2. Isla
2
ISLA
" G et your fucking hands off me!" My shouting doesn't seem to faze Declan O'Rourke, nor does the way I pound my fists into his arm and side. I'm furious, ready to run as soon as he sets me down, but he's so strong even if I tried, I can't fight him. And with my luck, he'd run faster than me too.
"Feckin’ woman, stop hitting me." Declan manhandles me through the door to his home, then up the winding staircase. I've not been here before. It's a large home with expensive marble flooring, large paintings on the walls, and old woodwork that seems original to the house.
All the O'Rourkes live like this, displaying their wealth like a badge of pride. Ronan's place was even nicer, though I didn't really take time to sit and admire the decorations when I was afraid of what he'd say. Somehow, this seems worse than any punishment he could've dealt out. I wanted a punishment. I wanted him to just smack me or tell me to pay him back for the trouble. This is way worse.
"I can fucking walk on my own." I continue to fight him on the climb up the stairs. My kicking and lashing out are my attempts to free myself, but it's exhausting me too. I kick over a table inadvertently, sending an expensive-looking vase crashing to the floor in a dozen pieces. Declan doesn't bat an eyelash. He stalks forward down the hall.
When he finally sets me down inside a bedroom, I shove him hard, then fix my suit jacket and slacks. "This is ridiculous!" I spit. My slacks are riding up, my hair frazzled. I run a hand over it to smooth it down, but nothing can smooth away my anger. "I want to go home."
"It’s not safe," Declan grumbles. He shuts the door behind himself quietly then turns to let his eyes drink me in. I'm not immune to the effect of a handsome man in my presence admiring my good looks, but under these circumstances, I'm not thrilled with it.
"What do you mean, not safe? I live there. It's where all my belongings are." I'm heaving for breath after the wrestling match I just had. It was like banging against a brick wall.
"I mean it's gone, Aisling. They burnt it to the ground already. Do you understand? You’re fucking with Ronan's biggest enemy right now, and they're not happy." He doesn't seem too pleased with me, either. He scowls at me and scratches his beard as his eyes study me.
He’s probably the most handsome of all the O'Rourke men. I've always found myself attracted to his good looks and strength. I'd have told my sister only a few weeks ago that if this stupid arrangement went through and I couldn’t escape like I hoped, Declan would be the one I'd want to marry most. Of course, based solely on looks. I hate the entire idea of arranged marriages, and marrying into this family sickens me. I want to get away from this. It's the only reason I've been skimming money from the O’Reilly Clan to begin with.
"How much?" Declan barks at me, and I turn away, walking toward a window on the far side of the room.
"The O’Reillys don't need the money anyway." I stop by the window and pull aside the thick black drapes. The room is gloomy, dark colors and low light—not at all like my brightly colored home which apparently is up in smoke now. I know my theft was risky, but far less risky than stealing straight from the O'Rourkes. That would've been a death sentence for me and my father. I just never thought the O’Reillys would notice so quickly. I hoped to be long gone before anyone caught on.
"How fucking much?" he demands very loudly. I edge the curtain back farther and stare out at the gloomy sky over Dublin. It's been raining for a few days now, matching my mood. This wedding gets closer every day, and my chance of getting to that cache in my father's back yard seems less and less likely.
"More than two hundred thousand," I tell him, turning to look him in the eye.
He steels his gaze, which he thinks is intimidating to me, but I’ve seen worse. Besides, how can you be intimidating when you're so spectacularly attractive? I'm supposed to be scared of those dark emerald eyes and such a manicured beard? He looks like he stepped off a cover of Gentleman's Quarterly . Doesn't even make me nervous, except for the flutter in my belly when he checks me out.
"What the hell were you thinking, woman?" He rakes a hand through his hair and loosens his collar by unbuttoning the top button.
"Risk over reward," I say dryly, turning back to the window. "I wanted out."
I catch a glimpse of a fleeting compassionate expression on his face as he moves toward me. Declan has an imposing presence, I'll give him that. He's a very large man with broad shoulders, thick biceps. I may have undressed him with my eyes a time or two. It makes my body hitch up a degree or two as he closes the gap between us.
"It's not all it's cracked up to be, Aisling. Getting out is dangerous. You're better off here."
"My name is Isla," I spit. "Fucking use it." I've heard it all before, Dad's lectures, Ronan's warnings, my mother's pleading. But none of them are a pawn in someone else's game. None of them have to walk down an aisle to marry someone they don’t love just to pay back someone else's debt.
"Isla, I apologize." Declan's smooth-as-butter baritone makes me shudder. These men are animals, not to be trusted, not to be weak around. Hearing him speak like this only feels like a manipulation attempt. He's not sorry. He's loyal—to Ronan O'Rourke.
"Are you, then?" I move away from the window and him. I can’t stand the smell of him—musky and intoxicating. It makes my body want to react to his nearness, the cologne that smells like pheromones intended to turn me on. If I stay next to him, I'll betray myself. As much as I am drawn to everything that is Declan O'Rourke, it's a matter of principle. Women are not pawns. I want to show my father respect, but I hate what he's done to me. The position he put me in.
"Isla, you don’t seem to understand what you've done." He turns, his eyes following me across the room as I throw back the covers on the bed and toss pillows to the floor. I may as well get comfortable. I'm not going anywhere with him looming over me.
"No, I do. I've put together a plan to get the fuck away from you before you monsters force me to do something I never want to do." I'm not a fool. The inevitable looms in front of me, beckoning me closer while I try to find any escape route.
"You're walking down that aisle whether you like it or not. Your father made his debts. I'm afraid you don't get a choice. All you’ve done is make it more dangerous for yourself. Can't you see that?" He follows me, picking up the pillows I've thrown down and tossing them back to the bed. "The sooner you accept your fate, the sooner you'll be safe. No one wants to force you, Isla. This is about respect and honor."
"This," I spit, reeling around on him, "is about control. Which you seem to lord over me." I reach out to push him away, and he catches my wrist, glaring at me. His face is inches from mine. I watch his eyes drop to my lips, and I swallow against the lump in my throat as my pulse picks up. Being close to this man does things to my body that I hate. My temperature leaps up a thousand degrees as I pry my hand away from him.
"No one is trying to control you, woman. We're trying to keep your father's integrity and follow our father's orders. And we're trying to keep you safe." There's something there in his eyes—something he's not telling me. There's always something no one is telling me.
"I don't want your protection. I want freedom." My shoulders square. My eyes lock on his. My expression dares him to lay a hand on me, but he takes a step backward.
"You'll be my wife, and you'll be free, Isla. Just let me protect you." Declan backs away and walks toward the door. I say nothing as he slips out into the hallway and shuts the door behind himself.
For a split second, I think of running out, of getting past him and out the front door, but where would I even go? If I go to my father's house, they'll track me there faster than I could get to my cache and get my family to safety. When the door locks, I know I'm stuck here for the time being. They can't force me to stay forever. At some point, they'll look away for a second, and when they do, I'll be ready to move quickly.
I strip off my jacket and shoes and climb onto the bed. I've nothing else to wear, and I'm not partial to grown men walking in on me when I'm stripped down to my skivvies, so I curl up on the bed in my slacks and blouse and wait. All the rage coursing through my body will do me no good. What I need is calm, rational thought.
I want to scream and rage, pound on the door, demand to speak to my father, but I know how they control him too. The pressure they put on him would have him coaching me to just do as I'm told. I don’t know what specific debt he has to pay back to them, but whatever it is requires my cooperation. It's required my cooperation for years now. Otherwise, I'd have never become their accountant. Now I know way too much for my own good.
If I try running, I have to do it right the first time and make sure I vanish. If not, I won't just have to hide from the O'Rourkes. I'd have to hide from his enemies and the Garda too. Everyone will want a piece of me when I’m out, and I have friends lined up to help me truly disappear.
I just have to get to the stash buried in my father’s yard and safely to the port.
And I need to do it before they make me walk down that aisle.