Chapter 9
Elexia
“You potato-hoarding, whiskey-swilling leprechaun bastard!”
I yank at the restraints binding my wrists to the bed frame, but they don’t budge. He used my own handcuffs against me.
Liam stands at the foot of the bed, arms crossed, entirely too pleased with himself.
“Let me go!” I snarl, throwing my best daggered glare.
“No.”
“You—you—you shamrock-sucking son of a—”
“Creative.” He simpers, cocking his head. “But no.”
I struggle again, my chest heaving, repeating from last night, “This doesn’t happen. This doesn’t happen!”
He raises a brow. “And yet, here we are.”
“You can’t just handcuff me and—”
“I can.” He crosses the distance, then trails his fingers slowly down my bound arms, testing the cuffs like he’s admiring his work. “And I did. Now, be a good girl and rest. I’ll check on ye in a bit.”
I snap my teeth, but he turns and walks toward the door.
“Liam!” I shout. “Liam, I swear to God, if you don’t let me go right now—”
The door clicks shut.
I flop back against the pillows, groaning in frustration.
This doesn’t happen.
But it is happening.
And I have no idea what to do about it.
I’ve been staring at the ceiling for what feels like an eternity.
The cuffs bite my wrists, not painfully, but I’m still stuck here. Handcuffed to my own bed. By a mafia boss. Who made me breakfast. And read my diaries. And stole my sex toys.
My life has officially jumped the rails.
From somewhere in the apartment, I hear the faint clatter of dishes. He’s doing dishes like some domestic god with a criminal record.
I should be furious. I am furious.
But there’s also this traitorous part of me which is…impressed? No. Not impressed. That’s not the word. Intrigued, maybe. Awed. Or just losing my mind.
Definitely losing my mind.
A sharp knock at the front door makes me freeze. The sound of running water stops. Liam’s footsteps—measured, careful—approach the front door.
Another knock. Louder.
“Lex?” A male voice calls through the door. “Elexia, I know you’re in there. Your car’s out back.”
My blood runs cold. Brett.
No. Nonono. Not now. Not like this.
The deadbolt slides open, and my heart lurches into my throat.
“Liam!” The word splinters on the way out. “Liam, don’t—”
Don’t let him in!
But it’s too late. The door swings open, and Brett’s voice is closer now, confused and wary.
“Who the hell are you?”
“A friend.” His Irish rolls, smooth as honey. “And you are?”
“Brett. I’m Elexia’s boyfriend.”
“Hmm,” Liam muses. “She’s mentioned you.” Oh, God, did he read those parts in my diary? “But ye forgot to add the ‘Ex, lad.”
A long, tense pause twists my stomach into knots.
“Where is she?” Brett demands.
“Indisposed at the moment. But I’m sure she’d love to see you. Come in.”
What on earth is he doing?!
Footsteps close in toward my bedroom.
Mortification fills me. This cannot be happening.
The door swings open.
Brett stands in the doorway, his jaw slack, shock written all over. He’s exactly as I remember—sandy blond hair gelled back, a polo shirt tucked into khakis, loafers polished to a shine. He could be a country club catalog model. Clean-cut. Respectable. He’s anything but.
But he is utterly, completely stunned. He zeroes in on my handcuffed wrists, and his face turns red.
“Lex. What the—”
“This isn’t what it looks like!” I blurt out, my cheeks aflame.
Liam steps past Brett with such easy confidence, it swirls desire inside me. He crosses to the bed and smooths a curl away from my cheek. A gesture tender, deliberate, and possessive.
“Oh, I assure you,” Liam rumbles low, “it’s exactly what it looks like.”
I wince, groaning. “Ugh—”
Brett’s hands clench into fists. His face is mottled red now, his jaw tight. He glares at Liam. “Lex, Dollface, if you need me to, I’ll—”
“Ye don’t want to be threatening me, lad.” Liam’s voice turns to black ice. His posture shifts like a predator coiling to strike. “I know people who’d be very interested in your recent activities. One phone call, and you’ll wish a restraining order was the least of your worries.”
Brett’s mouth snaps shut. Uncertainty flickers across his face as his eyes dart between Liam and me.
“Brett, just go.” I stab out my chin, lips pressed. “I’m fine.”
“Are you sure?”
“The lady told you to leave, Brett boy.” His tone goes flat as stone. “See yerself out, or I’ll be doin’ it for ye.”
I throw my ex a daggered look. “You’re in my apartment, Brett. The restraining order makes it clear. Not within 600 feet of me or my apartment.”
He shrugs, weak and pathetic. “It ends tomorrow. Figured we could pick up where we left off.”
The words hit me like a slap. Pick up where we left off? After everything he put me through?
“Ye won’t be picking her up anywhere,” Liam warns, low and lethal. “Or they’ll be picking up your body parts. Now, get out.”
Brett is a coward. And cowards don’t stand their ground when faced with someone like Liam Donovan. Despite the current circumstances, I must admit, I’ve never been more grateful to have a mafia boss here to protect me.
My ex takes a step back. “Call me anytime if you’re in trouble, Lex.”
I refuse to acknowledge him. I don’t owe him anything. Not a word. Not a glance. Nothing.
After a long, tense moment, Brett stalks out, his footsteps retreating down the hallway. The front door opens, then closes with a soft click.
Silence.
Liam lingers, still staring at the doorway, his teeth grinding. Then he turns to me, and the dangerous edge in his expression softens, just slightly. “Well, that was entertaining.”
I lift my brows. “Entertaining? You just let my psycho ex see me handcuffed to a bed!”
He rolls his shoulders. “He needed to see you’d moved on. Seemed effective.”
“Liam!”
“Oh, Jesus Mary and Joseph, where are my manners?”
Stepping toward my dresser, he picks up the remote and turns on my wall flat screen, selecting Netflix and Squid Game. “Can’t have you being bored, Luv. Enjoy your show. I’ll be back in a wee bit to give you a foot massage. Then I’ll be bringing you some lunch.”
And then he’s gone, door shut.
I flop back against the pillows, stifling a screech. A foot massage? Seriously? Is he playing it up a little too much? Or is he really morally gray with this silver lining? Make that gold.
You’re mine to keep. His words.
Defiance rises, but the fever in my blood shoves it down. I should enjoy it while I can. It’s not like this is going to last, right?
I scan the room. My nightstand is just within reach if I stretch. On top of it sits a stray hairpin. I guess Liam didn’t notice it when he brought me breakfast. Or when Brett showed up.
An idea sparks.
I angle my body toward the nightstand. My legs are free, and I hook my foot onto the surface, slow and careful. I slide the barrette to the barest edge. Just need to get my toes. Holding my breath, I catch the pin between them and clench every muscle, maneuvering and dropping it right on my lap.
Yes.
Okay, I can do this. Thankful for all those years of gymnastics, I clasp the barrette between my toes, lift my leg, and bend it until I snatch it with my free hand. Victory!
My dad taught me a lot of things; picking a lock was one.
It takes a few tries, but finally, the lock gives. Click.
The handcuffs fall, and I sit up, rubbing my wrists. Freedom.
I swing my legs over the side of the bed, my heart thumping with adrenaline and vindication. I glance down at myself. I need to change. I also need a shower, but that will come later. Water is running in the kitchen. He’s still doing dishes. Good.
Quickly and quietly, I toss last night’s dress in the laundry basket, put on a new bra and underwear, praying he doesn’t hear. I grab the first dress I see: a soft pink sundress with a sweetheart neckline. It’s not because I think he’ll like it. It’s because it’s comfortable. And easy to move in.
The fact that it makes my curves look…curvier…is completely irrelevant.
Liam Donovan thinks he can just handcuff me and tell me to be a good girl?
Oh, he has no idea who he’s dealing with.
I tiptoe out of the bedroom and down the hallway, sneaking to the kitchen. I peek around the corner.
He’s standing at the sink, his back to me, sleeves rolled up to his elbows as he scrubs a plate. The gray sweater stretches across his broad shoulders, and for a moment, I’m distracted by how his muscles shift under the fabric. And the masculine veins in his arms.
Focus, Lexie.
I spot the book on the counter—the same one he used on me last night. Perfect.
I grab it, creeping closer.
He’s humming. Actually humming some Irish tune, completely oblivious.
I raise the book high and bring it down with a satisfying smack against his ass.
He jars forward, his hands gripping the edge of the sink. Darting to the side, I splash water at him. Droplets hit his face and chest, and he whips around, his eyes wide with shock.
I back away, holding the book in front of me like a shield, beaming. “That’ll teach you not to mess with a strong heroine with main character energy.”
At first, he just stares at me. Then, a slow, dangerous grin forms. “How did ye get free?”
“Like you said, there are a lot of items around I could have used. Like a hairpin.” I blow him a kiss.
“A hairpin. What a naughty girl.” He laughs, then deadpans, brows dancing. “I’ll be pinning you now.”
My breath hitches. I do a double-take, my heart lurching. “Wait, what—”
He lunges.
I shriek, spinning and bolting toward the living room. My bare feet slap against the hardwood as I dart around the couch, headed for the patio door.
I know he’s going to catch me. He’s faster, even in his condition.
His arm hooks around my waist, and I yelp as he lifts me off my feet. We tumble onto the couch, his weight pressing me into the cushions.
Frantic giggles burst out of me while I try to squirm away, but he’s got me pinned. Just like he said. His hands find my sides, and I…oh, no.
“No—Liam, oh my go—”
He tickles me.
I dissolve into helpless, ridiculous laughter, my body twisting and writhing as I try to escape. My face grows hot, my chest heaving through the giggles.
“Nooo—Liam—I caaan’t—”
His fingers are gentle but relentless, finding every ticklish spot. Tears stream down my face, and I’m reduced to begging.
Then, his hands go still, and he shifts his weight, settling over me. His body is warm and solid against mine.
Including the hardness between his legs.
I gasp, and my eyes fly to his.
With a gaze dark and intense and a wicked smirk, he captures my chin with one hand, tilting my face up. “You’re in trouble, mo Róisín.”
“You started it,” I tease.
“Aye. And I’ll finish it too.”
He leans down, his warm lips brushing against my neck, tingling the skin. My nipples harden, scratching against the fabric of my dress.
A soft moan escapes. “Liam.” My hands find his shoulders.
His mouth trails up my neck, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin just below my ear, and I arch into him, my body responding beyond my control.
And then—
Knock, knock, knock.
We both freeze.