Chapter 7 - Kieran
seven
Kieran
Current Day
It's dark and cold in this freaking small ass apartment.
Does this place even have heat? Looking around, my lips turn up in disgust. My hands clench by my side and it takes everything in me to stay calm.
How the hell did she go from living in a mansion to this shit right here?
The walls have a slight yellow tinge and it's so small it might as well be one room—the living room, kitchen, and bedroom all in one.
The bathroom is off to the side of the room, but I'm not sure how anyone fits in there.
I went through her cabinets, and they had nothing in them.
How is she even surviving?
The locks on the front door rattle, drawing my attention from the state of the place—it's show time.
I straighten myself in the chair I'm sitting in, trying to keep myself relaxed.
Not wanting to scare her too soon, but if this is what her life looks like right now, she needs this opportunity just as much as I do.
When the door opens, I shake my head slightly seeing a dark-haired woman walk through.
She's lost so much weight, her clothes are falling off her—note to self: she needs my help to get her curves back.
Her head is down as she walks in, but as if she can sense me, she looks up and lets out a sexy little gasp that immediately makes my cock harden.
Not wanting to miss an opportunity to throw her off balance, I greet her. "Hello, Mia."
Mia doesn't say a word back to me. She just continues to close the door behind her, pausing quietly for a moment and in that moment, I watch as she hardens herself, resurrecting those walls everyone described when I asked about her after that night.
It's damn fascinating to watch. She doesn't come any closer to me, staying right next to the door.
I can't help but smile to myself. This is one of the reasons I want her as my wife.
She's a smart woman, she has strong survival instincts, always making sure she has an escape plan. Not that it will help her. I'm not letting her get away, not this time. She might’ve been able to slip some of my men, but she won’t get away from me.
Neither of us say anything for a few minutes.
The silence doesn't bother me, though. My whole childhood was about staying silent and allowing the other person to speak first. This was one of the ways that my Da trained us for this world. He would stay silent until one of us broke first, then he would punish us with a beating. It’s obvious that Mia hasn’t been trained the same way, and I can see that this method unnerves her.
She squirms under the scrutiny, but finally breaks the silence as she narrows her eyes.
"How did you find me?" she asks me, straightening her shoulders as if she’s trying to grow a few feet in just a few moments.
I smirk at her when I hear the defiance in her tone.
Standing up from the chair, I take a few steps in her tiny ass apartment until I'm right in front of her. Neither of us are willing to look away from each other, locked in a battle of wills, daring the other to look away first.
Then I do something that surprises even me. I reach out and pull a piece of her stick straight, chestnut brown, twirling it between two of my fingers as I whisper in her ear, "I have my ways, but you did give me some difficulty. You'll be punished for that later."
A shiver runs down her spine. The smirk I was sporting earlier spreads into a full grin. The smell of fear seeps from her pores even though she is trying so hard to keep her tough exterior. I can't wait to see how she reacts when she has my handprints on her ass for making me look for her.
Her tantalizing cinnamon scent mixed with fear calls to me and I can't help but burrow my face into her neck, taking a deep breath and allowing it to fill my lungs.
It invigorates me. It has since the night I met her.
Mia doesn't move, not even a flinch. She just stands as still as possible, keeping her body rigid and allowing me to take what I want.
It's not her submission though, it would be stupid of me to think that.
I know it won't be easy, but she will bend to me eventually. Just like she did that night.
Pulling back from her, I take her in. She looks as good as she did the last time I saw her—other than being a little too thin for my liking. Licking my lips, I want to play, but first I need to get down to business. I can play with my prey later.
"I have a proposition for you," I whisper against her skin, finally giving a small hint to why I’m here.
"No," she says cutting me off, not allowing me to explain myself.
"Tsk, tsk. Now, princess, you haven't even heard what I have to offer," I scold her.
Shaking her head, she looks at me with anger filled eyes while she sneers, "I don't care. I'm not interested."
She tries to move away from me, but before she can get too far, I grab her wrist and pull her into my chest. Both of our hearts pound against each other so loud I can feel it in my ears.
"Come on, princess, don't be hasty. You'll want to hear what I have to say."
"Kieran," she whispers. My name on her lips brings me back to the last time we were together. The night I bought her at the auction, the one owned by that swine, Mikhail, the Bratva heir.
Months later came the night my Da told me I still had to get married, no matter what, in order to take my rightful place.
Only this time, I could pick the bride. It was the only reprieve he would give me, after talking with the other families in Ireland.
They all agreed the marriage would be better if it appeared to be love.
“Our people will stand behind a new king, if he has the support of a significant other. And since I would like to retire soon, you need to find a wife.” His words ring through my head.
At that moment I knew exactly who I would choose. Not just because she's beautiful, but because she is strong, and won't take any shit but knows when she needs to bend to my will. It makes her the perfect person to stand by my side while I make the Irish Mafia the strongest it has ever been.
My jaw clenches, the anger I felt, rearing it’s ugly head, just remembering when I was told that she was gone. Every moment that passed, made me angrier and angrier, needing to punish her. She took up so much of my mind, and now it’s two years later, and she still haunts me.
But I have a plan. I figured I’d use the requirement of marriage as an opportunity to tie Mia to me. Since I have the best men at my disposal, I found her quickly. Though it was harder than it should've been because she kept moving.
I grip her neck, not allowing her to move, her pulse jumping wildly beneath my fingers.
I expect her to beg or try to escape, but she doesn't. She obeys my silent demands because her body knows who she belongs to, remembering my touch, even if her mind refuses.
My gaze goes straight to her pillowy pink lips, the need to feel them against mine, to taste her, is burning within me.
Not being able to help myself, I lean down and brush my lips against hers.
She whimpers at the touch, and I take it one step further, placing my lips firmly against hers, licking my tongue against her mouth as I demand entrance.
At first, she refuses, keeping them in a tight line as she tries to hold strong against me.
But I know this act of defiance is just the stubbornness in her and she will eventually fold.
As predicted, a few minutes later, she opens herself up to me. Taking advantage, I plunge my tongue into her mouth. When I get the taste of her cinnamon gum, I groan. That's what she'd tasted that night, too. And cinnamon is my favorite.
My other hand roams over her body, wanting to touch every bit of skin that I can reach.
The moment I get to her panties, her hands go to my chest, and she pushes me away.
I allow her this time, letting her think she has some control.
The movement stops our kiss, tears falling down her cheeks.
"I can't give myself to you again. Please don't make me," she mutters.
Laying my forehead on hers, I mumble, "Why?"
"He won't let me." That response has me stiffening. What the fuck? Who would dare to tell her what she can and can't do? The only person who can demand anything from her is me.
"Who is he?" I demand.