CHAPTER FIFTEEN
I DIDN’T WANT Diarmuid to go. I would have liked to spend more time with him. But I’m trying to show him my range—how I can play whatever part he needs—a role that changes between lover and now caretaker of his family”s troublesome relatives. Babysitting Wolf will show Diarmuid that I can be a good wife.
Wolf is still asleep as I sit on the side of the bed and examine his face. I can”t help but notice the unmistakable family resemblance—the sharpness of his jawbone and the distinctive shape of his brow. They are the same features that Diarmuid and his brothers have. All are extremely handsome.
The light catches the hair on Wolf”s cheeks and head, revealing a surprising red tint. A ginger, I muse.
Every so often, Wolf stirs, each time awakening with a parched throat and a confused look in his eyes. He reaches out for a glass of water, his hand shaking slightly. To him, I”m a stranger—a face without a name. And why should he recognize me? My interactions with Wolf have been fleeting, and the more I”ve learned about him, the more I”ve felt a creeping sense of unease.
He is just as deadly as his cousins, maybe more so because Wolf is unpredictable, based on the rumors I’ve heard. The most disturbing whispers, the ones that send shivers down my spine, are his involvement in the family”s sex trafficking ring. I had shared this knowledge with Niamh and Selene with a smile, but inside, my stomach soured.
He starts to cough again, and I sit and watch him struggle to catch his breath. I’ve heard of people choking on their own vomit. If he does throw up, I won’t be able to clean it. Knowing that I need to impress Diarmuid, I rise and walk around the bed, picking up the glass and bringing it to Wolf’s lips.
“You’re okay; just take a sip.” I try out a smile as his gaze focuses on me. He does as I command. The water seems to lodge itself in his throat, and he’s sputtering again. A memory thick and hard slices through my mind.
My mother bent over a small bucket as she gasped for air, but there was no forgiveness for all the alcohol she had indulged in. Her hand had reached out to me for help, and I remember standing in the hallway watching her, hoping her last breath would be stolen on the kitchen floor.
Unfortunately, it wasn’t.
Wolf gasps and takes in a few lungfuls of air. His brows furrow. He won’t remember this tomorrow, so I have nothing to fear. But just in case, I offer words of encouragement. “There you go. You are doing great.” The pitcher on the bedside table is empty, and I pick it up and leave to refill it. I’m contemplating using the tap water in the bathroom, but even as a child, I was scolded if I drank from the bathroom taps. The system in the attic wasn’t safe for drinking, and it fed into the bathrooms. The thought of going downstairs and bumping into my mother, though, made me choose to take my chances with the tap water.
I take one final glance at Wolf, who has his eyes closed again, before I slip out of the room. I don’t have to walk far before a figure in a crisp, white uniform catches my eye—a maid, moving with purpose toward me. She glances at the empty pitcher in my hand, and without a word, she reaches out for it. I’m not used to people helping me, but it’s something I could get used to. So when she takes the empty pitcher from my hands with a nod, I release it. She disappears out of sight. I’m not sure if I should wait or return to the room, but the chirp of my phone from the pocket of my dress distracts me. I fish it out of the small pocket along the thigh of my dress. The one thing I always ask for is for my garments to have pockets. The screen lights up with a message that instantly sends a shiver down my spine. It’s from my mother.
“Where are you?”The text is brief, but I can hear her voice in it. Her voice is edged with that familiar blend of worry and disapproval. My fingers hover over the keyboard, my mind racing. How do I explain, yet again, that I am attending the most important yearly social event in our city? An event that, for better or worse, could shape my future and that of our family? She knows this, but with all the alcohol fueling her body, she’s very forgetful.
I type out a response, reminding her of where I am.
No sooner have I sent the message than a reply comes through, and with it, a knot forms in my stomach.
“Whoring again.” Her words lash through the phone. She’s always been angry at me, but even more so since the loss of my brothers—a void that nothing can fill—has left her grappling with a depression so deep it colors every word she says to me. The absence of my youngest brother, Michael, who we only hear from through sporadic letters, adds to the constant fear that one day, those letters will stop coming.
But I shouldn’t have to be her punching bag. That’s all I am to her.
“No. Securing our family’s future, Tess.” I use her name for extra emphasis.
“Your water.” I glance up at the maid, who has returned with the water, and I take it from her before making my way back to Wolf.
I slip the phone back into my pocket, a sense of resolve hardening within me. Today, proving myself to Diarmuid is more important than fighting with my mother.
With a deep breath, I lift my chin and step forward, ready to face whatever is behind this door. But my ringing phone has me pausing.
“Can I hold that for you?” The maid is still standing in the hallway. I want to tell her to leave, but instead, I hand her the pitcher and answer my mother’s persistent rings.
“I’m busy, Mother,” I say.
“Have you so easily forgotten about your brothers?” Her words are slurred and filled with pain. This week marks a painful anniversary—the death of Dominic, my older brother. The memory is a sharp, constant ache, a reminder of the price paid by those forced to serve the Hand of Kings. Dominic and Kevin, both lost to a cause they had no choice in, their futures snuffed out prematurely. Dominic”s death, in particular—gunned down during a police raid—haunts our family, a wound that never truly heals. But I feel that pain, too.
The timing of the anniversary only serves to heighten my mother”s volatility, a fact I”m painfully reminded of as she continues to spew her poison down the phone.
“Of course, you have forgotten. All Amira cares about is Amira.”
I turn away from the maid and hiss into the phone. “I haven’t forgotten. But you seem to forget you still have a daughter.” I’m braver with the distance between us. If I were home, she would surely strike me. I don’t want to go back to that house, to the suffocating atmosphere of sorrow and resentment.
“You”re not much of a daughter.” Her words lash out, and I end the call. The pain of her words is too much.
I turn to find the maid watching me. I slip the phone back into my pocket. I reach for the pitcher, but not before the maid’s gaze meets mine, a flicker of concern in her eyes. It”s a kindness, perhaps, but in that moment, it feels like pity, and something within me recoils.
“What are you looking at?” The words snap from my lips, sharper than I intended. It’s a defense mechanism, an instinctual cover for the pain that”s threatening to spill over. The maid, taken aback, merely hands me the pitcher and moves past me, her momentary concern replaced by a professional detachment.
I retreat to the guest room, only to find Wolf sitting up in bed, looking woozy but alert. He finishes a glass of water as I enter. When Wolf’s gaze meets mine, I recognize something in his deep gray eyes. Like me, he carries his own pain. A shadow seems to cling to him, visible in the weariness of his eyes and the careful way he holds himself.
“Where is Diarmuid?” are his first words.
I place the pitcher on his bedside table. “I’m not sure,” I answer honestly. “I think he’s with Lorcan and Ronan.”
He huffs at that. “I’m sure they are discussing what to do with me.”
I hesitate, not sure how much to pry, but any opportunity to get to know Diarmuid better is one I will grab with both hands.
“They seemed very concerned when you fell.” I lie remembering how Diarmuid had released Wolf in anger, allowing his cousin to fall and bang his head.
“They don’t care about me.” His words are bitter, and he takes another drink. “They would be glad if I were buried alongside my father.”
“I doubt that is true,” I respond.
He snorts. “You don’t know my cousins.” He waves his hand in the air. “You will soon enough, and then you will be running.”
“He’s been very kind to me,” I say and think of how we shared a moment out in the garden. How he took my virginity from me and only me. He never touched Niamh or Selene, and why would he? They don’t compare to me.
“Kind until he gets what he wants,” Wolf says, watching me closely now.
He already got what he wanted,my mind sings. I shake the thought away.
A silence slips over the room for a moment.
“Who were you talking to on the phone? It seemed heated.” Wolf sits up even further in the bed. He grows more alert by the minute.
I’m wondering how much I should share with him. “My mother,” I answer.
Wolf doesn’t pry, but I need to talk; I never talk about her. “It”s our brother”s anniversary—well, two of my brothers’—death. Michael…well… we aren’t sure about him, to be honest.” I find myself drifting to the end of the bed.
“I understand loss like that. I buried my father,” Wolf says, with an almost vulnerable look in his gaze, but he doesn’t have pity in his eyes, and that is what keeps me talking. I can’t stand pity.
“I’m sorry about your father. It’s a burden.”
He nods in response.
“My brothers served the Hand of the Kings, also,” I say and fold my hands onto my lap.
“Oh, I may have known them. What is your second name, Amira?”
The fact he knows my first, surprises me. My last name isn’t a secret. “Reardon.”
Wolf’s eyes light up as if he recognizes the name, but he shakes his head. “I can’t say I worked with them, but then again, I’ve worked with a lot of people, being a Duke.” He offers a lazy smile.
“You”re a Duke yourself,” I tease, a smile playing at my lips as I think to myself that if things don’t work out with Diarmuid, maybe, just maybe, being close to Wolf might save me from being stuck at home with my mother. He didn’t seem as bad as people made him out to be. In fact, I could see myself liking Wolf.
He returns the smile with a wry twist of his lips. Wolf suddenly pushes to his feet, a bit unsteady but determined. “I have to get to work,” he announces.
“Your work can wait for another day,” I protest half-heartedly, intrigued by what could possibly demand his attention so urgently. There”s a part of me that knows all too well the nature of his duties, yet being in the room with him makes me wonder how much is really true.
He pauses, considering something. “Why don”t you come see my office?” He suggests a challenge in his eyes. I hesitate, aware of the reasons why such an action would be frowned upon. “It probably isn”t appropriate for a Bride to be alone with another man,” I murmur.
Wolf”s response is immediate, confident. “I have nothing to hide from Diarmuid,” he states, his tone leaving no room for argument.
The invitation hangs between us. I stand and consider his offer, the knowledge of what he does, the intrigue of the unknown, and the sheer boldness of his invitation stirring a reckless desire inside me.
The transition from the luxurious, suffocating atmosphere of the event to the starkness of the old school building is jarring. We hadn’t far to go, just across the courtyard, before we arrived at what Wolf says is his office.
I’m reconsidering my decision, glancing back at the mansion with all its glistening lights. But as Wolf steps into the foyer, I find myself following him.The chill of the stone walls contrasts sharply with the warmth we”ve left behind, making me very aware of how scantily I’m dressed. The building, despite its seemingly abandoned exterior, exudes an air of careful maintenance. The wooden floors gleam under the steady glow of well-maintained lighting, free of the cobwebs one might expect in such a place. A calendar on the wall, its pages fresh and current, seems oddly out of place in the otherwise timeless space.
I can”t help but feel a mixture of confusion and curiosity as we walk through the entrance. “This is not what I expected,” I admit, my voice echoing slightly in the open space.
Wolf glances at me, a hint of amusement in his eyes. “The O”Sullivans have always been good at hiding in plain sight,” he explains, his tone casual but carrying an undercurrent of seriousness. “Ever since they joined forces with the Hand of Kings, secrecy has become a cornerstone of their operations. Most of my dealings are through contacts within the Hand. Diarmuid”s side of the business, given his involvement in the illegal arms trade, tends to work more closely with the O”Sullivan network.”
The revelation of Diarmuid”s activities, while shocking, doesn”t surprise me as much as it should. Yet, hearing it spoken aloud by Wolf brings new clarity. Maybe Wolf has more power than Diarmuid if he works so closely with the Hand of the Kings.
As we move beyond the foyer, the facade of the old school continues to unravel, revealing its true purpose. The presence of regular offices makes this place almost seem mundane.
That is, until we step into Wolf’s office. It’s such a large, yet inviting room. The warmth radiates from a fire that has been kept lit for a while now. Off to the left is paned glass, hiding another room, but I can’t make it out. The chill from walking across the courtyard starts to ease.
“There are things I know that could upset the ruling governments of most of the world powers,” he states, a grim seriousness etching his features as he sits behind an old and oversized desk. He points at the chair in front of his desk for me to take.
My curiosity piques. “What kind of things?” I ask, not sure I”m ready for the answer.
“Disgusting, sinful things, Amira,” he replies, his gaze fixed on a point somewhere beyond my head.
The gravity of his words sends a shiver down my spine, a realization of the depth and darkness of the secrets Wolf harbors. It”s a reminder of the world I”m stepping into and also a reminder that I shouldn’t be here.
He rises, and I’m surprised when he holds a hand up for me to stay seated. “Wait here.”
I sit in the warm room and wonder where he has gone. It’s not long before I get up, unease rippling through my system.
After what feels like an eternity, Wolf re-enters his expression unreadable. “What”s going on?” I ask.
“I’m going to allow you to see me work,” he answers, a cryptic smile playing at the edges of his lips.
He guides me to another door, this one secure with both analog and digital locks. Once through, we enter a room that stands in stark contrast to everything I”ve seen thus far.
“The sex training room,” he states calmly, like that statement alone shouldn’t have me running back to the safety of the manor.
He directs me to a chair in the corner of the room and tells me to wait. “I have this feelingyou would like to see my work.”
I can’t answer. I’m curious what a sex training room is. Maybe I could learn something to use on Diarmuid to gain the upper hand. I know Wolf won’t touch me—it’s forbidden—so I nod and wait to see what he wants to show me.
“Have you seen anyone else arriving here?” he asks all of a sudden.
I shake my head. “No.”
“At least a dozen people have seen you. This place has lots of secrets and a lot of protection, too. It has to.”
The far door opens before I can respond or decipherwhat his words could mean.A young woman enters.
Wolf smiles kindly at the woman and signals her to approach him with two fingers.
She does with a bowed head. The dressing gown she wears covers her body, but I don’t think she wears anything underneath it.
“The Dukes and Kings of the Hand of the Kings prefer virgins. But I know a woman has greater value if she has some experience.” I sit up straighter.
He leads the woman to a chair, but before she sits down, she strips off her gown. Beneath it, she is naked like I thought.
Wolf stands behind her, his gaze never leaving mine. He runs both his hands down across her breasts and squeezes her nipples lightly. The woman’s face is covered with her long, loose hair, and I want to see her eyes. But I don’t dare speak as Wolf continues to play with her breasts. His strokes aren’t gentle, and redness starts to grow along the skin from his constant grabbing. He’s watching me as he rolls her nipples between his fingers and pulls them outward. I lick my lips, and he grins before he moves around her and kneels at her feet.
“It is my job to teach women how to be the best lovers possible before I marry them off or sell them.” He states and spreads the woman’s legs, revealing her private area. I’m surprised to see she has no pubic hair. I’m wondering if it’s something Wolf prefers, or if the woman did it herself.
I have so many questions, like why wasn’t I trained? Or what does he mean to sell them off? But the words are cut off as he runs his large hands up her thighs and spreads her legs as far as the chair will allow. He’s left enough room so I can see as he slips a finger inside the woman, and she groans in pleasure. My stomach dances with butterflies. I’m back to looking at the woman’s face, but I can’t see with all the hair hanging loose.
“I want to see her eyes.” I find the words.
He smiles with delight and reaches up, grabbing a bunch of her hair to yank her head back. Her oval face has creamy, flawless skin, her lips are slightly parted, and her bottom lip is large. Her white teeth are stark against her pink lips. She’s very pretty. Would Diarmuid prefer her more than me? An unyielding anger has me wanting to hurt her, but I stay in my seat. Wolf slips another finger inside the woman. This time, his movements are harsh, and the woman hisses in what sounds like pain, and that makes me smile. He doesn’t think she is prettier than me. He wouldn’t dare touch me like that; it reminds me of my worth. I’m so much more than these whores.
When I meet Wolf’s gaze, he smiles back at me. “Does this turn you on?” he asks as he continues to plow his fingers into the woman. He keeps a tight grip on her hair, never allowing it to cover her face, keeping the curtain back so I can watch the show.
“Yes,” I whisper.
He nods. “There is no shame in that. You can learn by watching, but you can touch yourself if you wish.”
I want to touch myself, but I also know the complications of my actions.
Wolf, as if noticing my hesitation, rises to his feet; the woman instantly pulls her legs together, and her annoying hair falls down around her face. Wolf gathers her hair again, and I’m surprised at how thoughtful he’s being for me. He scoops it back in a low ponytail and uses his fingers as a tie.While looking at me, he unzips his pants, and his large cock springs free. He’s still looking at me when he directs the woman’s head to his cock by pulling her hair. She looks up at him with large eyes, but he isn’t paying her attention. No, he’s paying me attention.
“Circle your mouth and suck.” He instructs her she reaches up, and I notice the shake in her hand as she places the tip of his cock in her mouth.
“Open wider,” he commands, and she does.
He groans. “Watch those teeth; no man wants to feel your teeth.” His words are gritted, and as he teaches the woman how to give him a blowjob, I grow wetter. The sounds of the woman’s saliva and the sucking sounds along his cock has me squirming in my seat. I’ve never watched porn, never mind watching someone perform a sexual act in front of me. Not to this degree, anyway. With Selene and Niamh on our first night at the Hands of Kings’ mansion, that was brief. Not like this at all.
Wolf continues to watch me, and his features morph into an ecstasy that I want a part in. He pushes his cock further down the woman’s throat, and she’s gagging, but he doesn’t stop. His hand loosens around her hand and spreads out on the back of her head, restricting her from pulling away from his cock. With each ragged breath from him and each choking noise from her, I become braver.
I let my hand fall between my legs and gain access easily to my core beneath my short dress. I’m swollen with need and touch myself.
Wolf smiles. “Good girl. You can be my student, one I will never touch, but you can watch and learn.”
The idea makes me wetter. I could learn and enjoy myself. The woman’s face is puce as Wolf’s movements grow frantic while he fucks her mouth with no mercy. My own fingers move quicker over my swollen bud. I want to come, but some part of me doesn’t want this to end. The woman’s hand reaches up and touches Wolf’s torso as if she’s getting ready to push him away, but something makes her drop her hands.
Wolf’s groans fill the room, and when he slams into the woman’s mouth, spit and his cum pours out of the corners, but he doesn’t remove his cock. It’s too much for me, and I come, sitting in the chair as the woman slaps his stomach, finally losing control as she tries to break free. Tears pour down her face. But Wolf isn”t letting her go. Not even close.