Chapter 19 #2
I went into the kitchen and did the only thing that made sense.
I filled a tall glass at the sink and set it on the peninsula.
Then I popped a slice of bread into the toaster—nothing fancy, just something to soak up the alcohol in her belly.
I opened a drawer by the stove, found the headache meds, and set them beside the glass.
Behind me, bare feet padded across the marble floor.
“So,” she asked, “what’s this? Prisoner’s last meal?”
I didn’t turn. “Water.”
She leaned on the counter. “You drugging me so I’ll shut up and not be able to fight you as well?”
I couldn’t help but chuckle at that. “Do you honestly think on your best day you’d stand a chance against me?”
“You might be surprised.”
“You’re five feet nothing and a hundred pounds, and I’m six-foot-four and two hundred thirty. You wouldn’t stand a chance.”
“Hmph. I’m five foot three, and just so we’re clear,” she added, “I’m not going to let you rape me. I might be smaller, but I’ve got tricks up my sleeve.”
I spun.
One second she was standing there, chin tipped up in challenge; the next, my hands were on her waist. I lifted her and dropped her onto the counter, her ass smacking against the stone. Then I stepped between her knees as they parted on instinct and bracketed her with my arms.
“I don’t rape women,” I growled, pissed that her mind had gone there at all. Had someone done that to her before? “Don’t say that shit again.”
Her breath hitched.
“And your sass?” I went on, keeping my grip firm on the counter’s edge. “It’s getting on my nerves. How about you sit there quietly and drink some water?”
I pulled back a few inches and nodded at the glass next to her hip.
She begrudgingly picked it up and took a sip.
Smirking, I shook my head and gave her some of that sass back. “Besides, I don’t have any trouble attracting women—especially in a sex club like The Ledger. It’s keeping their hands off me that’s more of a problem.”
She swallowed, brows lifting, eyes flicking down in a dramatic sweep as she scanned the bulge straining my pants.
“Funny,” she said. “Didn’t see any women near you tonight. Just you, brooding in the shadows with that giant hard-on.”
She set the glass down and leaned back on her palms, gaze tracking the outline of my dick like she was measuring it.
“This is at least the third time, right?” she went on. “Church. Sex club. Now. Probably every night since Our Lady of Lourdes, huh, Mr. Shadowman?”
I snorted despite myself. “I didn’t know nuns talked like you—or went to sex clubs, for that matter.”
Her lips curved. “I’ve heard the only women who fuck a mafia man are the ones with a gun at their head. Who wants a man who needs a contract to get a cunt?”
“Who says I’m a made man?” I shot back. Heat climbed up the back of my neck. She was provoking me for sport.
She laughed, unguarded at last. “Have you looked in a mirror? Everything about your giant self screams mafia. The dark suit. The gun at the small of your back. And that cocky smirk—mandatory so you can look all badass and cool. Am I right?”
“You sure know a lot about the sleazier sides of life,” I said. “What, do they teach you nuns to eat each other out at night so you’ll behave on your knees during the day? Is that why you were so good with your friend—Sofia Fernandez?”
Her smile vanished.
“What?” She sucked in a breath. “How do you know her name?”
“I know a lot about you, lass,” I said. “Doesn’t take a genius to run an internet search.”
She closed off right in front of me, the sassy challenge in her expression collapsing into something quieter and sadder. I’d crossed a line.
“You’re a monster,” she murmured.
The word landed hard.
“And just so you know, most of the women in the convent were good people,” she went on quietly.
“They believed in the mission. The sad thing is, the monastery my father forced me into—where I was literally held captive in a foreign country with no money and no documents—was more corrupt than he ever was. The leaders were cruel. The worst scars on my body are from their hands.”
Her throat worked.
“And the worst scars on my soul are—”
She couldn’t finish.
Guilt crushed me. I could be an inconsiderate asshole sometimes. I stepped in a little closer, gentler this time, and cupped her cheeks, my thumbs warm against her skin.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I shouldn’t have said that. There’s more to you than meets the eye. I see that. But tonight isn’t the night for this.”
I tipped her face up, forcing her to meet my gaze. “It’s time to put you to bed. You’re exhausted and more than half drunk.”
She squinted at me, struggling to focus.
“So,” she said, brows knitted tight, “what’s your name, Mr. Shadowman?”
Stepping out from between her knees, I went for the toaster behind me, grabbed a small plate, and tossed the browned bread onto it. I set it down beside her and nudged it closer with two fingers.
“Eat your toast before it goes cold.”
She huffed. “Don’t dodge my question. What’s your name?”
I ignored her and opened the cabinet beside us, taking down a tumbler. The bottle of whiskey was still sitting out from last night. I poured a heavy glass, leaned back against the counter, and took a long pull, letting the burn steady me.
She tilted her head, watching me. Then a crooked smile appeared. “Let me guess. Hannibal?”
I cocked a brow and shook my head.
“Jeffrey Dahmer?”
“No.”
Her eyes lit up with something dark and playful. “Ted Bundy. No, no—Jack the Ripper. That’s it.”
I wasn’t amused. “No. My name is Jesus Christ.”
She winced. “That’s sacrilegious.”
“I’m already past saving,” I said, and took another swallow.
Her shoulders sagged, gaze dropping to her hands as her fingers picked at the hem of the shirt. The playfulness drained out of her, leaving her biting her lip.
“Am I your prisoner?” she asked. “Just like every other man in my life—are you putting me in another cage? Another selfish bastard who doesn’t care?”
I set the glass down.
“When I woke up this morning, you were a job. That was it.” I didn’t sugarcoat it. I respected her more than that. “The plan was to place you with a solid family man out in the suburbs—give you everything you’d need and keep the screws tight on your father.”
She chewed her lip. “And now?”
Things were different now. I was already off-script, but she wasn’t ready to hear that I’d claimed her—and I wasn’t about to explain it. Hell, I didn’t know what she’d done to me, only that after all these years, the switch had flipped.
“I’m not going to baby you, Scar. You don’t get a choice. Your father sealed that the day he made a deal with the devils who run this city—the day he shipped you off to Spain.”
Her lip trembled. I didn’t like how it landed, but lying wasn’t an option, and I wasn’t going to walk it back.
The shirt rode up as she shifted, giving me another uninvited glimpse of her pussy. My mouth went dry. The thought of fucking her until she forgot how to fight hit hard enough that I had to turn away.
“So all I am…” Her breath stuttered. “Is something to be used and abused?”
The glass hit the sink with a thud. I crossed back to her and rested one palm on the counter near her leg. I stepped in close, invading her space without laying a hand on her.
“It’s more complicated than that,” I said. “We’ll talk after we get some sleep. But you have nothing to fear. You’re safe. I won’t let anyone hurt you.”
She looked up at me through her lashes. “Except for you.”
“No.” I shook my head once. “Not even me.”
Hooking a finger under her chin, I forced her focus where I wanted it. “I won’t lie to you. I won’t break you. And I’ll keep you breathing—no matter what it costs me.”
My thumb traced her lower lip as her eyes searched my face, looking for the lie.
“I’ve got work to do,” I said, letting her go and stepping back. “And you’ve had enough for one night.”
I pointed down the hallway and took a step away. “The guest suite is yours. Make yourself at home. Eat.” I tapped the edge of the plate. “Drink the water, take the meds, or tomorrow will be hell.”
I turned away because if I didn’t, I’d give in to the throbbing need in my groin. Her bare pussy on my counter was too much. My cock strained against my trousers, aching to sink inside her.
I headed for my office to put distance between us—to call Nik and deal with the fallout.
Her feet hit the floor a second before her hand caught the back of my shirt.
“Wait,” she said. “If you want me to trust you, it starts with your name.”
I turned back and rested a hand on her shoulder.
“Lucian, Lucian Byrnes,” I said.
She tilted her head. “I’ve never heard the name Lucian before.”
“It comes from the Latin word lux. Meaning light.” The corner of my mouth twitched. “Ironic, I know. My parents had a sense of humor. I was born and raised in Ireland, but Lach and I have been here in the city for a decade.”
“Ireland,” she said, piecing it together. “And the man next door—is your brother.”
“Yes. He’s my younger brother.”
“How did the two of you end up in Manhattan as part of organized crime?”
“Suffice it to say, our destinies came knocking, and we opened the door.”
I left her there, thinking, and headed in the opposite direction toward my office.
As I turned, I caught the way she’d gone still—pondering what I’d said, turning it over as if she were trying to decide whether to believe me.
Inside, I closed the door and dropped into the chair behind my desk. Elbows braced on the wood, I bowed my head into my hands.
What the hell had I just done?
That was the part she wasn’t ready to know yet.
She was mine.
Not in the way men claimed things when they wanted to own them for convenience or sport.
Mine in the way that meant final. Permanent.
For now and forever. I’d die before I let another man put his hands on her.
And anyone who dared hurt her—touch her, use her, make her feel small or unwanted—wouldn’t get a second chance to explain himself. I wouldn’t need a reason beyond that.
And if the opportunity ever came to end her father, I’d take it without hesitation.
I didn’t know her story yet, but I knew enough. The fragments she’d shared. The scars she carried—emotional and otherwise. She’d been broken slowly, methodically. People like that didn’t trust easily. Their reactions came tangled, swinging from sharp to shut down without warning.
That meant I couldn’t rush her.
If I wanted to keep her—and win her over—I’d have to move slowly. Slower than I ever had with anyone. I’d have to unearth the damage one layer at a time. Every hurt. Every tear she’d swallowed. And do it without forcing her to relive it all at once.
But not tonight.
Tonight, distance mattered. For her sake as much as mine.
Daylight would bring answers.
For now, I had a call to make.