49. Aoife
Aoife
After Eamon fucked me over the arm of the sofa, he carried me to bed and ruined me all over again until my limbs were weak and my body trembled.
Until I was too spent to do anything but cling to him.
Even now, I can still feel him on my skin, the bruises his hands left, the ache between my legs, and the delicious exhaustion that threatens to pull me back under.
The bed shifts slightly, a hand trailing lazily down my spine. "I didn't think you'd wake up," Eamon murmurs, his voice rough with sleep, but there’s amusement laced in it. "I almost had you convinced to stay unconscious."
I hum, stretching slowly, wincing at the soreness in my limbs. "You tried."
His chuckle is low, pleased. He presses a kiss to my bare shoulder before pulling away and getting out of bed.
By the time I open my eyes again, he’s near the window, already dressed, buttoning the cuffs of his sleeves. He moves with easy efficiency, but there’s tension in his shoulders. “I have to go out of town,” he says, glancing at me.
I push up onto my elbows, my voice still thick with sleep. “Why?”
He meets my gaze, unreadable. “Business.”
I sit up, keeping my expression neutral. “Can you be any more vague?”
He doesn’t take the bait. “Seamus and a few of my men will be here while I’m gone.”
“To keep me safe or to keep me in line?”
“Both,” he answers, stepping closer.
I hold his stare, then ask, “How long will you be gone?”
He exhales, adjusting the watch on his wrist. “Hopefully, no more than a few days.”
I watch him carefully, searching for anything he’s not saying. “That’s all you’re going to tell me?”
“It’s all you need to know,” he says, leaning down and trailing his fingers along my jaw before tilting my chin up. “Please, mo chroí, behave yourself while I’m gone.”
Without breaking eye contact, I reach up, brushing a hand over his chest. “I always behave.”
His chuckle is low, amused but not convinced. He presses a quick, firm kiss to my lips, then pulls away. “I’ll be back soon.”
I watch as he leaves, the door clicking shut behind him. The moment he’s gone, I reach for my phone.
Time to set things in motion.
Aoife: I’m in.
The response is immediate.
Cian: Where’d you disappear to last night?
Aoife: When my boss started that fight, I got scared and left. Went back to my room and crashed.
Cian: Probably for the best.
Aoife: So, what’s the next move?
There’s a pause before the bubbles pop onto my screen.
Cian: I don’t want to put it in text, and there are too many people around for me to call. It’s not safe. Once I’m back in Belfast, I’ll be in touch.
I stare at the message, unease prickling beneath my skin. It’s too vague. Too convenient.
Whatever game he’s playing, I won’t be left on the sidelines. I’ve spent enough time watching from behind locked doors, told I wasn’t ready, that I didn’t belong. But I’ve seen enough. Learned enough. And I’m done waiting for someone else’s plan to unfold.
If Cian wants to keep secrets, let him. It’s time I start putting my own plan into motion. And that begins with Ruairi. We need to talk, not as brother and sister, but as two people who want the same crown.
Whether he’s ready for that or not.
Aoife: We need to talk.
Ruairi: About?
I stare at the screen, knowing I have to word this perfectly.
Aoife: I’m tired of this war between us. I miss my family. We need to find a way forward. A truce.
There’s a long pause. I’m not sure he’s going to respond.
Ruairi: Not at O’Sullivan’s hotel.
Aoife: Name the place.
Ruairi: The Cobblestone Tavern. 7 PM.
I’m familiar with the small pub. It’s public enough to be safe and private enough for a real conversation.
Aoife: I’ll be there.
The stage is set. Now, I need leverage. There’s tension between Seamus and Eamon. I don’t know the details. I don’t need to. If there’s friction, there’s opportunity.
Making my way downstairs, I find him exactly where I expect, in Eamon’s office. His broad frame is leaning over the desk, scanning through something on the computer.
He doesn’t look up when I step inside. “You lost?”
Stepping forward, I reply, “Not at all.”
His sigh is slow, irritated. “What do you want, Aoife?”
I close the door behind me and lean against it. “I need your help.”
That gets his attention. He straightens in his seat, his eyes narrowing.
“My help?” His tone is edged with surprise. “And why would I do that?”
“Because you’re smarter than the rest of them.”
Seamus scoffs, arms crossing over his chest. “Flattery’s not going to get you what you want.”
I tilt my head, offering him a softer smile. “It’s not flattery if it’s true.”
He watches me, waiting for the catch. I sigh, letting just a hint of vulnerability slip into my voice. “Look, I know you don’t trust me, and I can’t blame you.” I glance away briefly as if hesitating. “But I want to prove myself. I want to help.”
Seamus narrows his eyes. “Help with what, exactly?”
I take another careful step forward. “Ruairi. This fight between him and Eamon. It’s spiraling. It’s going to get worse, and we both know that.” I pause, lowering my voice even more. “I want to stop it before it does.”
“Keep talking,” he says.
“I know I don’t have power in this world,” I continue, keeping my tone even, steady. “Not yet. But I have information. Connections. And I’m in a position to move between both sides in a way no one else can.” I meet his gaze, my expression sincere.
He lets out a slow breath. “And what exactly do you want from me?”