3. Declan
3
DECLAN
R ight after Ian and I spoke with Dad, I contacted Shane Murray. He answered, confused about the direct call. His first stupid reply was why I hadn’t gone through his assistant, as though I were some plebeian who had to go through channels to reach a self-important asshole like Shane.
Then, once I identified myself, he wizened up to a proper degree of fear that I was reaching out to him at all.
When I told him under no uncertain terms that I expected Saoirse as my bride in exchange for his debt, he reverted to shock.
He hemmed and hawed, too stunned to answer with the obvious right answer to my demands, that of, yes, Mr. Sullivan, I will tell my daughter to prepare to marry you within the week . Instead, when I dictated that I wanted arrangements agreed upon within one day, he’d alternated between clamming up and stuttering, saying he’d have his “people” get back with my “people” to iron out the details.
That was forty-eight hours ago.
As if he could count on dealing with anyone but me. Ian pinned down one of the doctors who said he estimated that Dad would live for maybe a few more months at the most.
Time was of the essence. I wasn’t going to wait around for Shane’s “people” to contact my staff. It was time to escalate to a man-to-man understanding.
I would prove my father wrong. He would not die without knowing an heir stood in line to take over the Family after me.
Ian looked me up and down, inspecting my appearance as he waited near his car. I didn’t need him to come along, but having backup never hurt. I’d found that Ian could speak more diplomatically than me, anyway.
His lips twitched, but he didn’t share his thoughts.
“What?” I furrowed my brow, glancing at myself.
“You clean up… nice.”
“Shut up.” I did clean up nice. Not a spot of blood showed on my hands for once. I couldn’t do anything for the bruises, and I wouldn’t try, anyway.
“You could try smiling,” he suggested as we got in the car.
“Fuck off.” I sighed, closing my eyes for a moment as I tried to relax in the passenger seat. Last night, I'd slept like shit, and I felt every bit of my almost forty years today.
“I’m just saying,” he replied good-naturedly, used to taking shit from me. “If you’re going to meet your bride now, it wouldn’t hurt to look friendly.”
“I won’t be friends with my wife,” I deadpanned. All I needed her for was to pop out a baby.
“Try not to scare this one off before you marry.”
I shook my head. “Funny.”
“Do you think he’ll try to back out of the deal?” he asked, serious now as he drove toward the Murrays’ home.
“No.” I sat up, smoothing down my jacket. “He didn’t actually tell me yes yet.” Nor did he say no , which I would cling to. “I think my call came as a surprise, and in the shock of the moment, he didn’t know what to say.”
Ian grunted a single laugh. “But he’s dealt with Dad before.”
“Twenty years ago.”
“Regardless, he should know that nobody tells a Sullivan no .”
“Agreed.” Which was why I planned to reiterate that in person now. Shane Murray was a small-time imbecile with so much arrogance, he stuffed his ego to the brim. He wouldn’t feel important or be cocky when we spoke in person. Even if I surprised him by just showing up here now, he’d understand that he had no grounds to turn my offer down.
I’d looked back in the records. Shane owed a shit-ton of money to us, and he hadn’t paid up a single penny.
“Ready?” Ian asked when we arrived several minutes later.
I shot him a side-eyed look of annoyance. “You mean is he ready?” I wasn’t worried. I had no reason to be anxious about making my demands realized more clearly in person.
Ian smiled. “We know he won’t be ready,” he said as we walked up to the door.
I hadn’t announced my visit, but since I’d called him, he had to be sweating and nervous. Especially when he'd had the gall to cease communications.
Ian lifted his finger toward the bell, but I beat him to it, pounding my fist on the front door. He smirked at me dully, and I shrugged. “This isn’t a fucking polite afternoon tea, Brother.”
“No, it won’t be.”
A portly butler opened the door, trying and failing to look regal. The flash of alarm in his eyes was the first clue that he knew who I was.
“Where’s Murray?” I said, plowing past him.
“Oh—I—Sir—Wait—” He stumbled over his exclamations, jogging after me. Ian chuckled, keeping up the rear, and I hoped at least he was having fun.
“Murray?” I hollered.
“What on earth is all this—” The woman speaking stopped short as she entered the front foyer. Her heels clicked one last time on the polished marble floor. Dressed in a beige pantsuit, formal and too stiff on her unshapely frame, she gawked at me. “Who…” She clamped her lips shut as her eyes opened wider.
The shock in her eyes felt like a reward. The fear that quickly replaced it boosted my spirits. “Where’s Murray?” I demanded.
“You can’t… You are not permitted to simply enter my home and make demands like this.”
I stalked over to her until her pungent perfume irritated my nose. Towering over her, I bothered with another once-over. Plastic, taut, and tense. Snappy, but not so confident to stand up tall when I glowered down my nose at her.
“I can do whatever the fuck I want.”
“Dec.” Ian sighed. “Perhaps it might go over better if you introduce yourself to your bride’s mother before you terrify her.”
Her lips pressed tighter together. Ire and determination burned in her gaze. “You will never marry my daughter.”
I turned, scoffing at Ian. “Huh. Looks like they do want to try to tell me no, after all.”
“No, no. That’s not… No. Keira, please, let me handle this,” Shane Murray said as he rushed down the stairs. Glancing at me facing off with his wife, he tried to smile. The expression didn’t last. As he stepped down to the floor, he looked like he was about to piss himself. “Dec. My man.”
“Don’t fucking cozy up to me. It’s Mr. Sullivan.”
“Right. Right. Uh, Mr. Sullivan.” He hustled closer, gripping Keira’s arm to pull her back.
She wrenched free, glaring at her husband. “He is not?—”
“Shh! Shh.” He forced a chuckle, waving at her to quiet. “We’ll discuss this matter like men. If you’d please, Mr. Sullivan. I’ve been looking forward to your visit.” Smiling quickly but weakly, he gestured for me to enter the parlor with him.
“Like hell you’ve been looking forward to this meeting.” I narrowed my eyes at him. “You were hoping to never hear from me again.”
“Like men ?” Keira exclaimed before we walked any further. “No. Absolutely not.” She marched after us, tossing a look of disdain at Ian as he joined us. “I will not allow you,” she scolded. “I don’t trust you to speak for Saoirse.”
I huffed, crossing my arms near the sofa Murray directed me to. “Who wears the pants here, so I know which one of you to address?”
Murray mumbled, unsure of what to say as Ian sat. Again, he gestured for me to sit. “If you’d please, Declan.”
I lowered to the stiff, uncomfortable sofa facing the one he sat on. Keira lowered next to him, back straight and eyes beady on me.
“Mr. Sullivan, the answer is no,” she said. “You will not marry my daughter.”
“ Your daughter?” Ian asked, raising his brows at her, then Shane. “Not his?”
A framed photo on the side table distracted me. The slim brunette smirked in her pose for the camera, and I wondered if that stuck-up bitch was Saoirse. She looked rigid, too skinny, like she’d break if I fucked her hard. I could already hear the whining a woman like that would make. And those fake breasts. God. Would it be too much to ask for a real woman? One with meat on her bones, someone who could stand up to a good pounding? And real tits to hold?
Keira tipped her nose up, noticing where I looked. She got up and hugged the frame to her as she sat again. “Saoirse will not marry you in exchange for any supposed, outdated debt.” She sniffed. “You’ve probably fabricated it all.”
I locked my stare on Shane, who fidgeted in his seat, avoiding any eye contact with me. Then I returned my glare to her. “Are you accusing me of lying?” I growled.
She didn’t budge, seeming to hold her breath as she clutched the picture frame like it could be a shield.
“No!” Shane chuckled uneasily with that outburst. “No, no, Declan.”
“Mr. Sullivan,” I bit out.
“No, Mr. Sullivan. She’s not accusing you of lying. No, not at all.” He patted her forearm until she wrenched it away from his reach. “She just doesn’t remember. It was so long ago. And you know, women.” He huffed. “They don’t know the details of business and all.”
“Then you are aware that you owe the Sullivan Clan a significant sum.” Ian produced a printout from his inner jacket pocket, set it on the coffee table between the sofas, and spun it with his finger for the couple to see.
Keira’s eyes nearly bugged out. Shane winced. “Uh, the number’s a little higher than what I recall, but, yeah…”
“Consider yourself fortunate that my father never decided to inflate the interest after all this time. You haven’t paid a single cent back. But with your agreement that you’ll arrange a wedding within one week, uniting me and your daughter in marriage, I will wipe the slate clean.”
Keira let out a whine. “No.” Now she gripped Shane’s forearm, digging her manicured nails into his sleeve so hard that it might tear the fabric. “No, Mr. Sullivan. You must consider someone else for marriage.”
Ian chuckled lightly. “We’ve considered any and everyone possible.”
Shut the fuck up. It was already clear that this mother didn’t want her bratty-looking daughter hitched with me. Ian didn’t need to worsen my image by explaining that Saoirse was my last option.
“Not my daughter,” she begged.
“Murray.” I stood and held up the paper in his face. “Shall I collect on this amount now? Or will there be a fucking wedding at the end of this week?”
He swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “Yes.” He winced at Keira’s tightened clutch on his forearm, trying to remove himself from her grip. “Yes. We will arrange for a wedding.”
Ian stood, nodding once in acknowledgment. “Then we’ll be in touch.”
I maintained a level glare on them until I followed Ian out. We didn’t mess with the butler, who wasn’t even there anymore. He’d probably shat his pants with how we’d frightened him at the door and let ourselves in.
But we didn’t leave. Ian glanced around, tipping his head toward the side of the house. I furrowed my brow and followed him, catching on to the fact that he wanted to listen to Keira and Shane. Their shouting match wasn’t hard to eavesdrop on. With the windows open and both of their voices raised, we idled on the front sidewalk and heard it all while we lingered.
“You are out of your mind if you think we’ll arrange for a wedding,” she shouted.
“I think we have to,” Shane whined.
“No. We won’t. Not like this!” she threatened before the sounds of her heels clacked. A door slammed inside, and Shane groaned.
Ian and I walked back to his car. Once we were in, I let the tension of irritation and impatience bleed out of me with a deep exhale. “If they don’t cooperate,” I promised, “I’ll fucking ruin them.”
Ian nodded, setting the car in drive and pulling away. “Damn straight, we will, Brother.”