Chapter 15 Declan #2
I run, pounding the pavement, letting the anger bleed out of me with every stride. Arnold trots at my side. Petal bumps along in front of my chest, tucked into my hoodie like a furry grenade.
They think I’m the baby brother. The joker. The shite-stirrer. It’s not wrong. Why be a stern prick when a cutting line or a well-timed joke can rock someone’s boat or ease tensions?
But there’s more to me than the lad who holds the seams together.
I’m not a fucking tailor. I don’t just patch up holes.
I want a piece of something real. My own territory. My own empire, however small it starts out.
I’m a sharp shooter, but not Torin-level. I’m not the main enforcer, though I can make a hundred grown men sob for their mammies if Cal points and says “go.”
Maybe the answer is somewhere in between. Something legit-looking that lets me walk both sides. A bodyguard service, proper and polished. A bridge job. Clients see the clean version. Behind that, we decide who’s visible and who never gets spotted.
Brendan is visible if you know the signs. Some of our boys aren’t. I want that power. To choose the shadows.
Mam talked about that in her own way. Not directly, never in front of Da or Cal, but with the other wives, our aunties. I listened. She has a softer touch. Hard lines, quiet hands. One foot in domestic life, one hand always on the gun.
Mam’s more dangerous than half the men in this family.
A proper protection business could be my way to thread that needle. Put my name on something that looks clean while staying filthy in all the right places.
Petal lets out a squeaky yip. I stop, shift her around, and pull the zipper all the way up to keep her secure.
“Lazy cow,” I mutter, starting to run again. “You’ve got wheels.”
If I want that kind of power, I’ll have to earn it. Killing Marlowe’s stalker is a start. The price on her head, though? That’s a bigger problem. Her da’s still missing. I’m not telling Cloris a fucking thing yet. Let her think the stalker’s still alive. Fear buys me time.
Time to find Heston Briggs. Time to make sure Molly’s more than temporarily safe.
The Mario problem? He can wait his turn.
By the time Arnold, Petal, and I drag ourselves back to the house, I’m sweat-soaked but a hell of a lot calmer. A new pair of guards, a man and a woman, are across the street now, laughing like old friends. Brendan’s shift is over.
Inside, it’s chaos as usual.
Monarch trembles in a corner, Bruiser, who’s half his size, is sniffing and yapping. Clawzilla lifts his head, hisses at me, and turns his back, tail flicking.
“I’m sorry,” I tell him, filling Arnold’s water bowl. “You can come for a run next time, if you get in your harness.”
He hisses again and stalks off.
Fiona’s belly-up in her bed, paws twitching. Pepper’s asleep, for once not telling someone to fuck off. Lola takes a swipe at my leg as I pass.
“Since when did this place become a zoo?” I grumble, ignoring the small detail that it’s mostly my fault.
I grab a laptop not hooked up to the Internet and plug in the USB drive.
More Marlowe. Pages and pages of her. Information blocks. Screenshotted chat threads from websites obsessing over dancers. Copy-pasted crap, all curated. Digital scrapbook from the mind of a lecherous creep.
There’s a downloaded “kidnap handbook” file from some dark corner of the web. That’s enough. I yank out the USB and set it aside with a note for Torin.
Nothing useful. Everything vile.
By the time I head upstairs, the anger’s back, simmering under my skin. I stop at Marlowe’s door, debating knocking.
I don’t.
I shove the door open and slam it behind me. She jumps from where she’s stretched out on the floor, which is impressive given what she’s been through tonight.
I point at her. “What are you doing?”
“Exercising,” she says, a little breathless. “Sometimes it helps de-stress.”
She starts to stand. I shake my head and drink her in.
Tight Lycra shorts. Loose-fitting t-shirt. No bra. Her nipples pebble against the thin fabric.
“Fuck, Molly,” I say. “You really deserve a spanking.”
“For what?”
“For sneaking off. For nearly getting yourself raped by a stalker.” I shake my head. “On second thought, a spanking won’t cut it. And since you’re already on your hands and knees, come here.”
Her eyes flash. “Make me.”
“If I make you,” I say softly, “you might end up with all pain and no pleasure.”
“Who said being with you is pleasurable?”
“Unless you’re a pain whore, I’d say the countless orgasms I’ve given you,” I reply.
“You disgust me.”
“And you piss me right off, Molly girl.” My cock is stone-hard now, just from the fight in her. “Crawl over here and suck my cock.”
“With the dog?” she shoots back.
I glance down. Petal’s still tucked under my arm.
“Right.” I crack the door, put Petal down, and watch her skate off toward her bed. “Not into that. My interest begins and ends with you.”
The words hang there between us.
Her face shifts. Shock. Hope. Disbelief. Something fragile and dangerous.
I don’t know what to do with that, so I go with what I do best.
“Crawl,” I say. “Now.”
She glares, but desire wins. It always does with us. Not humiliation. More a battle of wills. The push and pull. Her choosing to submit and hating that she loves it.
One hand, then the other. Her arse sways as she crawls.
“I’ll get you for this,” she mutters.
I stroke her hair when she reaches me. “Looking forward to it. Suck my cock, Molly.”
For a second I think she’s going to refuse. Instead, she runs her fingers over the length straining against my shorts, presses her lips to me through the fabric, dragging them up and down. Then she hooks her fingers into the waistband and looks up.
“Then will you fuck my ass?” she asks.
“You’re ass-obsessed, Molly.”
“No,” she says. “I just want something to compare you to when I finally leave. So I know how bad you really were.”
I slide two fingers into her mouth, pump them in and out. “You’ll be pining for me for years.”
“In your dreams.”
“No, Molly girl. In yours.” I smirk. “But as punishment, I’m not gonna make you come. I’m not fucking your ass. When I do, I’ll tie you to a chair first so you can’t change your mind.”
She yanks my shorts down, freeing my cock. Molly licks a bead of pre-cum from the tip, fingers curling around me as she strokes up and down, then lowers her mouth, following the same rhythm.
It’s wicked. It’s perfect.
“You like the idea,” I murmur. “Every time you sit, you’ll think of it. Every time I tie you up, you’ll remember. You’ll go mad with wanting. Now suck me and make me come.”
She takes me deeper, tongue swirling, hand stroking. A groan escapes me, and she works harder, bobbing along my length.
I watch her, fingers curling into fists. It’s nearly enough, but not quite. I want more. I always want more with her.
I sink my hand into her hair and start guiding her, deeper and deeper, past that soft resistance in the back of her throat. She gags, but she doesn’t pull away. If anything, she clutches at my thighs and drags me closer.
Drool spills. Her eyes water. Every gag is a pulse around me, a squeeze of pressure that drives me higher.
Pleasure surges, tight and sharp. I hold her there, my cock buried in her mouth, and then I’m coming, hard, spilling down her throat.
My knees almost give.
When I’m done, I let go of her. She pulls back, wiping her mouth, breathing hard. I tuck myself away, and for a moment I’m tempted to pull her up, to wrap her in my arms, to tell her she’s safe. To spend hours tasting every inch of her until she forgets the feel of bark and hands and fear.
But I don’t do any of that.
“Are you—?” she starts.
“Punishment, remember?” I snap. “You don’t get to come. You don’t get rewarded for running toward danger like you do—like you did tonight.”
Her jaw tightens.
“Let me be very clear, Molly,” I say. “You don’t go anywhere without me or one of my brothers. You stay here. And you don’t drag my sisters-in-law into this shite.”
“I’m not—”
“Basically,” I say, “we’re stuck together like superglue.”
“So you’re not doing anything about the price on our heads,” she snaps.
“Yours, darling lass,” I correct. “Just yours. But don’t worry. No one’s touching you while you’re married to a Murphy.”
She frowns. “But I’m not married to you.”
“You’re not stupid. Nobody else knows that.”
She isn’t stupid. Spoiled, yes. Not stupid. She’s no criminal mastermind either. Unless Leon somehow orchestrated the truckyard, the dead cop, the drugs, the stalker…
Marlowe watches me closely. “How are you going to make sure it’s all good?” she asks quietly. “And find Daddy?”
I smile, slow and sharp. “Wait and see.”
I turn, walk out of her room, and pull my phone from my pocket.
They think I’m just the baby brother, the joker, the fucking comic relief.
But now they’re about to learn what I can really do when someone comes for what’s mine.