Chapter 5
AOIFE
Two men dressed in suits and crisp white shirts manspread across the front seats.
They turn to look as Dominic straps me in like a child.
One has piercing blue eyes, a nose ring, and dark ink scrawled over his neck and face.
The other has dark hair, and a short, trimmed beard.
They’re both absolutely gorgeous—and utterly terrifying.
‘Owen, Cathal, this is my fiancée, Aoife.’ The men exchange a glance, then turn back to Dominic curiously. He reaches for his seatbelt, eyeing them both levelly, almost daring them to question him.
They don’t.
‘Aoife, meet my brothers, Owen and Cathal.’ He taps Cathal—the driver—on the shoulder, and the vehicle glides forward, the engine purring so quietly it’s practically inaudible.
‘Nice to meet you.’ I manage to find my manners as I shuffle slightly closer to Dominic. Whatever his reputation, he’s my six foot four security blanket right now, and I am clinging on to him for dear life.
‘Congratulations,’ Owen clears his throat, as Cathal eyes us both in the rear-view mirror. ‘When did you guys meet?’
‘About half an hour ago,’ Dominic tells them bluntly, patting the back of my hand. The contact, however inappropriate, is oddly comforting.
Owen and Cathal exchange a look of amusement in the front. Is none of Dominic’s family even slightly perturbed that he just got engaged to a woman he just met?
‘You owe me a grand,’ Cathal says to Owen with a grin.
Owen huffs out a breath. ‘Who’s the…’ he starts.
‘Ciaran is.’ Dominic cuts him off before he can finish. ‘It’s already decided.’
‘That fucker.’ Owen tuts, folding his arms across his chest. ‘What kind of stag party do you think he’s going to organise? He couldn’t organise a piss up in a fucking brewery.’
‘Never mind that.’ Dominic’s tone leaves no room for debate. ‘Give me an update on the delivery from the Colombians.’
As the city whizzes by outside, my brain whizzes inside. I don’t even attempt to follow the Kincaid’s cryptic conversation. Shipments, debts, and deals—all discussed without divulging any actual details. They may as well be talking in another language.
I have no idea where they’re taking me.
But I have nowhere else to go.
Bright sunlight beats in through the thick tinted window, completely contrasting the darkest, bleakest day of my life.
The day’s events combined with the whiskey hit me hard, and I sink back into the leather.
My cortisol has spiked so many times today I feel like my nervous system has officially resigned.
Tears well at the back of my eyes, and I will them away.
The last thing I need is for these men to think that I’m weak.
‘You okay?’ Dominic murmurs in my ear.
His brothers exchange another pointed look.
‘I will be.’ I tell him. ‘One day. Maybe.’
‘We’ll be home in twenty minutes,’ he says quietly.
Home.
It hits me like a crackle of lightning then—I don’t actually have one, thanks to daddy dearest. Speaking of which. ‘Promise you’ll make sure my father is okay?’
Dominic’s jaw ticks. ‘Cathal and Owen will search for him after they drop us off. Rory won’t have hurt him. Not yet. Not while he thinks there’s still a chance of getting you back.’
A coldness creeps over my skin and I shiver, rubbing the backs of my arms.
‘Don’t worry, Aoife,’ he purrs into my ear, his hot breath fanning my face. ‘No one is going to take you from me.’ His voice is gentle, but his words offer zero comfort.
‘True love,’ Owen quips from the front, and Dominic growls.
‘Eyes on the road. Or I’ll carve them out of your head,’ he snarls, then flashes me a killer grin.
Wow. His ability to switch from threatening graphic violence to beaming at me like butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth is utterly chilling, if a little impressive.
‘Mama K wouldn’t like that, now,’ Owen practically sings.
Mama K? Oh God, if I go through with this, I’m going to have a mother-in-law. I’m going to be related to these criminals—by law.
‘Mama K will understand, trust me.’ Dominic twists his head to me again. ‘She’s going to love you, sweetheart. You’ll meet her soon enough.’
I have no words; instead, I just nod politely.
Finally, we reach ten-foot-high double gates, hinged on dove-grey pillars. I imagine a dark, gloomy, villainous lair with grey blocks, cold floors, and low lighting as they swing inwards. ‘Welcome home, sweetheart.’ He flashes me a small smile.
My stomach somersaults as the BMW glides forward, following the long, curved driveway past rolling grounds. The grass is clipped so impossibly short it could pass for a golf course. Tall trees surround the entire property, their leafy branches swaying lazily in the summer breeze.
And then the house—I mean mansion—comes into view. My breath catches. It’s nothing like the dark and imposing fortress I was expecting.
It’s beautiful.
The building stretches across the hillside in layers of glass and dove grey stone. Entire walls are comprised of floor-to-ceiling windows. Huge sections of the roof are transparent, framed in black steel, allowing the sky to spill straight in.
It looks almost… welcoming.
The BMW rolls to a stop beside a wide, glass-fronted entrance. Dominic hops out and rounds the vehicle, opening the door for me. My gaze drifts to his brothers in the front. ‘Nice to meet ya, sis.’ Owen winks.
‘Thanks,’ I linger for a few seconds, wanting to remind them to find my father. To help him, but the words won’t come.
Dominic offers me a hand. I stare at it for a long beat, then slip my clammy palm into his hot one. The contact sets my stomach spinning again. I need to get a fucking grip if I have any hoping of surviving this.
He helps me out of the car, then hoists me once again straight into his strong arms, cradling me to his chest. The scent of his intoxicating cologne seeps into my nostrils again. ‘I told you, I can walk,’ I protest feebly, even as my arms reach around his neck.
‘The ground is dirty and you have open cuts. Besides,’ he smirks, ‘I’m supposed to carry you over the threshold.’
Nerves twist in my stomach. ‘Only after we get married,’ I remind him.
And that might never happen if I can think of any other way out of this.
‘Semantics.’ He shrugs, leaning against the car door, closing it with his back. The passenger window sinks down. Owen’s head pops out. ‘What next?’
‘Find Aoife’s father. His name is…’ His onyx eyes drift to mine.
‘Tommy O’Shea,’ I direct my answer to Owen.
‘He was at Rory’s wedding.’ Amusement taints his tone. ‘I mean, Rory’s almost wedding. Find him a safe house outside the city until we locate his passport. Text me when you have him. And don’t mention a word about our engagement to a soul,’ he growls again.
Owen nods and the window zips up.
The BMW zooms down the driveway, leaving me utterly alone with Dominic Kincaid. I’m at the mercy of a man who apparently doesn’t have any.