14. Isla
14
ISLA
M y head is pounding and the light nausea lingering is enough to keep me from resting despite feeling exhausted. That and the relentless nightmares I'm suffering. I'm alone in the room, still in Declan's giant bed. It smells like him, which is mildly pleasant. It's a subconscious trigger that lulls me into a sense of safety. Breathing him in during the middle of that attack was the only thing that kept me sane.
My entire body feels sore, the ache so deep it penetrates my bones. Much of the accident and the fire fight that followed are lost from my memory, but my body remembers. Every tender purple spot on my flesh tells the story of where I was struck or slammed against things. My knees feel raw as mince from being ground across the pavement. It hurts to bend my legs too.
I've been living in denial, and it's obvious now. My naivety is probably obvious to Declan and his brothers too. Had I been alone out there, no doubt I'd have been raped, tortured, and eventually killed by Sebastian O’Reilly and his men. They would surely have brought me to him so he could take his fill too, dishonoring me and humiliating me before dragging out my murder in a slow and agonizing fashion.
But I'm safe here thanks to Declan and his brothers. I'm in his warm bed, comfortable as I can be with all these bruises, and allowed to rest and recover at my pace. I'm not sure how many days it's been. I remember taking a few meals and throwing them up instantly. Maeve says it's the head injury, and I can't wait until that heals. I don't think I could escape now if I tried. My body is too weak, which means I have to plot out a new path forward and give myself time to recover fully.
It also means the time table I'm on is too short for an escape before this wedding. But I'm not as bothered by that as I was before. Even if I do say yes to the dress, I can still escape. My new identity won't be married. She'll be free to do as she pleases, and I will find love someday. Maybe not like him, definitely not like this family. But true love that's safe.
"How do you feel?" I hear, and I turn over to see Declan standing behind me. He's wearing only his towel around his waist, his body glistening with moisture. I never heard the shower running, though the loud ringing in my ears from the blow to my head is deafening. I may not hear soft sounds like that for a while.
"Sore," I croak, turning all the way around to face him. I lie on my side wondering why he looks at me so differently now, with softness and compassion. Where is the monster who murders people and enforces the O'Rourke law? For some reason, this version of him intimidates me, puts me under a spell that has me curling inward. This one is more dangerous than the other. This one will consume my heart and soul. The other can only kill my body.
"He's a dangerous man, Isla." Declan walks toward me, brushing a hand through his soggy locks. Water drips from his soggy strands and runs across his chest. The Celtic cross there suggests loyalty to his brothers and their criminal organization. His other tattoos aren't as meaningful, and I can admire how he stands by his brothers. But their sins are just too dark to overlook.
"You're a dangerous man." My words are hollow. I'm still numb. I don't really know if I believe that anymore, that Declan is a dangerous man—at least not to me. He's done nothing but try to convince me to let him protect me. He's not laid a hand on me except the times I asked for it. But I saw how he slaughtered those men—six of them in cold blood, lying on that pavement.
"They've already tried to kill you once. If they can't do that, they'll go after your family. And they’ve already tried that too." He stalks forward using the corner of the towel to dry his arm, and I jerk up in the bed.
My mind goes to my father and mother, to Rebecca. Sebastian is hunting down everything I hold dear, and all over a measly two hundred grand. His net worth is hundreds of millions. Why does he even care about it?
"I'll give it back," I say, standing up. The thin T-shirt I wear—one of Declan's he loaned me—and my panties are hardly enough to keep me warm or comfortable. I wrap my arms over my middle and look him in the eye. "I know right where it is. I can go dig it up and give it back. Please…" I want him to help me.
I'm under no illusion that he cares about me at all. This entire thing is just an arrangement to him. It doesn't matter that my edge toward him has started to soften or that I'm seeing things about him that I don't hate. It doesn't matter that he treats me nicely or protects me or that I feel the safest when I'm in his arms now—I have since that moment on the street when that blood from his shirt stained my palm.
I know I'm nothing more than a business transaction to him and he won't even stop to think about it if he has to put a bullet in my head. I'm a means to an end, but I have to plead with his human side, the side I see staring back at me right now. My family can't be harmed. It terrifies me.
"He doesn't care about the money," Declan says, walking toward his dresser. He lets the towel fall, his back to me. I see the scars there, ones I remember watching being sewn up and a few more I don't remember. But I've felt them under my fingertips when he had me, made me his.
"Then make him care," I snap, stalking over to him. His head hangs, and I stand by his side, glaring. "Go fecking find him and make him take it back." I'm heaving, trembling with the realization that I've put a bullseye on my family's backs. It probably comes across as anger, because despite what they say about me, I'm not a fucking banshee. I'm not going to break down crying.
"It doesn’t work that way."
"Fecking make it work," I say, jabbing a finger into his chest. He's standing here naked in front of me, but I'm not even looking at the corded muscles on his ribs and abs or the fact that his dick is halfway stiff, probably from being around me while he's nude. I need answers, and I need comfort, and it's not easy for me to ask for it, especially from someone I should hate.
"I can't just snap my fingers, Isla," he says, and he looks up at me with a jade storm in his eyes. The hints of emerald are still flashing compassion, but I can see his temper roiling. If I anger him enough, maybe then he'll do something.
"So you'll let them take me? And what, rape me, slit my throat, murder my family? Do you think a marriage license will keep me safe?" My whole body is heaving now, shaking from fear and rage. My head throbs harder, and I feel like I might throw up, and when he opens his mouth to protest, it makes me snap.
"Mother of God, woman, you?—"
I smack him hard, so hard his head pops to the left before his hand shoots up and grabs my wrist. He backs me against the wall and has both my arms pinned over my head before I can even protest, and his hot breath dances over my face.
"I tried to tell you, Isla, that the only way out of this is to trust me to protect you." He's strong, squared shoulders, chiseled muscles. My body floods with warmth as I imagine him pulling me against his chest to safety, not at all what my anger wants, but the fearful child inside me, the one terrified of losing her parents and only sibling, craves it.
"Screw off. I'm not marrying you," I blurt, but I know I will. I'll do anything to save them. This is all my doing. I can't live with that guilt.
"Why can't you just listen to me? How many more times do they have to come at you before you do?" He grits his teeth, and I turn my head away. I know he's right, and I hate it. They're coming like a devil in the night, and I don't have any choice but to submit to him.
"What are you going to do, fuck me into submission?" My words are harmless, a taunt flipped his way to incite his anger. Maybe then, he will unleash the beast I know too well, the one who consumes my doubts and reminds me of how powerful he is. Makes me feel safe.
"Do you want me to fuck you into submission?" His lips are dangerously close to my ear now, his cock hard and pressed on my bare thigh. He gets off on this too.
"I'm expecting nothing less."
Declan bites my earlobe but he doesn't release my hands. My body shudders as his other hand gropes my tit, squeezing and kneading it. I arch my back, silently begging for more. His hand travels down to the hem of my shirt, lifting it up and off in one fluid motion. I'm now naked except for my panties, but not for long. He hooks his fingers on the waistband and pulls them down, leaving me bare and exposed to his hungry eyes.
"Spread your legs," he growls as he releases my hands. I do as I'm told because defiance is no longer an option. He steps back, his erection still throbbing between his legs. "You're so wet." He smirks, running a finger through my folds and bringing it to my lips. "Taste yourself."
I taste myself on his finger, the musk of my arousal mixed with my shame. I close my eyes and suck his digit, moaning softly as he caresses my breast.
"That's it, baby." His voice is low, husky, and it sends shivers down my spine. He pushes two fingers inside me roughly, testing my entrance before he pulls out and brings them to my lips again. "Open your eyes. Look at me." I open my eyes reluctantly and meet his dark ones. "You want this, don't you?"
"Yes," I whimper. "I want you to possess me." There’s something about it, the way he dominates me and makes me feel small. It feels safe, and I don’t know why. Maybe because in my weakness, he’s strong and I can trust that strength, or maybe it’s something else. Maybe I’m falling for him.
Declan steps forward and pushes me against the wall, his erection pressing against my core. "Say it again, Isla. Tell me you want me to fuck you into submission. Tell me you want me to dominate you and force you to be my fuck toy.”
"I—" I gasp as he enters me roughly, stretching me to the limit. "Ah, God!"
"Say it!" he growls, thrusting into me mercilessly.
"Yes… Make me your toy," I moan, my nails digging into his thighs. He's not gentle, but I don't want him to be. I want him to show me how much he needs this, how much he needs me. His hips smack against mine, each impact sending jolts of pleasure through my body. Then his hand comes down on the side of my ass in a hard crack that shakes me.
“Oh, God,” I whimper, edging closer to orgasm, pushing my body against his in a desperate attempt to feel him deeper inside me.
“You like that, don’t you?” he growls, smirking as he spanks me again, this time harder. “Tell me you like it.”
“I… I like it,” I moan, my body on fire as he pounds into me relentlessly. Pain and pleasure intertwine as one, the sting of his hand a delicious reminder of who has control here.
“Say it louder, Isla. Tell me how much you love it when I mark you as mine.” It’s humiliating and degrading, but he’s right—I do love it. I love it so much, I keep coming back when I know my ultimate goal is to be far away from him, so far away from this life.
“I … love it…” I pant, and an orgasm racks my body, making me jolt and convulse as he continues to fuck me against the wall. I’m trembling, weak in the knees as his scent curls around me and sucks me deeper into his vortex.
When he pulls out, I think I’m free, ready to curl up on the bed and resign myself to my fate, but he has other plans. Declan turns me around and forces my body to bend over his dresser. His dick prods at my backside as he grips my hair and pulls my head back at an odd angle.
“Feck, your ass is sexy…” His dick slides up and down my crack, smearing my moisture around.
“No, Declan… not there,” I whimper, but it’s too late. He’s already inside me, stretching me in a way that burns like hellfire but feels so damn good. He pulls out and shoves his cock back in, harder this time, making me scream.
“Relax, Princess.” He grits his teeth, and I clench around him. God, it feels so good, I can’t breathe. “That’s it, take Daddy’s cock.”
“Daddy?” I moan as he thrusts into me again and again.
“Yes, I’m your daddy now, and you’re my little toy. Say it.” His grip on my hair tightens, his thrusts harder and faster as he pounds into me relentlessly.
“I… I’m your little toy.” My whimpers precede a second orgasm, this one more powerful than the first. And he seems to get off even more on it, feeling the pulsing of my tight hole around his thick girth. I feel like I’m tearing in two, but it’s the most exquisite feeling I’ve had in my life.
How can I simultaneously hate everything this man stands for, everything I'm being forced to do for my family, and still find that I'm in love? How can I enjoy this when I hate it in principle and in deed?
I feel his release deep inside me and shudder as he lets go of my hair. I lie there draped over the end of the dresser as he pumps in and out of me a few more times then pulls out. It hurts, feels like I'm split open, but the relaxation comes in waves. I'm dizzy and weak. He helps me to bed and covers me.
When he presses a kiss to my forehead, he promises, "You'll see, Isla. I'll take care of you. You'll have everything you want and your family will be safe. Rest now, Princess…"
And my eyes shut with fatigue and afterglow. I don’t have energy to fight right now. But I can dream of my escape and pray that when the time presents itself, I’ll have the courage and the desire to run. Heaven help me if I fall any farther.