Chapter 19
NINETEEN
Seamus grows quiet as I study the board in front of me. His jaw clenches, his hands tightening into fists, his thoughts no doubt taking a dark turn. I want to touch him. Comfort him. But the reality of the situation is that I don’t know if that’s all right.
Because I don’t know him.
I don’t know either of them.
And yet, I want to. Despite the obvious Stockholm syndrome I’m sporting. Fuck. All those years of dissing Twilight, and here I am pulling a Bella Swan. I do have a better excuse than her, though.
Two, actually.
Two wicked, wicked tongues.
I’m not ever telling them that, though.
“So what’s the plan?” I tilt my head to get a better look at him. “I’m assuming there’s a reason you woke me up at the butt crack of dawn.”
It’s not that we didn’t get any sleep. Because we did. Too much, in my opinion. This would be more worth it if they had fucked me like they keep threatening.
Instead, I was tucked into bed like a child and told to sleep.
Which I did.
Like the dead.
Still disappointing.
Seamus doesn’t say anything for a few moments, his eyes still on the board, but soon he shakes his head, the melancholy disappearing from his face as if it was never there.
“The plan,” he smiles broadly, the carefree man returning, “is simple. Ava is going to be attending the gala with Leon, one of Matthias’s enforcers.”
“Why isn’t she attending with him?”
His mouth twitches into a scowl. “Because the two of them still have some issues to work out, apparently,” he sneers. “No one outside of the family and his men knows they’re married. Not even my mother.”
“Oh.”
A twinge of sadness nips at my soul for his sister.
Much like me, she grew up believing her family didn’t love or value her above what she could offer them.
I was fifteen when it became abundantly clear that, to my father, the only usefulness I held was a marriage alliance and providing my husband with an heir.
It was at that age that I was forced to endure my first examination to make sure I was fertile and able to carry children. Because, according to Sarah, a woman is only as good as her womb. I nearly shoved the doctor’s forceps into her neck. Instead, I snapped back.
“Guess you’re pretty useless then, right?” I snarked. “Since all you birthed was a girl, and now you’re as barren as the Sahara?”
That earned me three days locked in my room with no food and barely any water.
Good times.
There is one difference between us, though. Ava found a family that cares for her. That wants her, while I am still nothing more than a tool to be used until my uselessness becomes inevitable.
“Ava’s job is to mingle and point out the people she’s seen with Elias,” he continues. “Your job is to slip us the information from the computer.”
Wonderful.
“The gala serves two purposes,” he tells me.
“The first is to bring the most powerful and corrupt people together under one roof for what appears to be a good cause. The second is, during that time, those who are entering goods into the auction will have a chance to drum up interest with bidders and sellers.”
Well, that sounds positively wretched.
“How will Kiernan know who the other sellers are?” I ask.
Seamus points to a small blue lapel pin on the board with a black dahlia in the center.
“This identifies sellers, and this one,” he points to another pin that is red with a blue rose, “identifies bidders. If they’re wearing both pins, they are entered as both.”
“How are we going to get me to the auction?” I ask. “Once I go back home, I’m going to be watched like a hawk.”
Seamus smirks.
“We’re going to kidnap you,” he pauses. “Again.”
I snort. “Good luck with that.”
“We have a plan,” he admits with a shrug. “It’s a bit of a wibbly-wobbly plan, but there are a lot of variables we can’t account for. The one thing we can account for, however, is having an exit plan in place in case things go south.
“We’ll all be wearing wireless communication devices that can’t be tracked.
” With a hand on my lower back, Seamus steers me toward a small table in the corner.
He picks up a small earpiece and shows it to me.
“They can’t be tracked or traced or detected.
They work off the vibrations in your jaw.
All you have to do is speak, and we’ll hear you.
We’re going to sew this into the clothes we send you home in to ensure we have open communication with you. ”
“Cool.” Now that is some James Bond technology right there.
“If for any reason you find that things are going south with your father, your code word is whiskey.” He smirks at me. “Thought you might like that.”
I wrinkle my nose in distaste.
Whiskey and I aren’t friends any longer.
Tequila is going to be my new best friend. It doesn’t get me kidnapped.
“Okay.” I nod. “Code word whiskey. Don’t get caught. Now what?”
Seamus’s smirk darkens.
“Now we get sweaty.”
Sweaty?
Wait, what?
Seamus’s kind of sweaty is no fucking fun.
The bastard grins from ear to ear like he is about to get lucky, and if he gets lucky, I get lucky. With multiple orgasms.
Instead, he leads me to a room full of mats and tells me to take off my shoes and socks. I count my blessings that he doesn’t have a hidden foot fetish that no one knows about. Seamus ushers me to the middle of the mats, where he outlines some basic defensive tactics, playing offense to my defense.
I try really hard to concentrate on what he is saying and not on the fact that his hands are roaming all over my body. God’s honest truth. Except, it is easier said than done when every time he touches me, I swear I feel a sizzle on my skin.
This is hell.
I am in hell.
This is a special brand of torture just for me. I know it. Seamus knows how to move his body—I am aptly aware of that—and I can’t help but admire his brute strength coupled with what I assume is flawless technique.
I am by no means an expert on self-defense.
Or a real man’s physique.
Drew’s body can be described in one word: limp.
That maybe isn’t the best word choice, but compared to Seamus and Kiernan, he is nothing more than a limp-dick unicorn.
He wraps his arms around me in a bear hug from behind, and I bite the inside of my cheek, drawing blood as I try not to think about all his other moves. The ones I orgasm to all night long.
Seamus moves one hand to my throat, hooking it under my chin. We are both sweating pretty good by this point, and I am acutely aware of how his sweaty, muscular body presses up against mine. And it is naked.
Somewhere in the lesson, his shirt has magically disappeared, and I pray to whatever god is listening that it never comes back.
Maybe if I pray hard enough, his pants will magically dissolve too.
My inner hussy is panting with her tongue hanging out, begging me to jump his bones right here and now and just put her out of her misery.
Jeez, two days with these men, and I am becoming a sex-crazed maniac.
I ignore her rampage, instead focusing on Seamus outlining how I am going to break the chokehold he currently has me in.
“Come on, good girl,” he purrs in my ear, his tongue licking the shell. “Break this hold, and I might just give you a reward.”
Asshole. If I break this hold, I am going to deck him for getting me all wound up.
Hard.
Every single inch of his delicious frame is firmly pressed into my back, rendering me immobile. My hands are wrapped around his forearms, trying to create space for my airway. Our height difference has me on my tiptoes.
A shiver rushes down my spine as his deep, gravelly voice washes over me. Yep, my inner hussy has passed out from lack of oxygen at this point. I feel the smug bastard smiling at my reaction.
Oh, it is on like Donkey Kong.
I arch my back, pressing my ass into his crotch.
Taken off guard for a moment, he doesn’t see what’s coming next.
I slam my heel down onto his foot while simultaneously dropping down to lower my center of gravity.
My right elbow rams into his abs—hard—and I have to suppress a groan of pain.
I’m convinced it may have hurt me more than it hurt him.
Screw Seamus and his eight-minute abs of steel.
The reaction from him is immediate. He lets out an oomph as he lifts his right foot, his body hunching over as he struggles to regain his breath.
His arms loosen against my neck just enough that I’m able to twist and duck, releasing myself from his hold.
His mind seems to be catching up with his body now as he lunges at me with his left hand.
I sidestep his advance, and using his momentum against him, I grab his outstretched hand, twisting it over my head as I drop down to one knee.
Seamus flips over, landing on his back with a loud slap on the mat. A moment later, I’m straddling his hips, grinding my pelvis down onto his erection.
“I want my reward now,” I pant, running my hands up his chest. “And it better be in orgasms.”
“Fuck,” he growls. His hand grabs the back of my neck, pulling me down to his level, smashing his mouth against mine.
This isn’t like the sweet kisses he gave me last night.
No, this is fierce and all-consuming. I run my fingers through his hair, basking in the softness as I pull it from the bun at the back of his head.
Irish hippie.
A gasp tears through me as he tears at my tank top. Literally. The fucker splits it right down the middle of my back. His hands push me to sit up, removing the tattered garment from my body before flipping our positions.
Seamus licks his lips, the sea of emerald in his eyes drowned out by his dilated pupils.
He flicks the front clasp of my bra, palming my breasts in his hands.
They are warm and calloused, a working man’s hand.
My feet crawl up his legs, and I use them to push his sweatpants down, revealing his muscular, shapely legs.