Chapter 21
Cillian
The rigid line of her back, the way her small frame seems to hold the weight of a world she never asked for, makes my heart ache.
Her reflection in the dark glass is a ghost, bruised and defiant.
Alex played his hand perfectly, cornering her with logic and legacy until she had nowhere to run but inside herself.
The old man is a master. He sees her not as a girl, but as a queen to be crowned, and he’s not wrong.
We back out and close the door, heading for the stairs silently.
When we reach the bottom, Alex turns to Axl and claps him on the shoulder, a silent dismissal. “My work here is done. Don’t fuck it up.” He gives Ciar and me a nod and is gone, leaving a void filled with uneasy silence.
“She’ll never go for it,” Ciar says eventually. “She just got free from her brother. She won’t cage herself again, not even for us.”
I don’t think he’s wrong. After tonight, after everything, she’ll fight it with every last breath, regardless of what the potential payoff is. That doesn’t interest her. Her freedom is paramount.
“You’ve got this all wrong,” she says from the top of the stairs.
We all turn to stare up at her. She doesn’t come down, and it feels like a power move, a queen looking down on her subjects.
“So, make us right,” I say. “What are you thinking?”
“I’m thinking that marriage to one of you is wrong. It will upend the equality, and I don’t like that.”
Her words land in the silence of the hall like stones. Equality. A legal marriage to Axl elevates him, makes him her official consort in the eyes of the world, and leaves me and Ciar as what? Her lovers? Her guards? It shatters the balance we’ve just fucking forged in blood.
I watch her up there, a small, battered figure in a too-big dressing gown, looking down on us. She’s got more fight in her than a cornered wolf, and more honour than any prick in this place. She is right. This isn’t equal.
Axl lets out a slow breath, the cogs in his brain almost audible. “Then what’s your solution, sunshine? Because not marrying me leaves this legacy on the table, and quite frankly, I’m more intrigued about it than I ever have been about anything else.”
She lets out a nervous laugh. “That was the perfect thing to say,” she says, shaking her head. “I’ll marry all of you.”
I stare up at her. It’s so fucking Sorcha that a slow, savage smile spreads across my face. She just took the rulebook, tore it up, and set it on fire. The world isn’t ready for her, so they deserve to be burned.
“But I keep my name,” she adds. “I just got it. I quite like it. I won’t be a little woman sitting around having tea parties and gossiping.”
“No one would ever expect that from you,” I say, going to her, taking the stairs two at a time. When I reach her, I grasp her hands. “Are you sure about this?”
She nods, her grip tightening on mine. The skin on her knuckles is raw, her palm scabbed over, but her hands are steady. “I’ve never been more sure of anything. It’s either all of us, or it’s none of us. You can’t have a fortress with a crack in the wall.”
“Polygamy is technically illegal, sunshine,” Axl calls up from the bottom of the stairs, a note of pure, delighted challenge in his voice. “But I do love a good challenge.”
“When did breaking the law ever stop us?” Ciar asks.
“Never,” I say with a smile at Sorcha. I look down at her, at the fire burning in her eyes despite the exhaustion and the pain.
She’s bruised and battered, wearing a borrowed dressing gown in a house that isn’t hers, and she’s just declared war on convention, on legacy, on the entire fucking criminal underworld.
All to keep us equal. All to keep us together.
The words settle between us, a new vow forged not in blood, but in something stronger.
Her will. Right now, her will is the only law that matters.
This isn’t about some hidden fortune anymore.
This is about her. About us. It’s a declaration.
We’re not just a fortress. We’re a fucking kingdom, and she just took the throne.
“You will have to marry Axl the legal way,” I point out. “Ciar and I will follow with a pagan handfast. It’s the only way. But the fact that you want to keep this equal is really all we needed to hear.”
“Whatever you guys decide and are comfortable with,” she says, and I fall even more in love with her. She is perfect. “But I am also intrigued about this legacy. We have already committed to each other, so what’s a piece of paper going to do that we haven’t already decided?”
“Nothing, except give this executor what he and his family have been waiting generations for,” I say with a soft laugh.
“Precisely,” she says with a smile. “Let’s give the poor fucker his raison d’être.”
Her smile is a fucking weapon, sharp and bright, and it cuts through all the bullshit.
I tug her forward, my arms wrapping around her small, solid frame.
She feels breakable and unbreakable all at once, a contradiction that makes my fucking soul ache.
I press my lips to her hair, breathing in her scent.
“Our queen,” I murmur against her skin, the words a vow.
“It’s settled then,” Axl says, making his way up the stairs with Ciar.
“Shall we seal it with a fuck?” Sorcha asks.
“Always,” I murmur. I lead her into her room, my hand warm against the small of her back. The others follow, closing the door behind us. The space feels smaller suddenly, charged with an energy that has nothing to do with violence and everything to do with what we’ve just promised each other.
She turns to face us, and I watch her throat work as she swallows.
The dressing gown is still wrapped around her, but it’s loose now, the belt barely holding.
I reach out, my fingers finding the knot, and she doesn’t stop me.
She watches my hands as I pull the fabric free, letting the heavy material slide from her shoulders to pool on the floor.
My breath catches. She’s naked underneath, all lean muscle and soft skin, bruises blooming purple and yellow across her ribs, her hip. The cut on her lip is swollen. She’s a fucking masterpiece of survival.
“You’re staring,” she says, but there’s no bite to it.
“I’m appreciating,” I correct, my voice rough.
Ciar moves first, his massive hands framing her face, tilting her head back. “You sure about this?” he asks, his thumb stroking her cheekbone. “You’re hurt.”
“I’m always hurt,” she shoots back. “Doesn’t mean I don’t want you.”
That’s all the permission we need. Ciar’s mouth crashes onto hers, and I watch her melt into him, her small hands fisting in his shirt. Axl circles behind her,
I watch Ciar kiss her, his hands gentle despite their size, and something primal coils tight in my gut.
Axl’s hands settle on her waist from behind, his mouth finding the curve of her shoulder, and she shivers between them.
I move closer, needing to touch her, needing to feel her alive and whole under my hands.
My fingers trace the edge of a bruise on her ribs, feather-light. She hisses, but doesn’t pull away. “We should be gentle with you,” I murmur.
“Don’t you dare,” she breathes against Ciar’s mouth. “I need this. I need to feel alive.”
Fuck. The way she says it, raw and honest, makes my cock throb. I slide my hand up her side, avoiding the worst of the bruising, until I’m cupping her breast. Her nipple hardens against my palm, and she arches into my touch with a soft moan that goes straight to my dick.
Ciar breaks the kiss, his forehead resting against hers. “Bed,” he growls. “Now.”
She doesn’t argue. We move as one, guiding her backwards until her legs hit the mattress. She sits, then lies back, her red hair spreading across the pillow like fire. The sight of her, naked and willing, bruised but unbroken, steals the breath from my lungs.
I strip off my shirt, my hands steady despite the adrenaline coursing through my veins.
Axl’s already down to his pants, his lean body a study in controlled desire.
Ciar pulls his tee over his head as I climb onto the bed beside her, my hand sliding up her thigh, feeling the tremor that runs through her. “You’re shaking,” I observe.
“Good shaking,” she whispers, her eyes finding mine. “Promise.”
I lean down and kiss her, slow and deep, tasting her, claiming her. Her hands come up to my face, holding me there, and I feel the scrape of her scabbed palm against my jaw. That cut—the one from our blood binding—is a brand we all share now.
Axl moves to her other side, his mouth dropping to her breast, his tongue circling her nipple until she arches with a gasp. Ciar settles between her legs, careful as he kisses the inside of her thigh, working his way up slowly.
“Fuck,” she breathes, her head falling back. “You’re all trying to kill me.”
“Just trying to make you feel good,” I murmur against her lips. “Let us take care of you.”
She nods, her fingers threading through my hair, and I kiss her again, deeper this time. Ciar’s mouth reaches her pussy, and she jolts against me, a whimper escaping into our kiss. I swallow the sound, my free hand roaming her body, learning every curve, every scar, every place that makes her gasp.
She cries out, her hips bucking against Ciar’s face. I can feel her unravelling already, the tension coiling tighter and tighter in her body. My cock is fucking aching, straining against my pants, but this isn’t about me. Not yet.
“That’s it,” I murmur against her mouth. “Let go for us.”
She shatters, her whole body going rigid as the orgasm tears through her. The sound she makes is raw and beautiful, and I breathe it in like oxygen.
Before she can catch her breath, Ciar moves up her body, settling between her thighs. “Need to be inside you,” he murmurs.
She nods frantically. “Yes,” she gasps.
He pushes inside her slowly, carefully, watching her face for every micro expression. She winces slightly, and he pauses, but she shakes her head.
“Don’t stop,” she demands.
He buries himself balls deep with a groan that rumbles through the room, and I watch her face transform, pain and pleasure blurring into something transcendent. My hand finds hers, our fingers lacing together, the scabbed cuts on our palms pressing against each other.
Axl shifts beside her, his mouth landing on hers in a bruising kiss while Ciar thrusts. Slow at first, deliberate, letting her adjust. But she’s having none of it.
“Harder,” she gasps against Axl’s lips. “I’m not made of glass.”
That unleashes something in Ciar. His thrusts become more demanding, more possessive, and she meets him stroke for stroke, her nails digging into my hand.
I lean down, my mouth on her neck, sucking hard enough to leave a mark.
She’s already covered in bruises from the fight, but I want to add my own.
Another orgasm tears through Sorcha.
Ciar curses, his rhythm faltering. I feel her shake apart in my arms. Ciar drives into her one last time, unloading deep inside her with a guttural groan that makes my need spike painfully.
He pulls out slowly, his chest heaving, and rolls to the side. Sorcha’s eyes find mine, dark and hungry despite the exhaustion creeping in at the edges.
“Your turn,” she whispers, her voice hoarse.
I climb off the bed and strip off the rest of my clothes.
I grab her ankles and drag her down the bed, straight onto my waiting cock.
I ram inside her in one stroke, and she cries out, her hands flying to my shoulders, nails biting into my skin.
The sensation is overwhelming—tight and hot and perfect.
I move, setting a rhythm that has her gasping beneath me.
“Cillian,” she moans.
Hearing my name on her lips like that nearly undoes me.
Her pussy tightens around my cock, and I groan as Axl kneels over her and shoves his cock into her open mouth. The sight of it is enough to trigger my orgasm. It crashes into me with the force of thunder, and I dump my cum, soaking her, flooding her pussy as my cock jerks endlessly inside her.