Claimed By the Irish Mobster (Claddagh Clans: O’Rourkes #1)

Chapter 1

Cillian

The place reeks of whiskey and stale cigarette smoke. Seamus Murphy is sweating through his stained shirt as he stammers out the offer that should get him killed on principle alone.

“She’s a good girl, Mr. O’Rourke. Doesn’t complain. Does what she’s told. She’s worth fifty grand, I swear it.”

I don’t respond. Finn shifts his weight beside me, his hand moving closer to the gun under his jacket. He’s thinking what I’m thinking—the world might be a better place with one less Seamus Murphy in it.

The apartment is what I expected—broken furniture, empty bottles scattered across every surface, shut-off and eviction notices piled on the counter.

But there are other things too—things that don’t fit.

A corner of the kitchen looks clean. Dishes are drying in a rack.

Laundry is folded in a basket by the couch.

Someone is trying to hold this shithole together.

“Pretty, clean, never been with a man—” Murphy continues.

“Shut the fuck up.” The words come out flat. Ice-cold.

He shuts up.

I didn’t come here for this. I came to collect a debt or break some bones. Standard enforcement. Nothing personal. Murphy gambled money he didn’t have with people he shouldn’t have crossed, and now he owes. Simple.

This isn’t simple.

A door opens down the hall. I turn as a slight, young woman appears, holding a dish towel, gripping it with white knuckles.

Too thin. That’s my first thought. A bruise darkens her cheekbone. Her hair is pulled back in a messy ponytail. She wears an oversized sweatshirt and jeans that are worn through from use.

Her eyes meet mine for a split second. They’re hazel, and wide with fear.

Then she drops her gaze to the floor.

Irritation flares in my gut. This is getting complicated, and I hate complications. I should walk away. Tell Finn to beat Murphy into the hospital and write off the debt as a loss.

I don’t. My gaze moves back to her.

There’s a way she stands. Perfectly still, hunched—making herself smaller. When Murphy gestures toward her, she flinches.

The flinch hits me like a suckerpunch and rage slices its way through my irritation. Someone taught her to expect pain.

“Boss,” Finn murmurs. A warning. We should take what we came for and leave.

Murphy is talking again, desperate, drunk, and slurring. “She cooks, cleans, won’t give you any trouble. I raised her right, I did. She’ll do whatever you want—”

“I said shut the fuck up.” I don’t raise my voice. I don’t need to.

My eyes remain on the girl. She hasn’t moved. Hasn’t made a sound. She’s not crying or begging. She’s waiting. Like she’s not surprised. Or maybe like she knew something like this was coming eventually.

If I leave her here, either Murphy will beat her to death one night in a drunken rage, or he’ll sell her to someone else. Someone worse.

The bruise on her face is fresh.

I make a decision I know I’ll regret.

“What’s your name?” I direct the question at her, not him.

She hesitates. Looks at her father. He’s nodding frantically, urging her to answer.

“Nora.” Her voice is barely a whisper.

When she says it, her lips form the word carefully. I notice she goes back to biting her full lower lip nervously. I have to force myself to stop noticing.

“How old are you?”

“Nineteen.”

Nineteen. Christ.

I should walk away. This is insane. What the fuck am I gonna do with a nineteen-year-old girl I know nothing about? This girl has to be a whole metric shit ton of psychological diagnoses. I definitely don’t need that complication.

But I can see her future if I leave. Six months, maybe less. She won’t last. The bruises will get worse. Murphy will drink away whatever money he can scrounge, and when that runs out...

“Fine.” The word comes out before I fully process it. “The girl in exchange for clearing the debt. She comes with me. Now.”

Murphy’s face floods with relief. “Oh, thank you, Mr. O’Rourke, thank you—”

“Pack your things.” I ignore him, speaking to Nora. “You have five minutes.”

She doesn’t move. She just stares at me with those wide hazel eyes.

“Go,” Murphy barks at her harshly. “Don’t keep Mr. O’Rourke waiting.”

She disappears down the hallway. I hear a door close.

Murphy is still babbling his gratitude. I tune him out. Finn gives me a look I ignore. He thinks I’m making a mistake. He’s probably right.

Four minutes later, Nora reappears carrying a garbage bag. Everything she owns fits in one goddamn garbage bag.

I’m going to remember this—her standing there with all her worldly possessions in a trash bag, looking at me like I might be a better kind of monster than her father, but a monster all the same.

“We’re done here,” I tell Murphy. I don’t shake his hand. Don’t acknowledge his thanks. I turn and head for the door.

Nora follows. Silently. Obediently.

Fuck.

She sits in the back of the SUV, clutching that pathetic garbage bag like a lifeline. She hasn’t said a word since I agreed to her father’s deal.

Finn starts the engine. I watch her reflection in the window as we pull away from the curb. She’s pale. Silent. Tears stream down her face, but she’s not making a sound.

No sobbing. No hysterics. Just silent teardrops rolling down her bruised cheek and dripping off the edge of her jaw.

She’s learned to cry quietly. So no one hears. So no one gets angry.

I turn away.

I have no idea what I’m going to do with her. My mother is going to lose her mind. My brothers are going to think I’ve lost mine. The optics of this are going to be a nightmare.