When Kings Rise : A Dark Irish Mafia Romance intensified by the presence of a cult. (The O'Sullivan

CHAPTER SIX

PLEASURE.SUCH A small word but one I can’t find in the one-hundred-word crossword puzzle. A cup of tea that had been piping hot when I started has cooled in the mug. I swallow the liquid and continue my search. I have only two more words to find, and it will be complete.

A groan from my grandfather has me glancing at him.

“You know the rules. I intended on finishing off that puzzle.” He slips a small pair of glasses from the breast pocket of his navy shirt and places them on his nose. He stands over me to see how much I have completed.

I continue my search as I speak. “I know the rules. You have twenty-four hours to complete it before I get in.” And his twenty-four hours are up.

“Well, the new newspaper hasn’t been delivered yet, so you are doing the puzzle early.”

With my eyes still glued to the puzzle, I point to the newspaper at the end of the dining table with my pencil. “Your new newspaper is there.” I hadn’t broken our golden rule. He steps away from me and removes his glasses. I hide a smile as I watch him leave the room.

A large arch joins the dining room with the kitchen. The kettle buzzes away as he clicks it on.

Found it.I circle the word and move on to the final one. I can smell pudding and hear the microwave come to life.

“You know Grandmother doesn’t like her pudding microwaved.” I smile softly as my grandfather tuts again.

“It’s a good thing it’s only for me,” he says as he re-enters the dining room with his small timer. He pauses at my shoulder and reads the word I’m looking for. “Hmmm,” he says but continues to his side of the table and sets up his newspaper, opening it up to the puzzle page.

He only gets the papers for the puzzle. I told him so many times that he could buy a puzzle book as he doesn’t read anything else in the paper, but he likes the newspaper and not the small booklet of puzzles.

The microwave still hums in the background as he takes a seat at the head of the old mahogany table. It has some secret drawers that I loved playing with as a kid. I had found the panel when I was coloring under the table on a stormy night. Whenever we had thunder and lightning, my grandmother would make me hide under the table with a flashlight and tell me to color. One particular night, the storm raged for longer than normal, and I got bored of coloring, so I started to touch the table and discovered the secret drawers. Old twine, a pair of scissors, and some clippings of newspapers were all I found. To me, they were treasures.

“I ran into your parents yesterday,” he says, and I look up from the crossword puzzle, leaving my memories behind.

“Let me guess…they didn’t ask about me.” I know the answer already; it should stop hurting after all this time, but I still feel the twinge in my gut at how they don’t care.

“No, they didn’t,” he says. He is never one to sugarcoat things, and I love that about him.

I’m tempted to return to my puzzle but can see in my grandfather’s deep brown eyes that he isn’t finished talking. I take another sip of my cold tea and regret the decision straight away.

“I know that your mother is my child, but I promise I won’t play favorites.”

“If you did that, I would be the winner.” I smile at him.

“Yes, very true. I just meant that you could tell me about this tiff that has separated you from your parents.”

I don’t want to talk about it, and it peeves me that I always have to be the one to explain what happened with them.

I don”t, of course. How can I tell my grandparents that I only exist to be married off? Discovering that at the age of sixteen was life altering, to say the least. I’d had everything as an only child and could do anything I wanted. A picture-perfect childhood until the reality of what my future would be destroyed it all for me.

I won’t be the one to destroy my grandparents’ world. They would object, but doing so would only cause a rift within our family, and I’d still have to marry. They loved their daughter, and I didn’t want to put my mother in a bad light with them.

“You will need to ask them about that,” I finally say.

“I did, and they wouldn’t answer. That’s why I’m asking you.” Of course, he did. He hates to see me separated from my parents even though I’ve lived with my grandparents for years. Simply saying that my parents traveled a lot, and I wanted company or making the excuse that my mother and I didn”t get along has worked for the past few years, but I know the older I get, and my parent”s cold response to me, makes my grandparents question this arrangement all the more.

“Móraí, you know I’m not an idiot. If I am not speaking to my parents, there is a good reason.”

His eyes soften, “I guess I can trust that reasoning.”

“You can,” I answer just as the doorbell rings.

I rise at the same time as my grandfather, but my grandmother calls out to us. “I’ll get it.” We both sit back down, and I focus on finding the final word. I can hear the low, distant hum of conversation at the door. Grandfather gets up as the microwave beeps to let him know his pudding is ready for consumption. When the talking ceases, my grandmother enters the dining room with an envelope in her hand.

She looks so much like my mother; only there is kindness and laugh lines on her face, whereas, my mother’s is perfect due to all the Botox she has had over the years.

“It’s for you, dear.” She hands over the envelope, and my stomach tightens. I recognize the seal instantly. I force a smile and get up, the puzzle forgotten.

“I’d better get ready for the day.” I press a quick kiss to her rosy and freshly washed cheek and clutch the envelope to my chest.

“Will you be back for dinner?” she asks, her gaze darting to the envelope that she is curious about.

“I’ll try.” I press a second kiss to her cheek and inhale the scent of her moisturizer.

“Bye, Grandfather,” I call.

“See you later, love. I’ll have this new puzzle done in no time,” he shouts back from the kitchen.

My grandmother purses her lips and shakes her head. I laugh. “Twenty-four hours, Grandfather,” I remind him and leave.

I walk outside and across the small space to the apartment that my grandparents had converted for me above a detached garage. I didn’t mind staying in their home, but they believed a lady my age needed her own space. Their kindness never ceases to amaze me.

I climb the stairs and enter my apartment, which is always unlocked. I told my grandparents they could come in whenever they wanted, but they always knocked and never entered unless I told them they could.

I smile at how lucky I am to have them.

The apartment is cozy and always warm. It’s a bit of a sun trap. I appreciate the Velux windows that line the roof, allowing all the sunshine to pour in.

The small two-seater couch is scattered with cushions that my grandmother and I knitted over time. I love each one of them.

Stopping at my small kitchen table, I sit down and turn the thick envelope over, breaking the seal. I allow the contents to fall out, already knowing what it is.

Birth control.

Three months ago, these deliveries began. Part of my agreement with the Hand of Kings is to make certain that no unexpected princes are created. Tonight, I have to go to the house. To perform my duties, duties that I was born to perform. I’ve had years to let this knowledge sink in, but it never did until now. This is the destiny my parents decided for me before I was even born. It was the only reason I was born.

I was sixteen when they sat me down. I’ll never forget my mother’s cold exterior. They gave me everything but never affection. I never craved it, as my grandparents filled that void. I never understood why there was no “I love you” at bedtime. No morning hugs. I just assumed that’s how parents were with their kids. They were not our friends, but our parents. But it ran so much deeper than that. They literally had me so I could be raised to fill a role that terrified me.

“You are old enough now for us to tell you about your future.” My father had started. There was a nervous energy in the room. That energy was mine, but at the time, I couldn’t pinpoint it.

“Okay,” I responded. Was this the part where I got serious about my future? Would they push me into politics or law? But I nodded, ready to hear what path had been laid out before me.

“The O’Sullivan family have just given us great news.” My fatherglanced at my mother, and for the first time, shesmiled with real delight.

I’d never heard of the family and at the time wondered if they owned a firm or some business.

“You will be a bride to Diarmuid O’Sullivan.” My father had said while looking back at me, but the smile he shared with my mother was gone.

“A bride?” Confusion at their words had me squirming in my seat.

My father shuffled further in his seat. “Yes, he will have three to select from, and we know he will pick you.”

“What if I don’t want to be a bride?” What sixteen-year-old thought about marriage? I know I didn’t. My dreams were further from that path than they could ever imagine.

My mother spoke this time. “It’s not about what you want, dear; it is what is going to happen. Don’t get awkward. It’s already been agreed upon.” She seemed agitated.

“No.” I shook my head.

My father rises and walks to the fireplace. “Like your mother said, it”s already been agreed upon, and you don’t say no to these people.”

His words were deadly. These people? “I don’t understand.”

My mother rose and joined my father at the fireplace. “You will be his bride when the time comes. You will obey him, and you will earn your place at his side. Make no mistake, Selene, there is no getting out of this.”

They had left me alone, trembling, and I had run. Run to my grandparents, never revealing the real reason that I couldn”t stay under my parents’ roof.

The driver opens the car door for me, and I try not to gasp at the sprawling mansion before me. I’ve been brought up with wealth and have a healthy trust fund, but the sheer size of this place leaves my mind scrambling. I’ve already seen the Hand of the Kings’ mansion, but it still takes my breath away for more reasons than one.

Its sheer size is intimidating, but I know what waits for me on the other side of the door. My first meeting with Diarmuid comes to my mind, when he made me touch myself in front of the other girls, and how he made Niamh touch my breasts, but the part that sent waves of pleasure coursing through me was when he helped me.

I’ve never had a man’s hands on me. It was forbidden. Before I was sixteen, I had some stolen kisses, but that was it. I’ve never been touched. I hate how I liked Diarmuid’s touch so much.

It’s cold, and the breeze has me tightening my beige coat around me. I dressed for the autumn weather in warm pants, a cream polo neck jumper, and heavy black boots. My dark hair flows down my back, and I dip my head as I’m led into the hallways of the mansion. Our footsteps echo loudly as a wordless maid guides me through the house, and we don’t stop until we arrive at double doors that open into a bedroom.

Amira and Niamh are already inside, and both of them look at me when I enter. Amira can’t hide her disgust with me, but Niamh offers a warm, shy smile. I like her and can see kindness in her brown eyes. I wonder if she was introduced into this world the same way I was. Or if she always knew what she was.

Amira, on the other hand, has waves of hostility pouring off her. I try to ignore her as the maid closes the door behind me.

In the room is a large queen-size bed, and my stomach tightens. All of a sudden, I’m feeling hot and shrug out of my beige jacket.

Diarmuid is very attractive, more so than I could have hoped for, and I spent years trying to picture the man my parents handed me over to. His brother Lorcan was easy to find on the internet, as he is into politics, and his face is plastered across so many articles. He’s extremely handsome, too, and after meeting Diarmuid, it is easy to see they are brothers.

No matter how attractive Diarmuid is, though, this entire arrangement is so off-putting to me. I feel like a farm animal being led to auction, and I don’t know if I or that farm animal would be the better for winning.

I look around and place my coat on a chair where another one sits. I have no idea which girl it belongs to.

Awkwardness fills the room now. Amira folds her arms across her chest. A bold red paints her lips, and she raises a brow at me.

I don’t like her at all.

The door opens, and we all shift our stances but relax when a maid enters. She doesn’t speak but lays out three parcels all wrapped in deep green paper. Once she leaves, I walk to the bed and open the first one. What in God’s name are these? They can’t be called clothing. They would barely cover me, and the more intimate parts of the black underwear have Velcro that can be ripped open. The noise of pulling it apart is loud in the room. Amira’s elbow rubs against me not so gently as she opens the second parcel. It’s identical to the one I opened. She holds it up, and with a cruel smile in her gaze, she turns to me, stretching out the material.

“Hmmm. This one is kind of large. Might be for you.” I don’t take the garment, and she tosses it in my direction. It lands right beside my hand. I’m not heavy by any means, but I do have far more curves than Amira.

Amira opens the third one and holds it up. “This seems like it’s my size. I can’t picture either of you fitting in it.” She grins and begins stripping out of her clothes, unfazed that she’s naked in front of us.

I glance at Niamh, who looks uncomfortable.

Amira slips into the bit of material and does a spin for us. “What do you think?” She smirks.

“Save that for Diarmuid. We’re not interested,” I snap, hating how she grins at us.

“How stupid of you. This is a competition.” Amira walks to a full-length mirror and assesses herself.

“If you say so,” I remark, and my fingers toy with the undergarment. I am not shy, but I won’t parade myself before it’s necessary.

“When you fail, I want you to remember what you are seeing right now. This is everything that you won’t be.” Amira spins from the mirror.

“If I remember correctly, Diarmuid left you to the side the last time,” I bite back.

Amira marches to me with fire in her eyes. “Boys are always mean to the girls they want the most.” She continues to the bed and picks up a set of silver bracelets that have a small hook on them. She slips them on. “I don’t think he is into fat girls.”

I bite my tongue, not wanting to argue, but she grates on my last nerve.

Amira looks at Niamh. “Dear God, you look petrified.” She laughs. “He won’t want something like you.”

I spin toward Amira. “That’s enough.” I defend Niamh, as Niamh doesn’t fight back.

I hate bullies.

“Or what?” Amira asks.

I don’t answer her; I’m not the fighting type, but I also won’t stand for her abuse. We are all here for the same reason and being cruel to one another isn’t helping.

Niamh walks to the bed and picks up her own set of identical garments. Amira goes back to looking at herself in the mirror.

“Thank you,” Niamh says gently.

I smile at her, but sadness pours into me. “You are welcome.” I get a sense no one has ever defended Niamh. No matter the outcome of this, I make a promise to watch out for her.

I strip with my back to the girls and get into the underwear. Just like Amira, I slip on the bracelets. Robes I hadn’t noticed are laid out at the top of the bed, and I pick up one, happy to cover up my skin. The silky material is cool against my flesh that has started to feel like it’s burning. My bare feet sink into the cream carpet under my feet. Niamh quickly gets dressed and does the same as me, donning the robe.

When we are ready, Amira marches past us and puts hers on, too. She doesn’t tie it but leaves it open.

“May the best girl win. I’m certain that’s me.” She grins.

I want to snap back at her, but the door opens for a third time, and the same maid that had led us here and brought in the garments looks at us all over. The stern look she has worn since our arrival doesn’t leave her face. Her nose is pinched, her lips downturned. She wouldn’t be getting employee of the month. There is no warmth in her green eyes.

“Follow me.” Her lips barely move as she speaks.We file out of the room as she leads us all barefoot up another flight of stairs. We don’t meet anyone, and I’m too focused on trying to settle my pounding heart to take in my surroundings.

She opens the third door on the left, and Amira pushes past and enters first. When we are all in the room, I pause. A metal pole is erected in the middle of the room. Off to the right, a wash station has been set up.

Niamh is frozen like a deer in headlights, and the maid roughly shoves Niamh forward and guides her to the pole. Amira is standing at the pole. The maid gives me a stern look, and I join the girls. There are chains dangling above our heads.

“Put your hands up.” The maid barks like we are a bunch of disobedient toddlers.

Niamh raises her hands, and I watch as the maid loops chains through the small hole on our bracelets. Amira is next, and for the first time, fear shines in her gaze.

“I’m not putting my hands up there,” she says.

I don’t blame her; I’m not exactly excited to be chained like Niamh.

What I didn’t expect was for the maid to slap Amira across the face. The sound of flesh hitting flesh makes me flinch.

I think Amira will attack the maid, but she surprises me by raising her hands. It is shocking to see how Amira acts like a kicked dog over this.

I raise my hands as I’m next, and once the maid has us all tied up, she goes back to Niamh and takes out black silk blindfolds from a fold in the front of her apron. She places a blindfold over Niamh’s eyes. Next is Amira, who has a mark on her face but doesn’t object this time. When the maid stops at me, I dip my head, but my mind is reeling. What the hell is this for?

The last thing that I see is the stern look on the maid’s face before my world turns black, and I’m left dangling with the other brides as we wait for what is next.