Chapter 18
AOIFE
It’s been a full week since Dominic ravaged me on the kitchen counter. It shouldn’t have happened. I hate myself for it, yet I can’t bring myself to fully regret it.
Because for those few stolen minutes, I wasn’t drowning in doubt.
I wasn’t depleted, or defeated. I wasn’t battling the agonising lust that’s lanced me from the minute I laid eyes on him.
I was simply dizzy with desire, so deeply drawn to this beautiful, dangerous man that even now, I can’t think of anything other than how talented his tongue is and how good he’s capable of making me feel with it.
The memory of his lips on mine, his hand between my legs is etched onto my brain. It plays on repeat every time I close my eyes. Having his hot, hard body four feet away from me every night isn’t helpful.
In fairness to my fiancé, he’s toned down the shameless flirting, although that hasn’t diluted the chemistry between us.
That invisible charged energy continues to pulse between us, but whenever it gets too much, I deliberately remember Jason.
Remember my plans for a fresh start, one far away from here, where I don’t have to constantly look over my shoulder.
It’s easier during the day. Dom is usually out doing whatever crime lords do. But when we sit across the dining table, and he’s looking at me like I’m the only woman in the world, it’s harder. And don’t get me started about our new bedtime ritual.
Each night he climbs in beside me, slides his hand over the mound of pillows to rest it on my arm. It’s not even sexual. It’s way worse—it’s familiar, it’s comforting, and utterly fucking confronting.
Sheila refuses to let me live down the events of last week. At least she’ll be able to attest for us when the time comes. ‘What’s for dinner tonight, love?’ she calls, winking at me as she passes through the kitchen.
I’ve taken over the cooking completely, grateful to have something to do. There’s only so much time I can spend planning details of a wedding that I wouldn’t have chosen. ‘Garlic chilli chicken.’
‘Oh, Dom’s favourite.’ She beams at me, hovering in the doorway. ‘I don’t need to ask what’s for dessert.’
My cheeks flame—as usual.
Dominic chooses this moment to arrive home.
‘Don’t mind me. I’m just leaving,’ Sheila pats his arm affectionately. ‘I’m meeting Mama K tonight.’
‘Tell her I’ll call her at the weekend,’ Dom says, striding towards me. He plants a perfunctory kiss on my cheek, for Sheila’s benefit, I assume. Although. When I turn around, she’s already gone.
My pulse kicks up and my breath hitches in my chest. He notices, because he notices everything. Those big black eyes bore into mine. ‘Nice day by the pool?’
‘Were you spying on me again?’
‘Maybe,’ he shrugs. ‘What are you making?’
‘Garlic chilli chicken.’
‘That’s my favourite.’
‘I know,’ I say quietly, spinning back towards the cooker. I might have freaked out about the way my body wants his, but the urge to impress him hasn’t diminished. ‘It’ll be ready in ten minutes.’
‘Good. I’m starving.’ The way he emphasises the word starving leaves no doubt about what he’s starving for. ‘I’m going for a quick shower.’
He saunters out of the kitchen while I try—and fail—to not look at his ass.
My mind replays the conversation we had the first day, the one where he said he only hurt women who begged him to. Does he have a woman tied up in some sort of sex dungeon somewhere? And why does the thought set a fresh wave of jealousy stabbing through my sternum?
I concentrate on preparing dinner, on my breathing, on doing everything in my power to stop imagining my fiancée naked upstairs right now.
It’s going to be a long year.
By the time he comes down, in a fresh white shirt with the sleeves rolled up to reveal that mouthwatering forearm porn, I’ve once again reminded myself exactly why I’m here—protection—not to explore my newly awakened sexual perversions.
I carry the plates through to the dining table and slide into the seat opposite him, determined to keep things strictly business.
‘This looks amazing.’ He spears the chicken with his fork, and I watch entranced as he brings it to his mouth. ‘Thank you.’
‘You’re welcome. How was your day?’ I ask, determined to distract myself from his lips, specifically from the memory of what they felt like on mine.
‘I told you before, sweetheart, if you have any hope of walking away from me when the time comes, you’re better off not knowing.’
I pick up my fork. I should leave it. Keep my mouth shut. But naturally, I can’t. I need to continuously remind myself why I can’t give in to the attraction between us. ‘I’ve heard rumours. You control the city. Weapons. Drugs. What else?’
He finishes chewing, then arches a single eyebrow. ‘Careful, Aoife, or I might start to think you want to stay here with me.’
I shrug. ‘Or maybe I’m just trying to remind myself who you really are.’ A swift, sharp reality check should stop my stupid crush.
‘I’m the man who holds your arm until you fall asleep each night.’ His eyes gleam. ‘The man who wants you to the point it pains me. The man who promised to never hurt you.’
‘But you hurt others.’ I glare at him pointedly.
‘Don’t go there, sweetheart.’ He eyes me levelly. ‘It would be a shame to terrify you when you’ve settled in so well.’
‘In case you didn’t notice, I don’t scare easily.’
‘I don’t know, you looked kind of scared on the kitchen counter the other night—after you came on my hand that is.’ He reaches for the wine in front of him.
My face flames. ‘Let’s not go there, Dom.’
‘Where do you want to go then?’ He swirls the wine in his glass.
‘Tell me about The Syndicate. How did you become who you are? What you are?’ I demand, because honestly, I can’t figure out how the man who has shown me such kindness, such generosity, such sexual pleasure, can be the same violent man who controls every contraband in the country.
He might not be the same monster Rory is, but he’s every bit as deadly. More so, in fact. Reminding myself of that has to help me get over my stupid infatuation. If it doesn’t, then I’m more fucked up than I realised.
He relaxes back into his chair and stares at me thoughtfully.
Finally, he speaks. ‘You’re not the only one who refused to spend their life looking over their shoulder,’ he says quietly.
‘But instead of getting an education, I took out everyone who threatened me, and my brothers, then we built a legacy to protect what we took.’
I shift in my seat, drinking in the dark, dangerous, devastating man across from me.
‘The previous organisation killed my mother. Put my father in prison. So, I had two choices. Take control of The Syndicate. Or be controlled by it.’
My fingers tighten around my glass. ‘Go on.’
‘The rumours you’ve heard about me…’ He rests an elbow on the table and his biceps flex beneath his shirt. ‘They’re probably true.’
When I don’t answer, he continues. ‘But the men who ran this country before us sold kids instead of protecting them.’ He shakes his head in disgust. ‘Women were butchered, or exchanged like currency. We suspected Rory was venturing down the same horrific path. A source confirmed it. Kavanagh’s days were already numbered, but now that number is considerably less. Which is where you came in.’
His eyes search mine, probably checking to see if he’s terrifying me.
Worryingly—he isn’t.
I knew what he was the second I saw him.
I just didn’t expect him to be so open about it.
Or to be so damn dark and alluring.
‘What about the drugs?’ I force a neutral tone, even though this is the real crux of my resentment towards him—and subsequently—myself. I need to know.
‘What about them?’ He tips his head to the side curiously.
‘Despite what you do, you seem to have some sort of sense of morality, so why do you push poison on the streets?’
Frown lines crease his forehead. ‘I don’t push poison on the streets. If anything, I limit it.’
I scoff. ‘Oh, come on, Dom. Don’t bullshit me. You know where I grew up.’ I exhale heavily. ‘Do you have any idea how many kids from Greenhills are hooked on crack? Selling their own bodies for their next hit. My own brother…’ I trail off.
The silence that falls between us is deafening.
I push my chair back with my thighs and stand, but his huge hand darts out across the table, pinning me in position.
His dark eyes light with understanding. His fingers squeeze mine and a million volts of electricity shoot through me. ‘Oh, sweetheart, I’m so sorry.’
‘So you fucking should be,’ I spit.
‘It’s not what you think, truly it’s not.’ He shakes his head. ‘And, sweetheart, I feel your pain. I can relate more than you’ll ever know.’
‘I doubt it,’ I snap. Rage roils deep in my chest. How dare he?
This is exactly the reminder I needed.
He stares unwaveringly at me. ‘My sister died of an overdose too.’
‘What?’ My voice cracks. I sit again before my knees buckle beneath me.
‘Keira was ten years older than me. The previous syndicate got her hooked on heroin, then sold her to the highest bidder. She overdosed before he could get his grubby hands on her. Maybe it was a blessing.’
My skin goes cold. ‘Why do you import it then?’
‘I don’t. Heroin is a hard limit for us. But drugs are always going to be in demand, Aoife.’ His pupils bore into my soul, silently willing me to understand.
‘I hate them.’ I admit. And I want to hate him, but I can’t.
Especially not now.
He’s not the same beast I thought he was.
‘Me too. But drugs aren’t something I created or something I can eliminate.
What I can control is what comes into my city.
The products that move through my routes are pure, not cut with rat poison.
Not bulked out with fentanyl. Not laced with whatever cheap toxin some street dealer thinks will stretch his margin.
If people are going to use, they’re going to use.
I certainly don’t push it on anyone.’ He cracks his knuckles one by one.
‘I simply ensure they’re not dying because some greedy bastard decided to dilute it with something lethal. ’
‘You’re still supplying it.’ Anger flares in my chest as I attempt to pull my hand away from his, but he refuses to let me go.
‘We regulate it.’ He says, finally. ‘Try to keep heroin out of the city. We don’t move anything designed purely to hook and hollow people out.
We permit the supply of cocaine, cannabis, party drugs.
The supply is controlled, as is the purity.
We try to ensure kids aren’t targeted. No schools. No estates.’
My eyes narrow shifting to the double doors overlooking the pool and the lavish grounds. ‘And the money?’
‘A large percentage of the profits goes straight back into the communities that would otherwise get chewed up by it.’ He follows my line of sight. ‘Rehab centres. Youth clubs. Legal aid for women trying to get out. Some of it goes into property.’
‘Like this one?’
‘It’s a way to clean the money.’ He shrugs.
‘If we step out of that market, someone worse steps in. Someone who doesn’t care what the drugs are cut with.
Someone who doesn’t give a damn who overdoses.
I’m sorry about your brother, Aoife.’ He exhales heavily, his thumb sweeping over the pulse point on my wrist, the same way he did in the bar.
‘It’s lives like his, and Keira’s, that we’re trying to save. ’ His stare is unapologetic.
My eyes well, and one stupid fat tear falls before I can blink it back.
He leans across the table, swipes his thumb over it, then brings it to his mouth.
My stomach flips. ‘I don’t pretend what I do is clean, sweetheart.
It’s not. But it’s controlled. And in this world, controlled is the closest you get to mercy.
We prevent chaos,’ he continues quietly.
‘There are lines. And I make sure no one crosses them.’
‘Who is supplying the heroin on the streets then?’
‘That’s what we’re trying to find out,’ he says with steely determination.
A begrudging respect unfurls deep inside my chest. For the first time since I ran into Dominic Kincaid, I see the real man behind the myth. And he is unequivocally not what I expected.
He’s so much more.
He’s still every bit as dangerous, but the real danger is in the way that my heart hammers in my chest every time he’s near.
And the way I’m catching feelings for someone who is everything I swore I wanted to escape from.