Chapter 7
Seven
Cadden
The Past
An unwanted visitor becomes this king’s prisoner.
But it isn’t long before she’s set free .
Set alight her gilded cage, then used his kingdom as her stage.
And everyone bowed down for new Queen B.
—Cadden James Connelly
“Don’t you think you’re going a little overboard?”
I come to a halt and crane my neck to peer over my shoulder at my best friend, Brodie. Instead of helping me push this heavy-as-fuck sideboard across the hallway floor, he’s leaning up against the wall, amusement tugging at the corner of his mouth. He’s getting far too much enjoyment out of my current state, and frankly, he’s beginning to piss me off. “Remind me why you’re here again?”
“Because there’s nowhere else I’d rather be. Not when you’re supplying top-tier entertainment.”
Shaking my head at his assessment of my current predicament, I push against the dresser, barely shifting it an inch. “What the fuck is in this thing?” I mutter beneath my breath, questioning if this manoeuvre is worth the fucking effort.
It’s been a little over two weeks since Pretty Poison moved onto my family’s estate, and for the most part, I’ve managed to successfully avoid her, hiding out at the lighthouse as much as possible. But unfortunately, tonight I don’t have much of a choice. Not only has my father had enough of my disappearing act, but I’ve been summoned back to the main house by Brodie for our annual beginning-of-summer party.
Every year, around the end of May, the parentals host a massive get-together for the people of Dingle. It’s a sleazy-as-fuck affair that usually results in more than a few marital problems within our community. Gambling, drugs, affairs––you name it, it’s happening at my father’s yearly soirée. Fortunately, while the adults remain in the right wing, doing fuck knows what and who knows who, all their spawn, myself included, are free to do whatever the fuck we want. After all, most of the parents are too preoccupied licking my father’s arse to give a shit what their kids are up to.
Last year Brodie and I decided it was time to throw a party of our own, turning the left wing—aka my personal playground and living quarters—into an epic summer rager. Within a matter of minutes, word spread through social media, and most of our school showed up, hoping to join in on the mayhem. That’s what my parents get for relegating me to the forgotten side of our castle.
Brodie and I have spent months planning, finally sending out exclusive invites at the last minute to everyone who’s anyone. Without an exclusive text there’s no entry into the walls of my playground.
Word on the street is people have been waiting by their phones all week, praying they’ll get an invite to the party of the year. But there’s one problem… my future bride. Nobody but Brodie and our staff know she’s here, and I’d like to keep it that way. Besides, when I met her, I wasn’t anticipating her being around for longer than a quick day visit, but after my father so eloquently extended her stay to a seven week nightmare, I had to come up with a solution to keep her away from the festivities.
Hence the reason I’m barricading her in her room. Because fuck knows a locked door doesn’t stop her. Last thing I need is her showing up and wreaking havoc with her favourite Zippo.
“Do you honestly think locking her in there is the best option?” Brodie remains unfazed, ignoring the banging coming from Beibhinn’s room.
Straightening my spine, I turn to face Brodie then motion towards the doorway I’m trying to trap Beibhinn behind by using my mother’s antique furniture as a fancy doorstop. “Do you have a better idea?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe you could”—he pauses, swiping his hand through the air as if the answer is obvious—“just invite her to the party.”
“Cadden!” Beibhinn screeches from beyond the solid oak for the millionth time since she heard me turn the key in the lock. “You can’t keep me in here.” The banging continues, and I imagine she’s going hell for leather, pounding her fists against the door, releasing her frustration. “Let me fuckin’ out!”
Pinning Brodie with a raised brow, I punctuate the necessity for my drastic measures. “You were saying?”
He pockets his phone and moves to the far side of the sideboard. “Fine. I’ll help you. But when she gets out of that room, I’m not stopping her from ripping your head off your shoulders.” His laughter drowns out the crazy bitch hammering her fists into the hard mahogany. “What kind of flowers do you want at your funeral?”
“Fuck you.”
“No, thanks. But if you’re not going to, I might fuck your future wife. She seems like she’d be a wild ride.”
His words piss me off more than they should, and my palms slam against the sideboard. Fuelled by my temper, the legs of the dresser slide along the tiled floor before the unit pins Brodie against the wall. “Nobody lays a finger on Beibhinn Devereux. Not unless they want to lose it.”
Judging by the smug smirk creeping across his face, he’s more than a little pleased at my reaction.
Prick
Music blares from the outdoor speakers as I lean against the rail of the raised patio area reserved for the heirs of the four families of the Munster Syndicate—myself, Brodie Kavanagh, Lucas Daly, and Meila Owens. I like it up here, far enough away from the madness, smoking a joint while I watch everyone in attendance like I’m a spectator at a circus. Honestly, I’m not much for crowds, preferring my own company over the fake bullshit that comes with being a Dingle king. But as the next in line, I’ve a certain image to uphold amongst my peers, and if my father taught me anything, it’s that liquor loosens the mouths of our friends, revealing true foes. Tonight’s party, just like any other party I throw, has a purpose. Which is why I’m doing what I do best—sitting back, watching the chaos unfold, and taking note. A trait I didn’t lick off a stone.
Unlike me, Brodie likes to be in the middle of it all, the centre of attention while constructing his side hustle—making a profit from selling drugs to rich pricks with wallets filled with their daddy’s money.
From my vantage point, I scan the rowdy crowd until my gaze lands on my best friend. As suspected, he’s chatting to a buck in our English class before pocketing his money and handing the gombeen a small plastic baggie filled with snow. I tend to stay clear of the hard stuff, sticking to smoking weed because it’s the only thing that dulls the racing thoughts in my head. Once Brodie’s deal is done, he wanders across the garden, then stands next to the three-section fountain filled to the brim with ice and liquor bottles. The bottom tier is loaded with several kinds of beer and ciders, and the middle tier holds the harder stuff like whiskey and vodka. Then, at the top, there are bottles of champagne and Prosecco. He grabs a bottle of beer and lifts his eyeline toward the patio area, instantly meeting my stare. With a tip of his chin, he nods towards the fountain, silently offering me a drink. I hold up two fingers, and because he knows me as well as he knows himself, he grabs a bottle of Redbreast whiskey.
Once he starts walking towards me, I take a seat on the patio chair at the edge of the raised area, arms splayed across the back-rest, gaze still cast on the people below. As always, everyone is hammered, either off their faces on what shit they bought from Brodie or so rotten drunk that any decision they’re making seems like a great one. Unfortunately for them, everything they do tonight will be documented by our hidden cameras, and used against them if needs must.
My arse barely hits the chair when Munster’s only female heir fills the seat next to me and tucks herself into my side, begging for a shred of my attention. For some reason, Meila assumes she is going to be the next Munster queen, an idea her spineless father planted in her delusional head. Ever since we turned fourteen, she’s been pushing herself on me, hoping to become the chosen one by offering me blowjobs. She thinks spreading her legs is the fastest way of cementing our future. Little does she know there’s a blonde bomb locked in my guest room who has kicked her off the proverbial throne.
Don’t get me wrong, for the most part, I indulge in whatever sexual favours Meila offers, because even if she’s a fucking airhead who couldn’t rub two brain cells together, her mouth does a better job than my hand ever could. For weeks, she’s been practically begging me to fuck her, but that’s a line I won’t cross. Not with her. The second I stick my cock in her cunt is the moment I sign my death warrant. She’d do anything to stand next to me as I lead Dingle, including tampering with a few condoms to ensure she gets her way. I shouldn’t entertain her at all, but I’m a young lad with a dick, and if she wants to get on her knees, who am I to stop her?
“So, Cadden?” Meila leans closer, her mouth hovering next to my ear. “What do you say we go hang out in the pool house? It’s a bit more private, don’t you think?”
Ignoring the pest glued to my side, my attention moves toward Lucas and the company he’s keeping. His mouth is attached to a blonde while a redhead is on her knees between his legs, bobbing up and down with her lips wrapped around his dick.
A hand creeps down my torso, making my head snap back to Meila. Her fingers dance along my T-shirt, tracing the Edgar Allan Poe quote above the two skeletons locked in a deathly embrace. Tell me every terrible thing you ever did, and let me love you anyway.
“Are you even listening to me?”
“Honestly…” I raise my brow. “No.”
“Cadden!” The alarm in Brodie’s tone captures my attention, drawing my gaze towards the steps. He’s halted halfway up, eyes lock and loaded on the balcony that sweeps around the edge of the castle. I follow his gaze, eyes widening when I see Beibhinn standing on the thin-as-shit railing, looking as though she’s about to swan-dive off.
I’m on my feet in an instant, ignoring the thud of Meila hitting the wooden deck after she’s tossed off my lap like a rag doll.
“Do you have a death wish?” The question travels through the air, gaining the attention of everyone in earshot, including the psychopath who has decided to tightrope walk along the railing in nothing but a white tank top and a pair of tiny, white cotton undies.
She responds by lifting her two hands, greeting me with both middle fingers.
“For fuck’s sake, Beibhinn.” I move closer to Brodie, standing the step next to him while I try to coax an unstable bitch from meeting her death. “You need to get down before you face-plant onto the pavement from two stories high.”
A deadly smile hitches at the edge of her lips, curling her mouth into a wicked grin.
I realise too late that my words didn’t encourage her to protect her safety, instead they presented a challenge, something I’m quickly learning my future wife can’t ignore.
Surveying her surroundings, her eyes pinball between my watchful gaze and the large oak tree four feet away from the balcony. Any sane person wouldn’t risk it, but as I’ve already established, Beibhinn is anything but.
“She’s gonna jump, isn’t she?” Brodie barks out a laugh, thoroughly enjoying the hives breaking out beneath my skin.
“Fuckin’ hell, she’ll be the death of me.”
Brodie’s hand lands on my shoulder. “Not if she doesn’t kill herself first.”
My hand covers my eyes, unable to watch her dive to her demise. But before I can stop myself, I’m dragging my fingers down my face, my palm hovering over my mouth. Suddenly, she draws her arms back and pounces forward, diving off the balcony and grabbing onto the tree branch like a fucking Olympic-level gymnast. A gasp of ohs resound through the air, and just when I think she’s going to be left swinging from the tree like some circus act, she propels outward, then somehow manages to hike herself up so she’s standing on the branch.
“Fucking hell, that was impressive, Little B,” Brodie hollers, earning a clip across the back of his head from me.
Shoving my hands into the front pockets of my jeans, I take another step towards the tree. “You’ve made your point, now get fucking down.”
“As you wish, King Cadden.” Once again, that malevolent smirk dances across her face before her eyes flick towards the pool then back to me again.
“Don’t you fucking dare.”
Her tongue slips out, mocking me like a two-year-old. In the next breath, she raises her hands above her head, bringing her palms together in a prayer position. With every eye on her, she defies me once more and dives off the branch and right into the deep end.
Her body breaches the water with a slap, but it’s drowned out by the cheers and hollers of the crowd.
I rub the stress from my eyes with my fingers as Brodie’s hand lands on my shoulder. “I don’t know about you, buddy, but I can tell you right now—that girl is a queen.”
Turning on my heel, I make my way back up to the patio area, needing another joint. Before I get to the top, I peer over at Beibhinn as she swims the length of the pool. Then, pulling my gaze from her, I toss Brodie an instruction over my shoulder. “Get her the fuck out of the pool before I kill her.”
I drop onto the couch but keep my eyes on Brodie as he makes his way towards the batshit blonde.
“Why the fuck is Beibhinn Devereux here?” Meila takes a seat on my lap, staking a claim she has no business making.
An idea sparks, and I realise I have the perfect way to piss Pretty Poison off, and fortunately for me, she just landed in my lap. “She’s staying with us for the summer. But don’t worry, she’ll be gone soon enough.”
“Good, because there is only room for one queen of Munster, and it ain’t that crazy bitch.”
Wrapping my arm around Meila’s waist, I draw her in closer but keep my focus on Brodie and Beibhinn’s interaction. I don’t miss the way her icy-blue eyes flash my way before she allows Brodie to help her out by extending a hand. I’m too far away to hear what she says to him, but she pats his chest, then, before I can blink, she leans in and plants her bloodred lips on his. It lasts far longer than it should, making the blood pumping through my veins turn molten.
Ignoring the reaction I’m having, I even my breaths and bite down on my lower lip. She’s trying to get under my skin, but I won’t allow it.
Unbidden, I keep a watchful eye, trailing her as she walks towards the fountain and plucks a bottle of champagne from the top tier. Without hesitation, she peels off the gold wrapping sealing the top, then, after giving the bottle a thorough shake, she pops the cork, spraying bubbles all over the guests, making them squeal with delight.
Anger feeds off the air in my lungs, flaring my nostrils. She tips her head back and opens her mouth wide before lifting the bottle to her face and pouring the bubbles down her throat.
Before I know it, she’s parting the crowd like the Red Sea and making her way towards the VIP section. My grip on Meila tightens, drawing her closer to my chest. Two can play these games, Pretty Poison. Question is, who can play them better?
All eyes are on Beibhinn as she ascends the steps leading to the patio, and once she hits the top, Meila’s claws come out. Just like I knew they would. “Excuse me, bitch. You’re dripping your dirty skank water all over our VIP deck.”
Beibhinn’s eyes drop to her now see-through tank, and a fake sweet smile sweeps across her face. “Oh, my bad.” Her hands wrap around the cotton, then she wrings the water from it, leaving a puddle next to her painted red toenails. “Oops.”
Meila shifts in my lap, then straightening her shoulders, her eyes narrow on my future wife. Unfortunately for her, my bride-to-be doesn’t scare easily, and Beibhinn strides forward, closing the distance with four measured steps. “Have we a problem?”
Beibhinn’s eyes sweep up and down, shooting daggers at Meila. I swear if looks could kill, Meila would be six feet below about now.
“Actually, yes, we do.” Meila fires back. “This deck is for the Munster heirs only. No rejects allowed. After all, everyone knows Liam is the better Devereux.”
Something sinister flashes in Beibhinn’s eyes, and for a second, I contemplate stepping between her and Meila before she rips her a new arsehole. But not wanting to show my hand, I think better of it, wanting to see how Bev handles herself.
Dropping to her hunkers, Beibhinn raises a brow and brings herself to Meila’s eye level. “Listen up, princess. You might think this is your kingdom, but it’s not. Toss your tits in his face all you want, but it won’t make the slightest difference. One day, you will bow to me.”
Meila tenses beneath my grip, and it takes everything in me not to laugh at the realisation hitting her in the face. Cranking her neck, she shoots me a confused look. “What’s she fucking talking about?”
“Go on, future husband,” Beibhinn prompts. “Explain the obvious to this brainless whore.”
Meila’s gaze snaps back to Beibhinn. “No. I want to hear it from you.”
Drawing her hands together, Bev mocks Meila as though she’s only more than willing to burst her little delusional bubble. “Move over, Mee-lah,” Beibhinn draws out her name. “There’s a new queen in town.”