Chapter 11 #3
“Yeah…” Ireland was treading on unfamiliar ground.
Her liaisons were always casual, not that she wasn’t open to something deeper, but red flags, diminishing desire, or getting the ick usually made her dip out quickly.
She didn’t think she was overly fussy. It was just that after years of watching Gideon with Eva and Christopher with Natalie—and even remembering how her parents had once been together—Ireland knew what it looked like to have a true partner and saw no reason to settle.
Elizabeth yawned. “God, I’m sorry. I know yawns are contagious.”
“Don’t apologize, Mom. We both need our beds and a long nap.
” Ireland didn’t mind hospitals, but she wondered how anyone was supposed to heal when they weren’t allowed to sleep.
The nurses came by at regular intervals to check her temperature, oxygen levels, and blood pressure, waking her if necessary.
And since her mother had elected to stay the night with her, Elizabeth had gotten precious little shut-eye, too.
“But Ronan has some choices to make,” her mom continued, “that I’m not sure he’s given enough weight to. He seems to have a laissez-faire attitude about the obstacles you face from your family, and I assume, his.”
Ireland’s shoulders slumped. “I can’t picture Dad or Christopher ever being happy seeing Ronan walk into a room or vice versa—especially if that room is in Vidal Records and Ronan is the one calling the shots.”
“There’s that,” Alina agreed. “I saw them all together—your family and Ronan—the night of the masquerade, and yeah…it wasn’t good.”
“McCaffrey Holdings was able to gain control of Vidal because your father allowed it,” Elizabeth said tersely.
“You’re mad at Dad,” Ireland noted. And that unsettled her. Yes, they were divorced and her mother had Daniel now, but her parents were always cordial to each other, and that’s how Ireland needed them to be.
“Yes, I’m angry.” Her mother stood suddenly, her hands going to her hips. “That business was supposed to be yours and your brother’s. I spent years doing my part to build it for both of you. And your father gambled with it as if he had a right to and lost it.”
“He was trying,” she defended weakly.
Elizabeth shot her an arch glance. “In any case, your father opened the door, and Ronan simply walked through it. You also have choices to make, Ireland, and a lot to consider, but your father and brothers’ anger at the situation should be taken with a grain of salt.”
Ireland’s lips pursed. She’d been trying to envision a possible future of dating Ronan and kept running smack dab into a wall.
Gideon would be turning forty in just a couple of weeks, and Eva had been planning his parties for almost a year—one big blowout that would rival the masquerade and a more personal destination celebration.
Ireland was used to having a great time without a plus one, but that’s because she was perpetually single.
It would be a totally different story to attend family events alone while her boyfriend stayed home just to keep the peace.
“I just don’t know how we could make it work,” she confessed. “I’ve told him that. I tried to break it off, but he suggested something like Persephone and Hades—part-time in two places. But what’s the point if I’m hated there because of my name and he’s hated here because of what he’s done?”
You prize your independence, Ronan had said.
That was true, but not in the way he meant.
She didn’t mind being alone and enjoyed her own company.
An evening at home with Bliz, a pint of ice cream, and a movie was perfectly fine with her.
But she’d also enjoyed waking up to lazy kisses as sweet as pralines, finding breakfast waiting for her in the kitchen, and having someone to act as a brain trust and sounding board as she tried to navigate running Vidal.
It was the first time she could recall feeling like she was getting more out of a relationship than her partner was.
But Ireland knew that wasn’t exactly true. Because Ronan had wrested her family legacy from her before they’d even met.
Elizabeth walked back over to her and began loosely braiding her hair. “I do have to ask you about something… Eva mentioned Ronan having a criminal history. He said you knew about it.”
Ireland saw the way Alina’s body language changed and winced inwardly. “I’m only telling you two this,” she said cautiously, “because I trust you both to keep it in confidence. It’s no one else’s business unless Ronan chooses to share.”
She exchanged a look of understanding with Alina, then looked over her shoulder at her mother.
“Yes, all right,” Elizabeth conceded.
Ireland took a deep breath. “I don’t know the details because I found out about his past through Angus.
I thought I was taking a page out of Gideon’s book by doing a background check on a rival, and that’s true.
But the other side of that coin is that I also invaded the privacy of someone I’m personally involved with.
So I forced Ronan to explain something he wasn’t yet ready to disclose. ”
Alina shook her head but at least looked sympathetic.
“Anyway…” Ireland bit the bullet. “His mother’s significant other—I don’t think they were married, but I’m not sure…the guy was also the father of Ronan’s brother and sister—I think he was abusive. Ronan said the man murdered their mother. And Ronan, at fifteen years old, killed him for it.”
“My god…” Elizabeth breathed, her fingers going still in Ireland’s hair.
“You wouldn’t suspect it, looking at him now,” Ireland said quietly, “but he had to steal food to feed himself and his siblings. His childhood was really rough.”
A knock at the door startled all three of them.
Hand over her suddenly pounding heart, Ireland tried calming herself with deep breaths, feeling a strange, frenetic energy in the center of her chest. Her reaction was extreme, a reminder that she was teetering on the fine edge between being okay and being far from it.
“Come in,” Elizabeth called out, her hands coming to rest on Ireland’s shoulders.
Two NYPD detectives walked in with badges clipped to their belts, glancing around the room and at the women in it with sharp, penetrating gazes. They introduced themselves as Vega and Jang, and told Ireland they were the lead detectives on her case.
She shook both their hands and thanked them for their efforts.
“We have some questions for you.” Jang pulled a small notepad and pen out of her navy blazer’s inner pocket. The detective was petite, her diminutive size emphasized by Vega’s hugeness. Tall with thick biceps straining his houndstooth sport coat, Vega towered over his partner.
“I hope I have answers.” Reaching up, Ireland set one hand over her mother’s in a silent offer of support. “I spent most of the time in a crate of some sort.”
“We found it.” Vega’s green eyes were made more striking by his shaved head. “You’re very brave.”
“I didn’t feel that way, but thank you.”
“We’ve seen the security footage of the abduction.” Jang’s hand was poised over her notepad but her gaze was locked on Ireland. “What do you remember after you were in the vehicle?”
For a moment, Ireland’s stoned brain was stuck on the fact that there was a video of her kidnapping. Somehow, that knowledge—plus being startled by the brisk knock at the door—caused anxiety to break through her drug-induced euphoria.
“I was tangled up in a cape or something,” she said carefully. “Some big piece of velvet. I was kinda wedged headfirst behind the driver’s seat, so I couldn’t really move or see anything, and they had metal music on full volume, so it was hard to hear, too.”
“Do you know how many people were in the vehicle with you?”
She shook her head. “I don’t know if there was anyone in the third row. There were two guys in the front and another beside me in the second row.”
“What did you overhear?” Vega asked.
“The man in the front passenger seat told the one in the back to stop hurting me because I might be worth less if I were damaged. The guy in the back didn’t care.” Ireland felt her mother’s grip on her shoulders tighten and regretted that Elizabeth was present.
“Did they call each other by name?”
“No.”
Jang’s pen tapped against her notepad.
“I’m sorry,” Ireland said. “I don’t know what help I can offer. They shoved me into the back all wrapped up. We stopped somewhere, and I managed to knock one of the guys over and get a couple of weak hits in—I was so tangled up it was hard to move.”
“We caught some of it in the surveillance footage from the garage,” Jang told her.
“Oh, well, then you saw that he knocked me out. When I came to, I was in the crate. From that point, the door opened once to snap a picture of me, and then it opened again when the man decided to film my rape.”
Elizabeth’s gasp was loud in the otherwise quiet room, although she must’ve seen the fingerprint bruises on Ireland’s breasts when they’d washed her hair.
Vega pulled his phone out and stepped closer. Swiping quickly, he turned the device around to show her a mugshot. “Is this the man you’re talking about?”
The sight of the scarred face that lived in her nightmares was profound and instant.
Ireland felt like she was yanked backward through a pinhole, the detectives receding until they were tiny forms in the distance, darkness closing around her vision like the closure of a camera’s aperture.
Her breathing quickened into soft pants, and she blinked rapidly, fearing for a moment that she might pass out.
“Ireland, are you okay?” Alina asked, reaching over the table to grab her hand.
Her best friend’s touch pulled her back into the room. Clearing her throat, she nodded too vigorously, making the room tilt before it slid slowly back into place.
“Yes, that’s him.” She swallowed hard to lubricate her dry throat. “He’s the only one whose face I saw. He’s the one who attacked me in the condo. I…I killed him.”