Chapter 3
Chapter Three
RILEY
I’m living in a nightmare.
If it wasn’t bad enough that my uncle wants to marry me off to some middle-aged mob boss, the fact that my brother is also in on the arrangement makes me sick to my stomach.
I expected such behavior from Rion, but Oscar? He was meant to have my back.
Instead, he’s stabbed a massive fucking knife in it.
For some territory.
Call me na?ve, but I thought we had moved past the point of arranged marriages as a way of forming alliances.
Apparently, I was wrong.
I pace back and forth across my bedroom for what feels like the tenth time, my footsteps loud against the hardwood floor.
The walls feel like they're closing in, as if the house itself is suffocating me.
Everything in here, from the silk curtains to the antique mirror above my dresser, screams money and control, none of which belongs to me.
Technically, everything in this room now belongs to my uncle, but that’s an issue for another day. Right now, my focus is on the fact that he wants to marry me off to Sean O’Keefe.
Honestly, it sounds more like a death sentence than a marriage.
Worse!
Death is immediate; everything ends. With marriage? Fuck.
God knows how long O’Keefe would keep me around just to torture me and force me to obey his every whim, to attend to his every need.
And if I were to marry the guy, any contact with him would most definitely have to be forced.
I shudder just at the mere thought of his name, let alone having him near me.
Nope!
Yet, Oscar had the audacity to say it like it was a done deal, like I didn’t have a say.
I’ve spent the last three years clawing my way out of this life and toward one of my own through college and internships, but instead of a cap and gown waiting for me at the end, there’s a veil and a white dress with golden shackles and the prospect of a life of misery and pain.
And the worst part is I was an even better deal because I’ve never had sex.
I’m being sold as livestock, as a breeder, one that has never been mounted, so it gets higher bids, as if what is between my legs is the most valuable asset I have.
Well, these men can all go to hell because I refuse to be whittled down to nothing more than a walking pussy.
I need to get the hell out of this house and away from Rion and Oscar before they can start parading me around like a sacrificial lamb. Before Sean O’Keefe decides to show up at my door with a ring and cuffs to match.
I kick the edge of my bed frame hard enough it shifts.
Pain shoots through my foot, but I welcome it. At least it’s something I can feel, something I can control.
I glance at the clock on my nightstand.
It’s barely even eight P.M. If I’m going to make a move to leave tonight, then I’ve got to wait a few more hours.
Rion is likely to head out into the city soon, leaving Oscar and me alone at the house. Unfortunately for my uncle, I won’t be here when he returns.
I pull my suitcase from the closet and start tossing in clothes: a few hoodies, some jeans, a couple of dresses.
There’s no order to the chaos, but it’s fitting, considering I don’t even know where I’m going to go.
Lucy’s apartment would be too obvious. Oscar would know to look there.
I could go to a hotel, but my uncle is able to trace the bank transactions, and I can’t risk that either.
My safest bet is to dip into my emergency cash fund.
I rifle through shoe boxes until I find the one I’m looking for.
Inside is a bundle of cash that I’ve managed to save up over the years from odd jobs here and there, as well as my passport and a burner phone.
My father might not have taught me much, but one thing he did teach me was to always be one step ahead.
I empty out the box and stuff the contents into my purse. It’s not much, but at least, it’s something.
As I’m zipping up my suitcase and setting it by the door, the front door slams shut.
Quickly rushing over to my window, I peer down at the driveway just as Rion is climbing into his ridiculous custom Range Rover with headlights so bright I’m sure you could see them from space.
It’s excessive and unnecessary, and was purchased immediately after my father was laid to rest, which is a little coincidental if you ask me…
The moment the blinding headlights have disappeared, I creep out of my room and down the hall.
The long Persian runner stretches down the center of the hallway, muffling my footsteps as I make my way to Oscar’s room at the far end.
The familiar wave of grief hits me as I pass the door to the bedroom that once belonged to my younger sister.
Her room has been kept exactly how it was when she died, like some kind of sadistic time capsule. I can count on one hand how many times I’ve gone in there since she died.
Exactly one.
I keep my eyes on my feet and quickly hurry past before I lose my nerve.
When I reach Oscar's door, I suck in a breath and press my ear to the dark wood.
My brother has an adjoining study to his bedroom, which means he can lock himself away for hours at a time, surviving on nothing but cigars and whiskey.
I take the silence that filters through as my cue to start digging. If I’m going to get out of this arranged marriage to Sean O’Keefe, I’m going to either need to find something else to offer him in my place or take him and, hopefully, my uncle down.
At the other end of the hall is my father’s office.
Just the thought of going inside has my stomach twisting with anxiety.
It’s a room that has always been off-limits to me, ever since I was a small child.
As I got older and more opinionated, I would question this rule but would find myself only angered by his answer.
I was a woman; therefore, I did not belong in his office.
My role was to focus on keeping up my appearance and to find a husband, not waste time questioning the decisions of men.
Unfortunately for my father, I inherited his iron-strong will, which, if he were alive, would have come to bite him on the ass. Instead, Rion will learn just how strong my Walsh genes are.
The air inside my father’s study is stale and smells of liquor.
I flick on the desk lamp, and warm yellow light spills over the mahogany desk and piles of carefully organized folders.
This was his throne. This was the place where my father built his empire.
I walk slowly around the desk, letting my fingers brush over the edge. The last time I was in here, I was sixteen. I had just told him I wanted to study business at Columbia, and he laughed in my face.
"Who do you think you're fooling, Riley? You’re destined to be a wife and a mother, nothing more.”
That was his decree for the daughter he thought he had. He never saw me for who I actually am.
But tonight, I’ll show him. Show them.
I open the top drawer of the desk and begin rummaging through the contents.
Nothing but dried-out pens, a few mismatched cufflinks, and business cards for various clubs.
The one below yields much of the same, but I refuse to get discouraged.
Months ago, before my father died, I overheard him on the phone, bragging about having dirt on Sean O’Keefe, which he planned on using to blackmail him into falling in line and helping him take down the Sullivans.
If I have any hope of getting out of this marriage, that dirt is my key. The only problem is… I have no idea where my father kept it.
“Where are you?” I crouch down to open up the bottom drawer, but of course, I find it locked. “Dammit,” I curse.
My pulse quickens as I glance over at the door, my ears straining to catch any sign that my brother has decided to leave his lair.
When I’m sure that he’s not coming, I try the drawer again, but it’s definitely locked.
I shouldn’t be surprised. My father never trusted anyone, not even his own blood.
But one thing my father did love was control, which means he would have liked to keep the key close to him.
“Think, Riley…” I whisper.
I crawl beneath the desk and run my hand along the underside, my fingers searching through the layer of dust until I feel a tiny groove in the wood. I press against it and almost sag with relief when it gives way, revealing a tiny hidden compartment.
And a key.
“Paranoid, but predictable,” I mutter as I pull out the tiny brass key and slide it into the lock of the lowest drawer.
As expected, it clicks open, and I eagerly pull out the drawer and instantly groan at the mess of paperwork inside.
There’s a reason my father kept this drawer locked, and I have a feeling this is where the key to my freedom lies. I rifle through the drawer, pulling out folder after folder of stills from surveillance footage and photocopies of dirty transactions until I find what I’m looking for.
“Bingo,” I whisper as I catch sight of the red tab labeled ‘O’Keefe.
My fingers tremble as I pull it free.
The only people in the world who know this document exists are Sean, my father, and now me, which makes it valuable. I just have to hope that it’s valuable enough to get me the help I need, otherwise I will be royally screwed.
A noise outside the office makes me freeze.
I clutch the document to my chest and quickly flick off the desk lamp before hurrying over to the door. Pressing my back against the wall beside it, I hold my breath as I listen for signs of life, but there’s nothing.
It’s time to get the hell out of here.
I slip back out of the office and shut the door softly behind me.
Every step back to my room feels like walking on a tightrope, and when I finally close the bedroom door, I sink to the floor as my chest heaves.
I did it. But I’m nowhere close to being free.
This evidence might be the key, but it won’t unlock my freedom unless I put it in the right hands.
Now this is the tricky part. Because it just so happens that those right hands happen to belong to the person who murdered my father in cold blood.
Ronan Sullivan.
He’s the last person my uncle would expect me to run to, which is what makes him so perfect.
Ronan is dangerous, and if the rumors are true, he’s far more capable of protecting me than anyone in my bloodline.
I don’t trust people easily, but I trust motive, and Ronan hates Sean O’Keefe just as much as I do. If I hand him this evidence, he’ll have a reason to want to listen to me.
I climb to my feet and grab my hoodie off the end of my bed, pulling it on.
Catching sight of my disheveled self in the mirror, I pause.
For so long, I was nothing more than a trophy my father loved to parade around when it suited him or lock away when it didn’t.
Well, screw that.
I pull my hood low over my face and grab my suitcase as well as my backpack, where I have all my school supplies and the folder with the evidence.
I take a deep breath. This is it. If I do this, there is no going back.
But with what my brother and uncle have done, there was no coming back already.
Opening the door, I look around.
No one. Perfect.
My best option for escaping unnoticed is to head for the kitchen and exit through the back door. There’s no avoiding the cameras, but once I’m out of the gates, my uncle and brother have no way of tracking me.
My phone will read as me being in my bedroom, and my car is parked out front. Hopefully, that is enough to make them think all is as it should be, and they won’t know I’m missing until morning.
That gives me a solid head start to track down Ronan Sullivan.
If I can make it there before my brother notices, I’m golden.
And if I don’t?
Well, that’s simply not an option.