46. Eamon
Eamon
Jerry Callahan’s voice grates in my ear, his tone tinged with impatience. He’s demanding something—money, a favor, respect he hasn’t earned. I should be paying attention, should be shutting him down, but my focus is elsewhere.
Across the restaurant.
On her.
The woman wrapped in a short, red dress that clings to every damn curve.
The moment she steps through the door, the entire room shifts.
Conversations falter, glasses pause mid-air, and men openly stare.
Murderous rage courses through me, and I force myself to take a slow sip of whiskey.
I knew playing with her was like playing with fire.
I just didn’t think she’d be so blatant about it.
O’Leary sits back in his chair, the picture of arrogance, like he’s already won. Then, he leans in and says something to her, and she laughs lightly. His fingers brush her hair back. Each move is calculated and intentional.
The urge to storm across the room and rip him away from the table by his collar simmers low in my chest. But I stay rooted, forcing myself to play the part.
Jerry shifts beside me, catching my line of sight. “Christ,” he mutters, letting out a low whistle. “That’s a sexy piece of ass.”
I don’t look at him. Don’t take my eyes off Aoife.
“I’d kill for a taste of what’s between those legs. Bet it’s just as pretty as the rest of her.” He chuckles darkly, taking a sip of his drink. “Think she’s looking for some fun tonight?”
“She works the front desk,” I say evenly, voice smooth and disinterested.
“I thought she looked familiar. Bet she knows how to be real accommodating.”
Keeping my expression unreadable, I warn, “I’d be careful where you point your appetite.”
Jerry snorts, unfazed. “Relax, man. Just talking.” He raises his hands in mock surrender, but there’s a glint in his eyes like he hasn’t decided if he’s scared or amused.
It takes everything in me to play along, to keep my pulse steady, when all I want to do is slam his face into the bar. Instead, I glance back at the table, watching as Aoife crosses her legs, deliberately slow, her dress riding up just enough to keep every man in the room interested.
Including him .
The whiskey burns as I swallow it down, my restraint hanging by a thread.
Let her test boundaries, bend the rules, and pretend it’s just a game.
Because once you step into the dark, it stains you. And Aoife’s already wearing my mark.