Chapter 10 Sorcha
CHAPTER TEN
SORCHA
I watch them leave, my fork still gripped in my hand, my knuckles white.
The silence in the hall erupts back into usual operations as the show is over.
Thank fuck. They think they just saw me get put in my place.
They think I’m Ciar MacMahon’s new bitch.
It was mortifying. Who do these arseholes think they are?
My appetite is dead, drowned in spilt cola and rage.
Slowly, I place the fork down. I push the ruined tray away from me.
I stand, my movements measured, and walk out of the dining hall without a backward glance. My first stop isn’t my flat. It’s Annastasia.
She finds me first, stepping into my path. “You bailing on me?”
“No,” I say with a slow smirk.
Her eyes widen. “You sure about that?”
“I have never been more sure about any-fucking-thing in my life.”
“You have got more balls than most of the guys here,” she says, her eyes glinting. “I’m impressed. It will be rewarded.”
“Tell me something.”
“Anything.”
“Are you going up against those arseholes to rule St. Bart’s?”
Annastasia’s smile turns sharp. “Someone has to challenge the patriarchy, don’t you think? They’ve been running this place like their own private boys’ club for too long. It’s time for a queen.”
So, that’s her game. Not just lining her pockets, but a full-on coup. I can respect that. It’s a lot more ambitious than just running bets on an underground fight club. “Let me guess. You are the only O’Shea woman to take an interest in the business?”
She giggles, but it’s sinister. I would not want to be on the wrong side of that psychotic titter. “You would know.”
She has a fair point. I’ve not heard of any Gannon female to enter the life.
They sit on the sidelines breeding the next male heirs.
I’m shaking this family up. I know it has placed a bit of a target on my back, but I’m not stupid.
I chose St. Bartholomew’s elite college on the very outskirts of Dublin, because this area has no affiliation with any Gannon.
Yet.
“So you think I’m the one to help you do it?” I ask, knowing I can use this. Turn the tables. Annastasia and I are about to become partners in a magnificent coup d’état that will rip not only this institution apart but probably half of Dublin.
“I think you’re the only one with the guts to be the tip of the spear,” she corrects me. “You just went against Ciar MacMahon in front of the whole university. Bigger bads than you have tried and failed.”
“I never fail.”
“Good. That’s exactly what I was hoping you’d say. Now, about tonight… Axl’s townhouse. Are you going?”
My jaw clenches. “Oh, I’m going. How do you feel about double crosses?”
Her mouth drops open, but not in shock, in absolute awe. “You are a fucking lunatic, bitch.”
“Lunatics change the world,” I say, my voice flat. “They want me to learn my place. I’ll learn it so well I can tear it down from the inside.”
Annastasia’s eyes gleam with a dangerous light. “What’s the plan?”
“The plan is they just invited the Reaper into their midst. And I didn’t get that name because I like to wander around in hooded, black cloaks.”
“Red Reaper,” she murmurs. “I heard rumours.”
I nod. “They were small fry. Street thugs. I want the elite. I want to take on the establishment and win.”
“We are both in agreement with that,” she says slowly. Her mind is ticking over, wondering if she can trust me. I don’t really give a fuck. She is my way in, and she is my way to make enough money to gain a foothold.
“What will you tell them about our deal?”
“That it’s off, but it’s not. I will pretend to fight independently for the cash, but instead, we split the winnings, and you’ve got my back if shit hits the fan. Likewise.”
Annastasia’s smile is pure poison. “A partnership, then.” She doesn’t offer her hand again. We don’t need to. The deal is sealed in the space between us, a shared ambition that’s sharper than any blade. “Be careful, Gannon. They don’t just break their toys. They collect the pieces.”
“I’m not a toy, but they’ll find I don’t break so easily.”
She gives me one last, appraising look before melting back into the flow of students, leaving me alone with my own reckless plans.
This wasn’t a thought-out, carefully made plan.
This was a knee-jerk reaction to Ciar’s demand.
But the last thing I need is Annastasia O’Shea gunning for me.
She is like me, trying to prove a point in a man’s world.
That makes her twice as dangerous and twice as deadly.
I’ll take my chances with the Cerberus Order coming after my arse.
I can crack them, break them apart. Cillian already can’t stay away.
When the time comes, he will choose my side.
I’ll make sure of it. He tries to hide it behind a wall of silence and brutality, but what he did last night, after…
that wasn’t just a fuck. It was something else. Something I can use.
Satisfaction coiling in my gut, I head to my last lecture of the day, wondering where the fuck Axl’s townhouse is supposed to be. Definitely nowhere near my flat.
The last lecture, Business Management, is boring. The professor talks about hostile takeovers and market domination like it’s a board game, not something you do with a blade in a dark alley. I take notes anyway, my mind a million miles away, mapping out the new war I just declared.
Afterwards, I head back to my flat, what’s left of the two hundred euros from Annastasia a comforting weight in my pocket.
I strip off and climb into the shower. I can’t stop thinking about Cillian’s aftercare last night.
I definitely can’t stop thinking about his cock.
The hot water sluices over me, but it doesn’t wash away the memory of his hands on my skin, the phantom weight of him pinning me to the wall.
One minute, he’s fucking me like an animal, the next he’s tucking me into bed like a fucking porcelain doll.
It’s a mind-fuck of the highest order, designed to keep me off-balance. I’m disgusted to say, it’s working.
I step out, towelling myself off with more force than necessary. I pull on clean clothes—black cargo pants with plenty of pockets, a tight black long-sleeved top. I shove Bessie into the back of my waistband.
I glance out of the window. It’s just after dark. I head out and aim for the exact opposite from my side of the campus.
I stop when a man steps out in front of me. “Gannon,” he growls.
“Yeah,” I say, my hand going to the hilt of my knife.
“Sean O’Malley.”
He says the name like it’s meant to mean something.
“Yeah? And?”
He takes a step closer, his face a mess of fading bruises under the weak campus lighting. He looks like shit. “You saved my arse last night.”
I frown. “Did I?”
“At the lake,” he says, exasperated.
“Oh, you’re the guy the Cerberus Order was hazing?”
“Hazing,” he scoffs.
“Yeah,” I say in agreement. “What do you want?”
“I want to gut them,” he growls.
“So do it,” I say, pushing past him.
His hand shoots out and grabs my wrist.
“Get your hand off me,” I say, calmly.
He doesn’t. His fingers tighten, his eyes wild with a desperate kind of fury. “They don’t get to treat an O’Malley that way.”
“That’s your problem, Sean. I’m a Gannon, in case you forgot.”
He scoffs, pulling me closer. “You’re a Gannon without backup. It’s in name only.”
“It’s also in the total insanity that seems to run through my blood,” I say with a cold smile, whipping Bessie out to slash this guy to bits and pieces on the path.
Before I can lash out, his grip loosens as he flies across the path to land in a fancy hedge in the shape of the Spade.
I turn with fury to see who intervened in my fight and growl. “You are pushing your luck, Cillian.”
He doesn’t even blink. He just stands there, a mountain of silent judgement, his gaze flicking from me to the sputtering mess of Sean O’Malley trying to untangle himself from the pristinely shaped shrubbery.
“I had it handled,” I snarl, stepping towards him.
A low groan comes from the hedge. O’Malley stumbles out, leaves in his hair, his face a mask of pure, humiliated rage. “You fucking bastard,” he spits, launching himself at Cillian.
He sighs, actually heaves a sigh like he’s carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders, and reaches out to grab O’Malley by his throat, lifting him off his feet to dangle in the air like shit on a stick.
“Jesus,” I snap. “What is wrong with you?”
“No one touches you,” he says.
“I had it under control,” I grit out.
“Not taking any chances,” he replies, not even looking at me. He simply flings Sean O’Malley away from him like he’s a piece of rubbish.
O’Malley hits the ground with a sickening thud and doesn’t move.
“Are you fucking serious? I was dealing with him.”
Cillian’s gaze is heavy, unwavering. He takes a step toward me. I stand my ground. “He put his hands on you.”
“And I was about to put my blade in him. It’s what I do. I don’t need you playing bodyguard.” I jab a finger into his chest, the muscle unyielding as rock. “You don’t get to decide who I fight. Is that clear?”
His big hand closes around my wrist, not painfully, but with an inescapable weight that steals the breath from my lungs. His thumb strokes over the tender skin, a silent contradiction to the hardness in his eyes.
“They’re waiting for you,” he rumbles, his voice a low vibration that travels straight to my core.
He starts walking, tugging me along. I try to wrench my arm free, but it’s useless. He’s a fucking force of nature, and I’m just caught in his tide.
“I can find my own way,” I snarl, stumbling to keep pace with his long strides.
“Not taking any chances,” he says. “Trouble follows you around.”
“As do you,” I hiss.
He looks down at me from his great height with a slow smirk. “Thinking about earlier?” he murmurs.
My face heats, a flush of shame and fury. “You wish,” I spit, but the words have no venom. My traitorous body remembers exactly what happened earlier, the brutal friction, the way my pussy clenched around his cock.
He doesn’t need to say anything else. He just keeps walking, dragging me through the manicured perfection of the campus.
We leave the main grounds and cross over a red-bricked street lined with imposing townhouses, each one a fortress of old money and inherited power.
It’s a world away from my peeling, damp-stained building.
Cillian’s grip on my wrist is a constant, branding pressure.
He doesn’t look at me, his gaze fixed forward, but I feel the weight of his attention on me.
It’s suffocating. We stop outside the largest house on the row, a dark stone edifice with glowing windows that look like judgmental eyes.
He lets go of my wrist only to shove the heavy oak door open.
He doesn’t knock. He pushes me over the threshold, his hand a heavy weight in the small of my back, propelling me into the lion’s den.
The entrance hall is a cathedral of marble and dark wood, a massive chandelier dripping crystals like frozen tears above us.
“Nice,” I murmur before I can stop myself.
This is the kind of place I can see myself living in one day.
Maybe sooner than I think if I take over the Cerberus Order and all of its assets.
Okay, who am I kidding?
They, as in Cillian, keep proving that I can’t dominate them. Not yet. This is a long game, and I have to be patient.