Chapter 12 #2
“You don’t care because you only look at the one in front of you. You go to The Craic, you take a submissive, you have a fun night, and you go home—and you don’t see the half a dozen girls who sit there weeping into their fucking handbags because you didn’t pick them.”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“And now,” he says, “of course you haven’t realized this because you never had to.
You want a woman—you snap your fingers, and you get a fucking horde ready.
You’re rich, you’re attractive, you’ve got those eyes, and you’re muscular and all that.
Have you seen the way they fucking post about you on social media from St. Albert’s? Wasn’t just the engagement post.”
“Post about me? What?”
“On the socials,” he says, exasperated. He pulls up his phone. “Look at how many comments you have now on that fucking engagement post. Did you see the picture?”
I slow down at a red light and glance sideways at him.
It’s a damn good picture of me after a fight that I won, sweat glistening on my bare chest. And I swear to Christ, somebody’s touched it up because I don’t normally look that good.
And the picture next to me…
“Oh god,” I say, cringing. “What did they use for her? Her license photo? Looks like a damn mugshot.”
“I think so,” Declan says. “It’s definitely not very becoming of her, is it?”
“Christ, not at all. My god, who runs that fucking account?” I growl.
“No idea.”
“We’ll find out,” I say.
“Is that an order?” Declan asks quietly.
“Aye.”
“Right then,” he says, tapping at his phone.
“All I’m saying is this is probably the first lass in I don’t know how long—since you hit fuckin’ puberty—who doesn’t throw herself at ya.” He snorts. “It’s puttin’ a burr under your skin.”
“Aye,” I growl. “Perhaps.”
“Not perhaps,” he says, grinning.
“You’re lucky you’re already injured,” I mutter.
I sigh again and roll my eyes heavenward.
“It’s not just a woman who doesn’t like me, Declan. It’s not just that.”
“Aye. It’s a woman you can’t control.”
I open my mouth to protest, but the words die in my throat because—fuck—he’s right. I can’t control her.
And that drives me absolutely mental.
“It’s not just that,” I mutter, the admission scraping out rough. “It’s a woman who doesn’t want me. A woman I can’t control, aye. But she’s not just some ride I can walk away from when it suits me.”
I drag a hand through my hair, gripping it hard enough to hurt.
“I’m going to marry her. She’s going to be my wife. And she’s out there right now, in danger, because I couldn’t keep her safe. Because she’d rather risk her neck than have anything to do with me, and if she had, she’d know that place was off-limits .”
The words taste like acid. Like failure.
“So don’t tell me it doesn’t matter. Don’t tell me to let it go.”
“Right,” Declan says with a sigh. “Seems a bit like a sentence, doesn’t it?”
“Aye, a bit,” I tell him, shaking my head.
“Not to be dramatic, but—”
“No, I understand,” he says. “I very much do. Doesn’t seem like it would be something that hard to figure out though. Does it?”
“What?” I ask him.
“How to win her over,” he says, shrugging.
“I’m not trying to win her over.”
“Why the fuck not? You’re going to be with her for the rest of your life.”
“Declan,” I say, pulling to a stop, “I didn’t ask for relationship advice, so shut the fuck up.”
He sighs again. “Alright, alright,” he says, putting his hands up in surrender. “If that’s what you wish.”
“That’s what I fuckin’ wish!” I slam my fist on the steering wheel again as a text comes through on my phone.
I think I might have found her, sir.
Good. Someone will keep breathing tonight.
I can’t help but think of what Declan said as I enter the club. He’s right. I am used to the looks they give me. The way their eyes follow me. Pretty women lined up at the bar, making eyes at me, smiling, hoping that I’ll be the one who picks them.
At St. Albert’s, I was a bit of a ringleader. I had quite a following of people. I guess I took it for granted. I haven’t really thought about it until now. Not until I have one woman who doesn’t want anything to do with me.
I walk through the club with my head held high, dressed in my uniform of all black, a pair of black leather gloves sticking out of my pocket.
Every woman here is looking at me the way they always do. But the only one I want to see isn’t looking at me at all. And that’s the fucking problem.
I’m going to find my betrothed, and I’m going to punish her for coming here unannounced. She’s in a world of trouble.
“Welcome, sir,” Griffin says at the front desk.
When I descend the private elevator for entrance to The Craic, I slide my thumb on the facial recognition software. The door opens with a soft click.
I see one of the three men I assigned to Bridget and Erin Kavanagh as guards. I snap my fingers and point to the ground in front of me.
He looks like he’s about to shite himself.
“Sir?” he says nervously.
“Have you found them?” I growl.
“Believe so, sir. On this floor. Over there.”
“Grand.” I point my finger at him. “But that doesn’t mean you’re out of the woods. I’m going to kick the shite out of you for this—you and your mates. Do you understand me?”
“Yes, sir,” he says, and gulps.
Declan shakes his head, cracks his knuckles, and the guard takes a step back.
“You let Cavin McCarthy’s betrothed sneak into the fucking Craic,” Declan says, his voice low and dangerous.
“I tried to keep her away, sir, but she—”
“You’re trying to make an excuse now?” Declan says, furious. “That’s my cousin’s future wife.”
“I know, sir, but I—”
“You and the other two”—Declan cuts him off—“you keep a close eye on them until we leave. Where’s the younger sister?”
“They’re both in the dance room, sir.”
“Right.” I crack my neck and head toward the back of the club, my blood running hot with anger and something else I can’t quite name.
Time to collect my wayward bride.