The Enforcer's Redemption (Sins of the O'Rourke Empire #2)

10. Isla

10

ISLA

I 'm cold, but lying here shivering in the air conditioning after being covered in sweat from the run and that romp feels good. It feels better than the numb ache hollowing me out inside. I lie perfectly still, afraid to break the trance I'm under. Relaxation has gripped my body, moves through every cell, snaking its way through my core and up to my chest and back again.

Declan is a master at owning me. I have to admit I loved what he did, how he dominated me, forced the truth of my desire for him to come out. I want him. I can't keep it a secret. Maybe I should never have tried to. Part of me loves how he possesses me body, soul, and spirit, but part of me hates myself.

The girlish crush I have on him is disgusting. Men like him are animals, taking what they want and getting away with it. I should hate him, be repulsed by the way he thinks he can walk right in here and bed me without consent. But I can't. I've had eyes for him for years, and I never told a single soul except Rebecca.

I roll to my stomach and turn my head so my eyes remain fixed on my clothing across the room. I feel his sex drain from my body and think how differently things could have gone. Perhaps I'd still dislike him or resist the marriage that's supposed to happen between us, but had he asked me to dinner, at least tried to woo me in a natural way, maybe this would feel different. Maybe I wouldn't feel like I was losing myself to something I'd never come back from.

I push myself up from the mattress and stare at my feet. The moisture between my thighs disgusts me but reminds me of how giddy his body made me feel. I want to wash him off me, but I want to pull him back in, feel his strength, revel in the pillar of safety I felt the moment he told me I belong to him now. Why did it do that to me? Why am I so weak?

Forcing myself to my feet, I feel weak in the knees. I stand for a moment before walking, moving toward the clothing on the floor. The phone is there, hidden in the pile of cloth that is now soiled with mud and sweat. I'm sure they're still looking for it, and I may only have a few minutes longer with it. I can't waste the precious time lying around sulking about the best sex of my life.

I rifle through the skirt and find the phone tangled in the dirty material, then I walk to the dresser and pull out fresh underwear, a camisole, and some shorts. With a glance toward the door, I slip into the bathroom and shut it. There's no lock, but I can run the hot water as a cover for the noise.

I quickly wash myself in a whore's bath, then dress and turn on the shower water before I sit on the closed toilet and dial my father’s number. He picks up on the third ring.

"Mick here, what can I do for you?"

"Da," I whimper, and it's the first hint of weakness I've allowed myself to truly display. "It's Isla."

"Aisling, God's graces, how are you?" he asks. He sounds frantic as I hear a muffled, "Brennan, it's her."

"I'm okay, Da. How is Mum?" My hand trembles. I'm shaking like a leaf in a hurricane waiting for them to burst in and take the phone from me. I know they'll be furious, but it's not like I'm arranging a coup. I'm calling my family to let them know I'm okay.

"Mum is worried, Rebecca too. We're fine, Aisling. Are you okay? How is he treating you?" Da sounds worried, but not overly so. I know he's had a longstanding relationship with the O'Rourke family, though I'm not sure to what extent he's involved. Da is a good man, not a criminal like these men who hold me hostage. I'm sure his debts weren't even his fault, a bad loan or a mistake of some kind.

"He's a kind man, Da," I tell him, and while Declan hasn't laid a hand on me, I'm not sure I believe myself. The way he pinned me to that mattress showed me the beast inside him, though I can't deny how much I enjoyed it.

"Good, good, Isla," he says, switching to my more intimate name, the one I prefer. "This isn't the way I wanted this. You know that, right?"

"I know, Da." My sense of duty to my family is strong. It always has been. That's why I stole, to make sure my family could be protected and provided for. I can still follow my plan. I can still make us disappear if my father goes along with it. "Da?"

"Yes, Princess?"

"Da, I want you and Mum to pack a bag. Rebecca too. I want you to be ready. When I come to you, we'll run, okay? We can get away from these men and their wars and?—"

The door bursts open, startling me, and the hairy, tattooed man stands over me with a glare. "Give me my phone, ya bleedin' banshee." He reaches out and grabs for it before I can even finish my sentence. I don't know what he heard, but I don't want to give it up. I hold onto it tightly and pull back.

"No, I need to speak to my father." My hand wrestles against his until I'm standing, fighting him off, and he smacks me hard. It stuns me, causing me to stumble backward and bump into the wall. It also makes me relinquish my grip on the phone as I reach to cover my stinging cheek.

I can't believe he just did that. My mind is reeling even as Declan barges in and shoves the man out of the bathroom with a shout.

He turns to me and cups my cheek, the pad of his thumb brushing over my lip which stings now. I taste the faint hint of copper on my tongue and know the man busted my lip.

"Are you okay?" he asks, stormy green seas raging as he peers into my eyes. I nod and lick the blood from my lip. "Isla, you shouldn't have done that."

I nod again, not even knowing the right response. I feel like I’m on a yo-yo, in his arms begging for him to pleasure me one minute, terrified and being struck the next, then back in his arms wondering why my world is spinning out of control the next. He's here. I feel safe, but I feel trapped. But I want him here, and still I want to push him away.

Declan presses a soft kiss to my lips and as he backs away, I see a spot of blood on his lip before he licks it away. "I'll deal with him. You just get ready for dinner." He touches my lip again with his thumb, and for some stupid reason, I ache inside when he walks away.

I hear the shouting and angry voices in the hallway as I sink down the wall onto the bathroom floor and hug my knees to my chest. If I were the sort of woman who cried and wailed like a banshee, now would be the time that I'd do it. But I'm not.

I'm the sort of woman who thinks carefully, plans wisely, and moves with purpose.

I just don’t know what way to move now.