steps over to her and shoves a ball gag in her mouth and fastens it behind her head.
“Anything else, boss?”
“Call Keenan,” I tell him. “Tell him I’m bringing home a visitor.”
She mumbles and squirms against the gag but can’t speak.
Lachlan grins. “On it.”
Chapter 4
Sheena
I put up quite a fuss when they take me out, but it’s only so they think I don’t want them to take me. This didn’t go exactly as planned. I didn’t think he’d strap me, but if I’m honest, I’ve taken worse. Frequenting The Craic isn’t just for business, mind.
Still, Nolan McCarthy can deliver a thorough belting, and I’d be smart to remember that. He lashed me over my clothes this time and promised the next would be bare.
I’m experienced with deviant sex. I’ve been whipped and caned, paddled and belted before. But I know if he bared me to punish me, he wouldn’t take it easy on me.
He didn’t the last time he caught me, the last time I ended up at his mercy. He caught me trespassing on their property, captured me, and dragged me to a windowless room in the basement of their massive mansion that overlooks the cliffs of Ballyhock.
I remember it well. I know I’m fucked up, but I’ve replayed that night. I was angry at the time. Helpless and infuriated. But I could tell he held himself back when he punished me then, and I’ve remembered how he did. How it felt to be restrained in the cuffs he had. The way his stern voice lectured me as he inflicted measured pain with a stout-handled whip.
I let him think I caved. I cried and wept for mercy. He didn’t know I’d frequented The Craic to learn tolerance, and found a bit of myself in the process.
And he will never know.
I can’t scream with the gag, which is just as well, because being taken to their property is exactly what I want. Still, I have to protest some. So I wriggle and squirm and yell against the gag, my pleas coming out in muffled protests. Nolan’s still angry, I can tell by the way his green eyes flash, and his jaw goes all hard.
I’ve watched him for over a year. I know so much about him, I could write his biography. Former alcoholic, he went to rehab and quit the drink. He’s been stone sober ever since, no small feat for an Irishman. The youngest of the three McCarthy brothers, he defers to Keenan and Cormac’s leadership. My research says he’s Lieutenant, but as McCarthy blood, he’s high ranking in command.
Though he likes to joke and tease his brothers, he’s got a darker side. Perhaps it’s why I find him at the pinnacle of my focus when I think of the McCarthys. The others come here to dabble and play, but for Nolan, the need to dominate is in his blood.
I’ve watched him brooding over the cliffs. I’ve seen him scene with woman after woman at the club. But I also know he has a soft spot in his heart for his mother, the matriarch of The Clan who lives in the mansion and fancies herself mother for the lot.
They will all pay, every last one of them. Maeve McCarthy is just as guilty as the lot of them.
I suppose they fancy themselves some sort of fucked up altruists, and the truth is, they don’t dabble in the harder games the other mobs of Ireland do. There’s no human trade, no hard drugs, and as far as I can tell, they haven’t fulfilled a contracted hit since Keenan took to office. They bring arms from the coast and sell them at home and abroad. I suppose they think their generous contributions to the church and town buy them clemency.
Fuck them and the horse they rode in on. There is no pardoning the evils of the mob.
They’re Irish mafia through and through. The list of casualties in their wake grows by the day. They live by a ruthless code of loyalty and vengeance, and illicit funds pad the pockets of the lot. They may fancy themselves the Robin Hoods of Ireland, kind-hearted criminals. But I know better.
I will bring them down, from the very top of leadership to the very base of soldiers. All of them. Every last fucking one of them.
Naturally, they steal me away with ease, since the McCarthy brothers walk on fucking water. No guards come running to my aid, and when one looks our way, the tallest of the bunch has a word, and he leaves. I don’t care. My cell phone’s strapped to my inner thigh and I’ve secured my car with a club friend. I’ll get back onto the McCarthy’s property, find what I need. Then I’ll escape.
They leave the club with me as effortlessly as if they were heading out for a smoke. Balancing me between them, Nolan’s got a tight grip on one arm and one of the burly guys has me on the right. He’s being none too gentle on me either. At first I don’t recognize him, but when I remember, I cringe.
Tully. I used him last year to onto the property. A friend of mine slept with him, got his keys, and we were able to get onto their estate. That’s what started this ball rolling.
I have no friends at the McCarthys. I’ll have to play this just right.
I don’t fight them when they put me in the back of a car. I feel the reassuring coolness of my phone where I’ve hidden it. This car, not surprisingly, is large, with a driver up front and room in the back for several people. They don’t all pile in, though.
“Leave us alone,” Nolan tells them. “Take the other cars home.”
My pulse spikes at his words. He wants me alone for a reason.
It’s part of my job, though. If I do this… if I do what I’ve set out to do, vengeance will not only be mine, I’ll be paid amply for the information I send back to my boss. If we can do a full-on exposé of the McCarthy Clan, we can bring them down. I’ll be paid richly, and maybe I’ll even have enough to go to court and fight for my siblings.
I wonder if he’ll interrogate me. Perhaps there’s an even meaner side to him than I’ve yet seen. I know that although his record’s clean, he was accused of murder several years back, but he was acquitted. Naturally. Ballyhock thinks the McCarthys wear tilted halos.
I know better.
He unfastens the gag they put on me while he asks me a question.
“So tell me, doll. Why’d you try that?”
Doll. I hate it when he calls me that because a part of me likes it. A tender term that would make a girl feel wanted, I think, but since there’s no tenderness between us, it grates.
Nolan leans back in the seat and laces his fingers behind his head. Sandy blond hair falls on his forehead, his green eyes glint at me. When he leans back, his muscles bulge. He might be a bastard, but those arms, those hands. Strong arms like that could hold a woman close and make her feel safe.
But I’m not that woman.
He waits for an answer, his gaze so nonchalant he could be watching a rugby match.
“Do what?” I ask.
“Try to distract me by sucking me off.”
I swallow hard. The way he says it makes something like arousal stir low in my belly.
I had him. I had him, right there, on my knees.
I shake my head. I need to throw him off kilter as easily as he does me.
“If only you were patient. I’d have swallowed, you know.”
His nostrils flare and his eyes heat for one split second before he schools his features and gives me a slow, sadistic grin.
“Not so fast, doll. Don’t make assumptions.”
“Assumptions?”
He smiles, and it’s a chilling sort of smile. I shiver.
“Assumptions,” he repeats.
“What am I assuming?”
“That it’ll be the only time you’ll get on your knees for me. That your opportunity to swallow’s gone.”
I shiver, suddenly nervous. I prepared myself for many things, but somehow rape wasn’t one of them.
Would he? Have I managed to convince myself there is good in this man after all?
&n
bsp; Am I wrong?
I grit my teeth and don’t respond at first. He wants to scare me. He wants to intimidate and threaten me. I won’t let him.
I give him a grin. “Is that right, sir? I’m eager for another chance.”
I have to admit, I feel a little smug. I hope it doesn’t show. But if I won’t cower with a spanking and I look forward to being used sexually, what else is there he can do to me?
His eyes darken as he stares at me.
“Why are you on our arses?”
Maybe playing stupid will help. It’s worth a shot. So I shake my head at him and roll my eyes. “Are you that dense? Do you really not know?”
But it was the wrong thing to say. He unclasps his hands, leans forward on his seat, and reaches for my hair. I gasp when he tightens his fingers and yanks my head back. Pain shoots along my scalp, even as a shiver slides down my body.
I love to be dominated. Mastered. Manipulated, and used. I don’t come to The Craic for the drinks.
“Mmm,” I say. “I did peg you as a hair-puller.”
A lesser man would cave, maybe lose his temper and hurt me. But he doesn’t even register surprise.
He leans his mouth to my ear and whispers, his hot breath tickling the sensitive skin. “I’ve wanted to tangle my fingers through your hair and pull it since the day I first saw you.”
Oh, Christ, his hand’s traveling down my body, slides under the top of my dress, and cups my bare breast.
“Oh, have you then?” I ask, trying to mask my arousal and give him a grin. “You fancy the red?”
He gives me a wicked grin. “Oh, I fancy the red, all over. Your hair, my bite marks on your neck, your freshly-spanked bottom. Now, lass. Answer my question.”
I want him to think he doesn’t affect me, because hell, I like his hands in my hair and on my body. “Or what? You’ll make me come to threaten me?”
He shakes his head. “You shouldn’t do that, doll.”
I swallow again when his green eyes narrow on me.
“Do what?”
“Lie. Manipulate. You’ve underestimated us.”
I don’t reply, because for one brief moment, I’m afraid he might be right. Have I gotten in over my head?
But no. Cast me to the furthest depths of the ocean. I always swim.
Always.
“Hard for you to say, isn’t it?” I ask. My voice comes out in a pant, because he’s tugging my hair so perfectly I might come undone, right here, right now, with the streets of Ballyhock zooming out the window and his rough, strong hand cupping my breast.
“That you’ve underestimated us?”
“Aye. You don’t even know what I think of you, so how can you make such a judgment?”
He thumbs my nipple in reply, and frissons of arousal and awareness skate down my skin. My core aches, my pussy throbs, and my breasts swell.
He shakes his head. “’Tis a pity you’ve done wrong against The Clan, Sheena.”
I look at him curiously. I wonder where he’s going with this.
I don’t reply. He leans in closer to me, so close I can see light flecks of gold in his gorgeous eyes, a line between his brows, and a tiny scar to the left of his nose. I wonder where he got that.
“I’d have liked to give you a chance,” he whispers, just one second before he lowers his mouth to mine. For one brief moment, I’m not Sheena Hurston the reporter, thirsty for vengeance and ready to destroy. He isn’t my prey. When his mouth brushes mine, he could be mine.
I’ve been with many men, but most were for a purpose. They didn’t kiss, and I didn’t want them to. No one’s ever kissed me like this.
I sink lower into his arms, losing my ability to remain aloof. He yanks my hair and teases my nipple as he slides his tongue into my mouth. My pussy clenches and my body throbs. Aching. Hungry. So needy for more.
I can’t do this, I tell myself. I can’t let him seduce me with such ease. I can’t enjoy this. I’m lecturing myself with one part of my brain while the other is helpless to protest. I’ve fantasized about just this, being held in Nolan’s powerful, unrelenting hands, and touched.
Hell, can he kiss. It’s perfection, the softness of his lips, the harsh contrast of his beard, the way his hands roam purposefully over my body.
He releases me too soon. Takes his hands away from me. His eyes are cold and hard when he drops me on the seat. It’s ice water dashed on my face.
“I can’t do that, though,” he says. “Can’t give you a chance. You’ve done wrong against my brothers, and we have a code we adhere to.”
I pretend like he doesn’t affect me, but it’s the hardest thing I’ve had to do tonight.
“Ah, right,” I tell him. “If I’d left well enough alone you’d have asked me on a date, hmm? Dinner and a movie? Something vanilla, perhaps.”
His lips quirk up and he shrugs a shoulder. “Dinner and a movie, maybe. Vanilla?” He laughs mirthlessly. “No fucking way.”
A glimmer of excitement coils in my belly. I knew he was a kinky bastard.
The car comes to a halt, and all humor vanishes from his face.
“We’re at my home. You’ll come with me. You’ll keep a civil tongue in your head when you address my family, or face punishment. Is that clear?”
“Sure. Sounds terrifying.”
His narrowed gaze tells me he doesn’t buy my quick response.
Hell, I don’t either. I wonder again if I’ve bitten off more than I can chew.
I take in every detail when he opens the door.
There are two more cars that park when we do, but the others let him go ahead. Some of the men stand around us, watching. One has his hand on the butt of his gun, as if he’s prepared to draw and shoot if I do anything rash. I give him a wide grin, then Nolan tugs me along by taking my hand.
“You typically bring your prisoners up to the house by the hand?”
He doesn’t reply.
I’m familiar with the layout of this house. It’s fucking gorgeous, and I have to admit a part of me, a very teeny, tiny part, is a little jealous. After what I’m familiar with, such opulence and wealth stings like nettles.
The massive house overlooks the eastern coast of Ireland, the blue green sea churning below. The docks and ports of Ballyhock are below us. They have men that work those ports. It’s where they do their arms trade. Of course they don’t do it in the open, but it isn’t hard to note the work they do when you’re trained to observe.
Before you reach their house, there’s a beautiful garden, with a stone bench and a trellis. Maeve McCarthy tends some of the garden. A well-manicured lawn and flowering bushes and plants line the walks, and one walkway goes away from the house and toward the back, where they’ve placed a woodshed and greenhouse.
The garden’s an excellent place to hide if need be. I should know. I’ve done it before.
I know the inside of the house as well, though “officially” I’ve only spent time in their windowless room on the basement level. Last year, when he captured me and punished me.
I shake my head to clear my thoughts. It isn’t time for a trip down memory lane.
We walk up the stairs to his house, thirty-five stone steps to be precise. I’ve counted every one of them. I’ve wondered if the location of this house, with so many large steps to get to the top, was intentional to deter visitors. There are no neighbors, and no one drops by unannounced.
The McCarthy brothers, who’ve taken over leadership roles since their father’s death two years ago, all live here. I know every detail. Keenan and his wife Caitlin, with two small children. Cormac and his wife Aileen, a woman with former connection to their rivals, the Martins. Their mother Maeve resides in the house as well since she’s been widowed. There are servants aplenty, and the rest of the men of the Clan, from the lowliest soldier, lives within walking distance of the McCarthy mansion.
We enter the front door, and his grip on my arm tightens. He stops when he sees Maeve by the entrance. She’s got a large bouquet of fl
owers in her arms, and she freezes when she sees us enter.
“Nolan.”
He nods to her. “Mam.”
She eyes me coldly, looking me over from head to toe. “And you must be Sheena Hurston, the reporter that’s been up our arses.”
I give her a broad smile. “Nice to meet you, too, Mrs. McCarthy.”
She inclines her head in greeting and doesn’t reply.
“Where’s Keenan?” Nolan asks his mother.
“Just helped Cait put the babies down for a nap. Want me to ring him for you?”
“Aye,” he says. “Tell him to give me a call when he has a minute. I’ll be in my room.”
She looks to me again and back to him. “Will you be needing the interrogation room, then?”
I wonder why she asks him this in front of me. Does she want me to know she’s complicit in what they do? I know this already. Or does she want me to know she hopes he hurts me? It’s an odd thing for her to say.
“All set, thanks,” he says. Then under his breath as we head to the stairs, he says, “I’ve got plenty of methods of interrogation in my own room.”
“I bet you do.”
He smiles wryly. Maeve turns away from us as we reach the large staircase. I’ve never been here before, though I know the entire layout of this house. The bottom floor houses their windowless “interrogation room,” as Maeve called it, as well as the library. This floor holds the dining room and meeting rooms and offices, and the rest of the floors are the residences. Nolan takes me to the second floor, still gripping my arm tightly as we march down the hall.
“Nice place you’ve got here,” I say, pretending to be friendly and even maybe a little nonchalant.
When he doesn’t reply I carry on.
“Have you lived here your whole life?”
I know he has. I want to pretend I’m not afraid of him. That I don’t fear what he’ll do to me when he has me alone. And it’s probably best he isn’t aware of how much I know about him.
A muscle ticks in his jaw, and he still doesn’t respond.
“Perhaps later you can show me around,” I try again.
