CHAPTER 22
The Pawn
I’ll never in my fucking life forget that feeling of falling.
The rush of hitting the ground so hard for somebody you thought you’d already had it bad for.
Watching that lass evolve from a timid mouse with occasional rabies, to the queen she was always meant to be…
that was the moment I knew. That was the moment I felt my stomach flip, and my heart make the deal to sell my fucking soul.
The look on her face.
The way she owned every piece of shite in that room and kicked crystal glasses with heels that cost more than my car.
She didn’t just level that table that night. She dominated it. And then she dominated me at our hotel afterwards. I let her. Totally and completely immersed in every part of her. I wish I could say that we stayed in that blissful bubble longer than a night.
Two months.
It's taken two months to get the last of the girls Bridget bought, home and safe and clean. I’ve been busy as fuck, keeping track of every single one and making sure they get the care they need without knowing who freed them.
It still feels wrong. They’ll never know Bridget.
They’ll never have a trace to follow to figure out who the person was that was willing to walk into a room full of savages that hate her every breath, for the sole purpose of getting them out.
We’re both fine with the world still seeing us as the people we are…not who they want us to be. We’re not heroes. We’re anything but that. But if it earned us anything…it’s this nice long vacation away from cold weather, Castine, or rainy Ireland.
Cancun, Mexico. That’s where she decided we’d rot and bake for three weeks, and at first…
I wasn’t loving it. But give Bridget Byrne a reason to take her bloody clothes off…
fuck me. She spent the whole first week with her top off on this beach, and was I fucking allowed to say anything but “Yes, dear”?
No. That answer is no.
So, a thousand hard-dick blokes saw her tits, and I had to sit my ass in the sand, biting holes through my lip and blanching all my knuckles like the lucky sod that I am.
She’s decided on a pin-up style black number today with a gigantic red sun hat, and heart-shaped sunglasses.
Tell me why the fuck this is hotter to me than her bare chest?
Someone make a call for my excruciating dick.
“Ah, so you’ve finally decided they’ve seen enough of my girls for one vacation, yeah? Only took you a week.”
She sipped from a straw that jutted out from a mound of fresh flowers, fruit, and colorful umbrellas. “Lots of titties on this beach. Nobody cares about my two fried eggs, Dec. Please shut the fuck up.”
“You’re right,” I argued, sitting my drink down and pulling the string on my shorts. “They probly won’t care about my bollocks, either.” Bridget whipped her head around and lowered her sunglasses.
“Excuse me. What the hell are you doing?” I slid the waist of my shorts down a bit, showing off the far end of the trail she likes to follow elsewhere. “Uh-uh…not happening.”
“But I have to sit here and hold your towel while you flash all of Mexico with my boobs?! Eggbert and Cluckles are for my eyes only, Bridget Byrne.”
Pink daiquiri sprayed out of her mouth and she covered it, leaning over her beach chair and choking. “I’m sorry, what?!”
“You heard me. They’re mine. So, unless you wanna share my testicles…I suggest you cover your chesticles. End of.” Extremely proud of myself, I righted my trunks and leaned back in my chair, fixing my arms behind my head.
“Eggbert and Cluckles?” she snorted, giving way to more snorts…more giggles.
“You just said—you know what? Doesn’t matter. Don’t talk about my boobs like that. They’re the second most precious thing on your body. Better start treatin’ ‘em with respect…or I’ll take your arse back to Witherle and remind you what punishment feels like.”
The little brat smiled while she made a show of rolling her tongue around her straw…I’ll have to remind myself to beat Malek’s ass for rubbing off on her. “It’s a lot warmer out here, though…and I’ve been rather rotten.”
“Keep that shit up. Go ahead. They’ll see a lot more than your tits.”
“Kinky,” she winked, sipping.
I relaxed and started trying to force images in my mind of Simon in a speedo, prostate exams, things with more than four legs, and the infamous ‘blue waffle’ that I told Mal…works like a charm for an unwanted boner. He finally did find that out the hard way, I’ve heard.
“Another drink, sir?” A sweet voice asked, bulldozing all my thoughts. I peeked up to see our waitress standing at the end of my chair and reaching for my empty glass.
“Sure. Gracias.” I handed it over and accepted what she gave me, exchanging polite smiles and tasting it before I sat it in the hole I made in the sand.
“Somethin’ wrong with your eyes, Senorita?”
Oh, shit. Goddammit.
Our waitress looked confused…and a little caught off guard by Bridget’s tone. I slid my sunglasses off and rolled my head towards my aggressive lassie. “Bridget…don’t.”
“It’s impressive, isn’t it? He’s not hard for you, bitch. Shoo.”
“I—I wasn’t…” Fuckin’ Bridget…she did that shit on purpose. Now the poor girl had to look at it. What a clever little minx. Always gotta have her way. Textbook psycho.
“Bridget.”
Too late.
She plunked her drink down on the little table and eased her sunglasses off, standing up from her chair before I could wrestle my hard-on to get the fuck outta mine.
The poor waitress boggled her eyes and almost dropped her tray full of drinks as she started backing away from my lioness, who prowled towards her with her painted maw out, ready to attack.
I tried…I really did, but you tell me how well it works out for you when you’re forced to fight with your hard cock and tripping over towels and beach bags.
I ended up with a mouthful of fucking sand and watched the waitress back herself into the tide, losing her balance and falling—right into Simon’s fucking lap. Bridget stopped in her tracks.
“…Hi…” Simon smiled, creepy as ever.
Is that…is she fucking smiling? With teeth?
“Hola.”
Crystal blue water splashed over their lower halves, and he raised his drink to save it…they both giggled at each other.
“Oh, you’ve gotta be kidding me,” Bridget humphed, parking her hands on her hips. “No fucking way.”
I buried my face back in the sand, laughing my ass off.
Our resort has a downstairs venue, and we’ve forgone the late-night fiestas for the past week, venturing out and finding other things to do.
Tonight, we decided to be part of the local party and turn all the way up.
First dinner, complete with live music and dancers…
and then I’m gonna loosen up. It’s unreal how much quicker you get drunk after being in the sun all day.
Makes me wonder how we Irish lads got it so wrong all our lives. This is heaven—um…no…cielo.
“Don’t ever lemme eat trash Mexican food again. This is the best shite I’ve ever eaten…aside from your snatch.” I wagged my brows, shoveling some kinda chicken with black beans into my mouth and Bridget snickered across the table.
“We talkin’ dirty? Here, look…” She picked up a dripping burrito and opened that sexy mouth as wide as it’d go, sliding it past her red lips.
I know I’m showing off a wad of half-chewed Mexican food right now, gawking at her every move.
She licked her lips, and fuck if it wasn’t the slowest I’ve ever seen her do it.
Then she sucked the end of her thumb clean.
“You gorgeous fuckin’ savage. That was hateful.”
My eyes followed everything that went down that pale throat, and I swallowed with her, imagining all the ways I’m gonna make her do it later. Her freshly manicured hand reached out as she got up and rounded the table.
“Dance with me.”
I couldn’t help myself for a minute. My mind went back to every night I spent at a computer for Callum.
Every night I spent alone in my little cave at the House of Byrne.
To secret looks, and mornings I damned myself for sleeping with the boss’s daughter.
To every time I had to catch myself and not say a word when I knew she’d been with anyone other than me.
Those days are long gone.
There’s nobody here to judge. Nobody left to tell us not to, or arranged marriages for the greater good to take her away from me the way Shavonn was taken from Mal. No death sentences. No lines to cross. Just me and this firecracker psychopath that makes me wanna be a better man.
And thanks to Simon last month…a psychopath that doesn’t have some other fuck’s last name anymore.
I wiped my mouth with a linen and scooted my chair back, taking her tiny hand and leading her onto the crowded dance floor. I couldn’t help but look at her like some priceless thing, even when I know what she really is underneath.
She’s a priceless thing because of who she is underneath. And she’s mine.
My palms settled on her sides and she moved her hips, that short red dress barely covering the swell of her ass.
Her fingernails grazed the nape of my neck and she got closer, pressing the inside of her thigh to the outside of mine.
I grinned. I know exactly what she’s trying to do.
Bridget pulled my hair tie out, throwing it to the ground and I let my waves fall into my face, moving with her to the music and getting lost in this fire she’s set between us.
I don’t know Latin dance moves. I only know the worst Irish ones.
I’ve never been good at this, but it’s a good thing she couldn’t fucking care less.
We got spicy, smiling until it hurt, laughing at each other…
kissing occasionally and making complete asses of ourselves.
“I’ve got a surprise for you,” Bridget grinned, gesturing towards the DJ when the band took their break. ‘Buttons’ by The Pussycat Dolls started playing full blast and…I can’t be held responsible for anything right now. I told you…it’s a bop.