Irish (Spartan Watchmen MC #2)

Chapter 1

CHAPTER 1

MAKENZIE

M akenzie's fingers danced nervously over the delicate lace of her gown, the fabric whispering against her skin as she stood rooted in the small room at the back of the old church.

Cold feet. That’s all. Cold feet.

The feeling of dread rock hard in her stomach was cold feet. She swallowed down the panic that kept pushing up from her chest. Cold feet. Her mother told her cold feet was normal, necessary even. Normal. Nothing was normal about her wedding. Where were the butterflies? The excitement? The joy? Instead, all she felt was impending doom. Her life was about to become everything her mother wanted for her. She was marrying a nice, quiet man, and they would buy a starter house together. Their careers were steady, reliable. They’d raise children in this church…

The Catholic church where she’d been baptized as a baby, had her first confession, and took first communion. The church where she was confirmed in front of her large family as her parents beamed with joy from the hard wooden pews. The priest marrying her today was the same man she’d confessed her most evil sins to. Her depravity. Her wicked thoughts.

While her mother assumed she was pure as snow, Makenzie knew better. Yes, she was a virgin, but her mind was dirty. Dirty as fuck. Her fantasies were anything but pure.

And, after confessing them, the same priest assigned her penances. She recited more Hail Marys than she’d like to admit for her secret online relationship with a man she’d met on a BDSM website. When the relationship ended in an inferno of drama and pain, she felt like she’d been punished for her sins and ran away from the lifestyle all together.

Sean, her oldest brother, stood in front of her, moving like a caged animal. His footsteps were echoing too loudly on the worn wooden floor as he paced the room. She asked to see him. He was the only person she trusted to not judge her. She knew any advice he’d give would be in her best interest, and hers alone. He halted abruptly, turning to face her with eyes that held oceans of concern.

“Kenzie, are you sure about this? Eugene's... He's a decent guy, but is he your prince charming? Is he the man you want to wake up next to for the rest of your life? You know how our family feels about divorce…”

Divorce.

It wasn’t an option in their family. Once you made your vows, you honored them. Come what may. It was the wrong answer, in Makenzie’s opinion; it was better to divorce than spend decades miserable. But, for hundreds of years, the Sullivan family refrained from divorcing. She knew if she stood before Eugene and promised until death do us part , she would be chained to him for all of eternity.

“Makenzie Beatrice Sullivan, look at me.” The order spoken sharply by her big brother caught her by surprise. She lifted her head and looked into his worried face. “Are you sure?”

The question cracked the fa?ade Makenzie had meticulously built for everyone else. The truth bubbled up, raw and unbidden. “No,” she whispered, the word shattering the silence between them. “I can't marry him, Sean. It wouldn’t be fair to him or to me. I–I can’t.”

“Talk to me, Kenzie.” Sean's brows furrowed.

Her breath hitched as she gazed into her brother's eyes. “Eugene is a good man. He's respectful and kind. He’s never done more than kiss me chastely. He’s everything Ma wants for me. He has a great job, he’s dependable. He never raises his voice or gets angry—but there’s something missing. There’s no chemistry. I know Ma said we don’t need chemistry to form a good union. I just always thought there’d be more. Sean, I don’t feel anything when I look at him. No sparks. No butterflies. Nothing. He infuriates me with his inability to ever make a decision. He’s sensitive, which a lot of women look for but…” Makenzie's voice quavered, the dam within her breaking. “I'm just...trying to be Da’s perfect little princess and the woman Ma expects from me, but it's all wrong. I'm not... I need…” She choked on her words, a deluge of tears spilling over, streaking her expensive and methodically applied makeup.

“Hey, hey, no tears, little sis,” Sean said softly, reaching out to steady her trembling shoulders.

“Ma and Da…” Makenzie gasped between sobs.

“They've always had these dreams for me—white dress, perfect husband, the entire fairy tale. But Eugene isn't my fairy tale, Sean. He's not the one who'll storm the castle or fight off the villains. He doesn't even know who I really am. If I marry him, I’ll be miserable. The thought of disappointing our parents, of wasting their money. All of our family is out there. I know what I should do but?—”

“Shh, it's okay, Kenzie,” Sean soothed, pulling her into his embrace. “You don't have to walk down that aisle. Not for them, not for anyone. Never settle. Don't marry someone just because you feel like it's what’s expected from you," Sean said, while holding Makenzie and letting the weight of expectation of performing the dutiful daughter role crumble away.

Her spirit, usually so bright, felt dimmed by the mask she’d been wearing ever since breaking up with her online Dominant and, turning away from the lifestyle she craved to act the part demanded of her. Longing for a different type of relationship—a darker, more honest narrative—ached within her. She wept, relinquishing the control she had clung to for so long, placing trust in her brother that he wouldn’t judge her but help her find a way out of this mess.

After a moment, Sean stepped back from her. “I have a way out for you. Do you trust me?”

“Of course.” What choice did she have? Marrying a man she didn’t love or trusting her brother. The age difference between them had Sean performing almost a paternal role over her when she’d reached high school and college. While she didn’t always like his advice, sometimes not wanting to hear it at all, he’d never steered her wrong.

Sean pulled his cell phone out of his pants pocket. “Irish,” he said into the phone and Makenzie visibly startled at the word. He hit the speaker button before continuing. “You’re on speaker. Makenzie and I are both here.”

Irish.

Sean’s best friend.

The first boy she ever crushed on.

Sean and Seamus were inseparable growing up. Makenzie had stood on the sidelines, cheering Sean on during football and wrestling seasons, but secretly, her eyes never left Seamus. When Seamus started wrestling, he’d been given the name Irish, and it stuck. They’d all attended Holy Comforter Catholic Academy, a prestigious private school, whose mascot was a leprechaun. Their school colors were gold and emerald, green. With his red hair, green singlet and a name like Seamus Patrick Murphy, it came to no surprise when his teammates nicknamed him Irish. Makenzie closed her eyes and thought of the last time she’d seen him, trying to conjure up his image. He’d come home for holidays with his family, but when was the last time she’d seen him? It’d been years. And Irish was dead set against social media so his online presence was limited. Navy SEALs didn’t like photographs of them floating around the world wide web, Sean told her once.

“Hey, brother. What’s going on?”

“Makenzie is in trouble. Can you take her in for a little bit while I smooth things over here?”

On the other end, Irish's voice was a low rumble of readiness, without hesitation he responded. “Anything for family. Give me the details.”

Makenzie watched her brother, her eyes wide with a mix of fear and gratitude. Her chest tightened at the thought of the unknown, but the certainty in Sean's eyes fortified her crumbling resolve. He would always protect her. She listened as they made a quick plan. He hung up with Irish and ordered the rideshare before turning back to her.

“Ride's on the way,” he said. “We’ve got to move fast. The car will be here in five.”

“Thank you,” she said. “You always know what to do.”

“Kenzie, listen to me.” Sean cupped her face, thumbs brushing away the remnants of her tears. “Everything will be okay. You're strong, braver than you give yourself credit for. You don't need anyone to storm your castle; you can break free on your own. You are doing the right thing. I’ll take care of everything on my end. For now, get in the car and go to the airport.”

“In my wedding dress?”

“Do you want to explain to Ma why you are changing clothes? The wedding starts in ten minutes, Kenz.”

She shook her head. She’d have to go to the airport dressed for her wedding. A true Runaway Bride moment. “Think of it as a vacation. I can’t imagine you’ll be gone more than a week or two. Do you have enough money to buy what you’ll need in Denver?”

“I make six figures, Sean.” He seemed to always forget how successful she was. He shook his head and laughed lightly.

“I forget how much money corporate accountants make.” His phone beeped, and he looked down. “Car’s here. I told the driver to pull around to the back. Let’s get you on your way.”

Their foreheads touched, a silent exchange of years' worth of shared memories and mutual support. In that moment, Makenzie felt the weight of her gown less like a shackle and more like a battle cloak, readying her for the fight ahead.

“Go. I'll handle everything here. Get the next flight out to Denver when you arrive at Dulles.” Sean's hand on her shoulder was a squeeze of reassurance.

Makenzie's heart hammered against her ribcage as she slid into the backseat of the car. Her wedding dress, once a symbol of a fairytale ending, now felt like a costume of rebellion as she gathered the heavy skirts in her arms.

“Airport, please,” she said.

The driver, a shadowy figure in the front, nodded and pulled away from the curb. She refused to look behind her at the church as they drove away, scared if she saw her parents standing out front, she’d change her mind. Her thoughts raced. She tried to push away the guilt. She didn’t like not knowing what was going to happen next and worried about what her friends and family would think about her.

There weren’t many things she was certain of as the car drove away from the church. But she was sure Eugene was not the man for her. Hope sprung in her chest, replacing the dread. She was doing the right thing. Maybe—just maybe—she could find her way to a new kind of happily ever after.

The plane's hum was a distant backdrop to the tumult in Makenzie's mind as she stared blankly at the fabric seatback in front of her. She traced the delicate lace of her wedding gown, now crumpled and out of place among the rows of weary travelers. She had traded altars for altitude, vows for velocity, and yet doubt and guilt warred inside of her. Ignoring the looks from other passengers had been easy, talking herself down from a cliff, much harder.

“Mom! There’s a princess sitting behind us!” She heard the little girl behind her exclaim excitedly. “Can I ask her for her autograph?”

“No, sweetheart. Let’s give the princess her privacy.”

Makenzie could have hugged the little girl’s mother. The last thing she wanted to do was talk to anyone.

“You look like you could use a drink. What can I get you?” A flight attendant's voice pierced her thoughts, but Makenzie shook her head, declining with a wan smile. She didn't need another glass of complimentary sadness; she was intoxicated enough with her own spiraling thoughts.

Her life flashed before her. Her workday consisted of numbers and spreadsheets that marched in endless columns, a parade of precision. Eugene, too, appeared in her mental slideshow—his reliable smile, his predictable affections, the chaste pecks he left on her cheek and lips, none of which could ignite any form of arousal.

She thought back to meeting him. Eugene’s mother joined the quilting circle Makenzie’s mother ran at Holy Comfort. The two women got to speaking about their children and the next thing she knew, her mom had set her up on a blind date. While Makenzie felt all the pressure from her mother, Eugene hadn’t.

If Makenzie had known that her mother planned their first date, there wouldn’t have been a second one. Eugene picked her up promptly at seven in a Lexus. When she’d complimented the car, he told her it was the safest luxury car on the market. That should have been her first sign. They arrived at Sam’s on the Waterfront, one of her favorite restaurants overlooking the Chesapeake Harbor. Sam’s was one of her favorite restaurants, and Makenzie wrongly assumed Eugene had done his homework on her. When he couldn’t decide on what to eat, and asked her to pick for him, warning bells went off. She should have listened to them. Months passed of her choosing everything. What movie to see, what food to eat, where to go for brunch. Eugene was like a loyal Golden Retriever, tagging along everywhere she went. He had no real opinion on anything. Politics. Religion. Sports. He couldn’t even pick his favorite musician. “I like them all.” There were no surprises, no impromptu adventures. They scheduled every minute of their time together on a shared Google calendar.

She shifted uncomfortably in her seat, the dress balled up around her. The seatbelt was a reminder of the constraints she felt both in the air and on the ground. Lucky for her, the seat she was in was in the very last row of the plane and she had it entirely to herself. It was the only time in her life she’d been happy to get the back row of a plane.

The image of her online Daddy loomed in her mind, a figure cloaked in anonymity and allure. He was a few years older than her with a lifetime of experience in the lifestyle. Their conversations had been a secret dance of words, a tango where she could twirl freely within the safety of the ballroom… Until it wasn’t.

When she’d joined KinkLife, she’d been happy to simply exist in the shadows. She read the forums and looked at the pictures, wistfully wishing for her own Daddy to come along. Stumbling upon a story writing forum, she’d get lost for hours at night reading fictional stories about Daddies and their Little Girls. One day, someone posted a link for LittleLife and she’d joined. As the months passed, she became more comfortable and started commenting on threads.

That’s when Daddy J had popped into her inbox. At first, it felt like an online roleplay. They flirted back and forth, and he jumped off the screen like a character in one of her favorite romance novels. They’d exchanged phone numbers, only his was an online free Google Voice number. He’d explained that he worked a high-powered job and had to keep his identity anonymous.

At first, they’d laughed a lot together. He’d add a new rule or so every couple of weeks. Normal rules. Rules which made sense. Then, he got more and more demanding. She had to call him the second she woke up and leave a voicemail. He’d forbidden her from using the bathroom, getting a sip of water, or rubbing the sleep out of her eyes. Then there were the punishments. He wanted her to videotape herself doing a variety of different things like standing in the corner with a bar of soap in her mouth. Soon, he forbade her from drinking water for twenty-four hours, or eating for seventy-two—dangerous punishments. He went from calm to explosive, screaming at her on the phone. Finally, she’d had enough and blocked him. He reached out to the girls she’d made friends with on LittleLife and told them all sorts of untrue, horrific stories about her, and the online bullying began. She deleted her account soon after and never went back. Not to BDSM. Not to DDLG.

She’d cried many tears over it. Because, on LittleLife, she'd found solace, slipping into the identity of a Little. It was there she'd tasted the sweetness of surrender, the rush of yielding control to someone who seemed to understand the hidden chambers of her heart. She’d been free to be all of herself, not just the part the world accepted.

But what was it all worth when even her fantasies turned ugly?

A sigh escaped her lips, misting the small oval window beside her. She felt like a fairytale princess, locked inside a tall tower. The villain was not a dragon or a wicked stepmother, but the cage of her own making. A brick wall hiding her desires and fear, keeping her from stepping out into the sunlight again.

Makenzie closed her eyes, leaning back as the plane chased the horizon. With each mile, she was far from the life she knew and closer to the unknown. To Irish. He’s her brother’s best friend. He was a teenager when she was little and treated her better than her own brother, who teased her mercilessly. When she’d crashed her bike in front of Sean, Irish and a group of their friends, they all laughed at her.

Except for Irish.

He rushed over and bent down next to her. “Mak, baby. Are you okay?” His voice was a warm caress over her, and she blinked back tears, willing herself to be brave in front of him. “Let me help you up.”

“Don’t call me Mak.” She’d bit out, accepting his outreached hand. “It’s a boy’s name. No one calls me that but you.”

He'd merely smiled, helping her to stand.

Yeah, she’d crushed on him big time when she was little. Her brother’s cute best friend. Totally off limits. Their age gap was too large when they were younger. As adults, a decade wasn’t much.

Childhood was magical. They’d been privileged to have their mother as a homemaker. Every holiday the house was decorated, hot seasonal meals made with care to the details. There wasn’t any dust or clutter in their home. It was like growing up on the set of a 1960s television show. Da came home from work and Ma took his suit jacket from him, handing him an ice-cold drink of some sort. The same way her mother’s mother before her had done before immigrating to America.

Da worked as a financial manager for a large corporation and made an impressive salary. The running joke in the family was that out of five boys, only his daughter was proficient with numbers. Math was her favorite subject in school, and she excelled at it.

She remembered the hushed hallways of Holy Comforter, the private Catholic school where nuns had preached about duty and decorum. She'd been the youngest of the Sullivan crew. Sean, Kelly, Liam, Peter, and Mickey took their jobs as protective older brothers entirely too seriously.

Her parents' expectations had always loomed large, pushing her toward a future that felt more like a neatly tailored suit than a second skin. Accountant Makenzie, sensible and reliable, a far cry from the girl who longed to walk dogs at the local animal shelter and sing karaoke until her voice turned hoarse. They had wanted stability for her, a husband like Eugene, who was safe.

Beneath the pressed blouses and pencil skirts, Makenzie craved something else—something that whispered of polka dot skirts and bright pink shirts, of Barbie dolls and Playdough. A give and take of relinquished power and tender dominance. She thought again of Daddy J, her online Daddy, the man who had stirred awake desires she didn't know how to name. He’d been a secret chapter, one she never dared to read aloud. Instead of a happily ever after romance, she’d been in the middle of a horror film.

The pressure of propriety weighed heavily on her chest as the plane banked gently through the sky. BDSM wasn’t exactly readily accepted in her devout Catholic circles. Although, her father was definitely the head of their household, and her mother–feisty, opinionated, and intelligent–submitted to his final word. Da wasn’t controlling or cruel but liked order in his home. There was never a doubt her parents loved each other. Even among the confines of order, they played and flirted. Da constantly smacked Ma’s butt as she pulled food from the oven. Kissing and hugging was a big part of their childhoods. Both watched their parents be affectionate to each other and give their affection freely to their children.

Makenzie leaned against the cool window and let the soft thrum of the engines lull her into a restless sleep. She jerked awake a while later, the gentle but insistent touch of the stewardess on her shoulder grounding her back to reality. Her eyes fluttered open, still heavy with sleep and the remnants of tears. The cabin was a soft hum of activity as passengers prepared for landing.

“Miss, we're about to land in Denver,” the stewardess whispered.

“Thank you,” Makenzie murmured, her voice rough from crying. She straightened up in her seat, pushing the tangled strands of hair away from her face. Her wedding gown, now creased and uncomfortable, clung to her like the life she was desperate to shed.

She grabbed her wallet, the only thing she had with her, and stepped into the aisle. As the other passengers bustled around her, Makenzie felt the weight of her decision settle over her like a cloak woven from threads of bravery and fear. Her heart raced with anxiety as she stepped off the plane. Relief, uncertainty, and guilt mixed, forming a sour taste in her mouth.

The airport swallowed her in its vastness, people streaming around her anxious to get to their next destination. Makenzie paused, taking a deep breath. Welcome to the Mile-High City, the mural on the side of the airport terminal wall read.

Her phone, now turned back on, came to life in her hand. A rock dropped from her heart into her stomach as she saw the number of missed calls, text messages, and voicemails awaiting her. She knew they weren’t going to be good.

Sean: Irish is at the airport waiting in the cell phone lot. Text him when you get there, and he will pull around in his F-150.

“You can do this,” she said under her breath. She quickly copied the number Sean provided.

Makenzie: Hi. I’m here.

Irish: Pulling out of the holding lot now. What are you wearing?

Makenzie looked down at her wedding gown and grimaced. She considered, for a moment, about stopping into a store and purchasing a Denver sweatshirt and a pair of sweatpants. But she’d need help getting out of the dress…

Makenzie: A wedding gown.

Irish: Are you joking?

Makenzie: Guess Sean didn’t tell you…

Irish: No, guess not. See you soon.

She continued to walk, one foot after another, avoiding the stares and whispers from the surrounding people. Finally reaching the automatic doors that led outside, she stepped out of the terminal. Cold snowflakes fell from the sky, landing on her face. Anticipation coiled in her stomach as she looked around.

“Mak, baby. Over here.” The low, growly voice called out to her. She turned to see him.

Irish.

Leaning against a navy-blue F-150. He pushed off it and headed her way. Her breath caught in her throat at the sight of the mountain of rolling muscle and sparkling blue eyes. Time, it seemed, had only increased his sex appeal.