11. A Case of the Wrongs
11
A Case of the Wrongs
Jessica
A noise draws my attention away from the door in front of me, and I glance to my right to see a woman leaving another room.
I quickly face forward, not wanting to draw attention to myself by gawking, and when I step into the doorway further, hoping to avoid attention, the door in front of me suddenly pops open, and I fall forward.
I yelp, my hands coming up to stop my forward momentum, and I run right into a body.
I attempt to step backward as solid arms wrap around me, preventing me from doing so.
My eyes move to the face, and I blink a few times as I realize this is not Matt.
Fuck my life.
“You’re not Matt.”
The words fall out of my mouth before I can get control of my response. I immediately press my lips together, cursing myself for saying something so stupid. I watch as dark eyes harden, dark eyebrows lifting as he says, “Were you expecting a different Matt?”
I laugh. It’s brittle and a little crazy, the perfect kind of crazy laugh that was taught to me by Antoinette, and his eyebrows raise even higher. He cocks his head at me as he says, “What could possibly be funny right now?”
I shrug, an exceedingly awkward endeavor given he’s still embracing me, and every instinct in me tells me to shake him off, run screaming, and never look back. I manage to squash it down, forcing myself to be just one step shy of stone, and laugh again.
His brows lower, and he narrows his eyes at me, his hands gripping my biceps as he pushes me away from him and gives me a little shake. “Fucking stop that.”
My breath hitches as my laughter immediately ceases, and I hold my breath, doing my best not to choke on the mania brewing inside me.
Perhaps I’m not cut out for this. Well, too fucking late, but I can’t help but think this as he stares down at me like I’m some disease that needs to be eradicated.
He steps back from me fully, his hands crossing over his chest as he looks me up and down and asks, “Are you going to fucking tell me who you are or not?”
I can’t move. I can’t breathe. The pressure in my chest is excruciating as I clear my throat a few times, and he continues to stare at me like I’m completely insane. Which I fucking am. I inhale deeply through my nose, shaking my head as I attempt to sort my jumbled thoughts.
He rolls his eyes, muttering to himself under his breath, and he reaches down and grips the bottom of his shirt, yanking it over his head as he says, “Well, if you’re not going to fucking talk, we may as well get it over with, then.”
I’m pretty sure my eyes are bugging right out of my head at his words.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
He grabs for my arm, yanking me over to a table where he pushes me against it face-first, his hand on my back, pushing my upper body down flat on it.
I expel a breath forcefully and then choke out, “Wait! What the fuck are you doing?”
The metal from his belt buckle jingles, and he replies, “Should be pretty fucking obvious.”
I attempt to stand, but he pushes me back down, his hands on my hips, yanking my pants. I push back against him, but his hand keeps me anchored in place.
I stop struggling, crane my head around and look at him as I exclaim, “I wouldn’t fucking do that if I were you.”
He doesn’t remove his hand from my back, but he stops pulling at my clothing, his narrowed eyes locking with mine as he snarls, “Or fucking what?”
“Or my fucking father will have your head.”
He’s obviously taken aback for a moment, and then he chuckles quietly as he asks, “And who the fuck might that be?”
I never speak of my father. He’s one of my best-kept secrets and the reason I’ve changed my name and pretended to be an orphan for my entire adult life.
And I’m fortunate that he allowed this. I mean, it’s only because it was my mother’s dying wish, and if nothing else, he loved her, but I’ve always been grateful that she gave me the out that I deserved.
I swallow the lump in my throat, bracing myself to say his name for the first time in decades, and it takes me a moment to center myself.
The man waits impatiently, and I can tell my borrowed time is almost up when he rolls his eyes, then once again starts messing with my clothes. I finally spit out, “Seamus Killeen.”
He freezes behind me, the hand against my back easing slightly as he says, “Fucking Irish? Are you serious?”
I nod almost frantically, continuing to swallow the giant lump in my throat. And then he adds, “And what’s your name?”
“Jessica.”
He steps back from me, and I slowly straighten and then step away from the table, adjusting my rumpled clothing as I turn to face him. He looks me up and down again and then says, “You do realize if your daddy gave you to me, I’m still going to fuck you, right?”
I nod, knowing how this all works. I’m just trying to roll with the punches as best I can. “Yes, but I’m pretty sure if it’s not legal, he will be very upset. And you know what happens when my daddy’s upset.”
“I don’t see why he would care if I got a taste beforehand.”
“He didn’t protect his baby girl’s virginity this long to have someone take it before the wedding.”
“Wedding?” he asks incredulously. “Who said anything about a fucking wedding?”
“Don’t fucking ask me,” I say seriously. “I was just told to come here and find Matt. And here I fucking am.”
He sighs heavily. He steps into me, his hand coming up and gripping my jaw as he says softly, “And what’s stopping me from just taking what I want and then disposing of you?”
A chill runs down my spine, but somehow, I manage to meet his eyes without flinching as I whisper, “That’s certainly your right if that’s what you choose. But you also know you’ll be choosing war.”
“What if I don’t care about war? What if I yearn for it?”
I laugh again. This one isn’t quite as maniacal as my earlier laughing fit, but the more he talks, the more likely it is that I’m going to go completely insane. “Well, maybe you better be asking other people if they give a shit about war or not. Before you start making that decision for everyone.”
Annoyance crosses over his features, and his grip on my jaw tightens painfully. He pushes me away forcefully, and I fall back on the table.
I quickly stand again, not wanting to leave myself in a position that leaves me too vulnerable, which is laughable, considering I’m basically at the mercy of a man I don’t know and have given personal information to that could help me or hinder me.
He pulls his phone out, tapping the screen and then putting it to his ear. After a moment, he says, “Get everyone together. We have a situation.”
He ends the call and returns the phone to his pocket, saying, “We’re gonna get their opinion right now.”
I give a short nod, checking my clothes to make sure everything is back to rights, but when I go to step toward the door, he steps right in front of me, his hand squeezing my neck mercilessly. I grab onto his wrist with both my hands, attempting to ease the pressure on my throat as he lifts me so I’m on my toes, and then he’s right in my face as he says menacingly, “But just know that I am no one’s pet. I’ll listen, and then I’ll fucking decide what I do with you.”
I nod in his grasp, and after one final extended squeeze, he releases me. I fall to the ground, choking and coughing. I can only think about Antoinette’s long lecture on never letting the enemy speak.
I’ve only ever given into violence on one occasion where it was literally kill or be killed. I didn’t react overly well to that, but I managed to sort it out and come out of it generally unscathed. But I can see how living in a murderous rage could have you turning a blind eye to right and wrong more regularly. How living your life not knowing what may happen one moment to the next would have you in fight mode twenty-four-seven.
I push myself up onto my hands and knees, coughing, and for a brief moment, I wish I had a weapon within easy reach so I could eliminate this fucking prick. I also recognize that this would be premature on my part and most likely get me killed without question, but that urge is still there.
After a few moments, I manage to stand on my feet, and he looks at me with disdain, most likely because finding out who I am has made him have to have a discussion rather than just doing what he wants.
He walks over to the door and then motions for me to follow him as he says, “Don’t get me into any fucking trouble, or else.”
I remain quiet as I step out into the hallway, and wait for him to follow and then lead me down to our destination.
It doesn’t take too long for us to enter what looks like a large meeting hall. I could see how someone—someone being me—would get lost in this place, given it appears to be somewhat of a maze, and the blueprints we had were completely inaccurate. Or it could be that that’s only showing one level, but it’s really fucking annoying.
A group of people are congregating at the far end, and we walk in that direction without pause.
There are four men standing on what appears to be a makeshift stage, and it’s all I can do to choke back my snort of laughter at the ridiculousness of the situation I’m finding myself in.
An older man finally speaks up and asks, “What is the meaning of this, Matteo?”
He inclines his head toward me and replies, “Someone sent me a gift.”
All eyes turn towards me, and I squirm from the attention. Finally, that same man who spoke previously says, “And who the fuck is she?”
They all look at me expectantly, and once again, I find I’m incapable of speech, so Matteo rolls his eyes and replies, “This is Jessica Killeen, Seamus’s daughter.”
There are a few gasps from the men standing around and widening of eyes as they are obviously surprised at this news.
One of the younger guys standing on the stage says, “You’re fucking kidding me, right?”
“Well, that’s what she says,” Matteo responds. “Of course, we’ll have to verify this is true. If any of you even care?”
The man who spoke initially speaks up, “Unfortunately, we have to care.”
Matteo frowns and mutters, “That’s what I was afraid of.”
One of the other younger men asks, “Why do we have to fucking care? They dropped their bitch off here. Can’t we do what we want with her?”
The older man laughs almost bitterly as he replies, “Sure, if we want to start the war of all wars with the Irish.”
The younger guy pipes up again, “We’re not afraid of the fucking Irish.”
The older man turns his eyes toward him and glares as he says, “It would be one thing if it was just the Irish. But you would be better served to remember that most times, if you piss off one family, you piss off everyone associated with that family.”
The younger guy looks a little bit sheepish for a moment and then nods. The older guy turns back to Matteo and says, “I’ll verify her identity. If she is who she says she is, we need to proceed cautiously.”
“And if she’s not?”
The man shrugs. “Then you can do whatever the fuck you want with her.”
A commotion on the other side of the room draws everyone’s attention, so I turn to look, my heart stopping in my chest as my eyes clash with the eyes of one Mathias Shields.
He mostly looks through me, though I’m sure he must recognize me.
I move to take a step toward him, but the minuscule shake of his head stops me, and I look away.
He walks further into the room, the same tall, dark-haired man who brought me to Matteo following with him. He stops a few feet from us as he asks, “What the fuck’s going on now?”
The older gentleman answers, “It appears the Irish have sent a gift for Matteo.”
He looks at me briefly, those dead eyes flat as he then looks over at Matteo and responds, “Is that right?”
Matteo’s expression turns decidedly smug, and I see Matt’s hand twitching in response. And then Matteo says, “That’s right. Sent me a virgin bride.”
Matt’s lips twitch minutely, and I feel that laughter bubbling up in me again. I choke it down, my eyes on the floor, knowing if I look him in the face, I’m going to lose it. I don’t know if that means laughter, tears, or rage, but whatever’s going to come out of me next isn’t going to be good for my self-preservation.
And then Matteo says, “See, Mathias? Maybe you could have been so lucky if you weren’t stuck with Kaian’s fucking sister.”
My entire body freezes, and my jaw clenches as the insinuation behind his words sinks in, and now I do look at him, but suddenly, he won’t meet my eyes.
I’m saved from any kind of response that I’m dying to come out with when the older man says, “Jessica, consider yourself a guest for the time being. I’ll have one of the women set you up with your own quarters while we get this sorted.”
I turn and focus on him as I nod and reply, “Thank you. That is appreciated.”
The man nods and motions to someone on the outskirts. Then, the next thing I know, a middle-aged woman is beside me, and she motions for me to proceed with her back across the room. I do as I’m told, suddenly desperate to be out of this room and away from these fucking people.
We pause at the doorway as one of the men opens the door for us, and then we walk through. I pause for a moment, glancing over my shoulder, hoping to catch a glimpse of Matt.
But he’s gone.