Chapter 15
HAYES
The Wharf always brings up pleasant and horrible memories for me.
This was the place of my salvation, where I escaped the Hell of Roman Senior’s cruelty, and found a real family.
This is where my life began.
It’s also my damnation. This is where I came, night after night, watching as kids I ran with either died or went to prison. The few remaining kids are adults like me, left in this life with no other alternative.
It’s bittersweet. Our freedom became our prison.
Walking in, I straighten my back and paste on my trademark smirk. The room is filled with men, all dressed in expensive suits and doused in powerful cologne. But I only have eyes for the woman on my arm.
Dressed in a vibrant blue dress, Collins clings to me. With long legs and elegant shoulders, Collins is sin in physical form. Everyone stops to admire her beauty.
A tendril of possessiveness curls in my gut. I want to hide her away, keep her beauty just for my eyes. But I don’t. Not tonight. They need to see who I’ve come with even if I want to dig my knife into every man’s throat for daring to breathe in her direction.
The only thing that keeps me moving to the bar, is knowing that once this is over, I won’t let Collins go. With my ring on her finger, I’ll hold tight, keep her close, regardless of what she thinks will happen when the Games end.
By then, hopefully, my fiancée will feel the same about me. I mean, she won’t have a choice.
We stop at the bar, Meg, her cousin, slinging beers. Leaning close, my lips brush her ear, and I inhale her Parisian scent. “Easy, viper. You can at least look like you want to be here.”
She pushes her glasses up her nose. She tried to go without—but I forbade it. I love her glasses.
“But I don’t want to be here,” she sasses, pulling down her skirt. “Why am I dressed like this?”
“Trophy, mostly.” I tsk when she jumps as I wrap an arm around her waist. “That won’t do. You need to want me to touch you.”
“Touching is new for me.” Yeah, it is for me too.
I remember when touches meant pain and grief. The loss of innocence. With Collins, it’s like I can’t get enough.
“Don’t do a lot of touching with your fuckboys?” I quip, ignoring the jerk of my cock as her hips settle between them. A perfect fit.
Her green eyes flash, that crash of silver making me smile. “Are we really discussing this? Again?”
“No, I prefer to not think of the others who failed in getting you off.” My gaze falls to those legs. “Besides, those legs would look better around my waist.”
She snorts, disgusted. “Ugh. You’re gross.”
“I have a strong suspicion you’d like me gross, Collins.”
“You wish,” she denies.
“Oh?” I dare her, stepping close, pinning her to the edge of the black chipped bar.
“You forget, I’ve seen every part of you.
The misery, the happiness—the darkness.” Her body freezes, my words hitting their point.
“I know you’re a depraved soul underneath all that good girl routine.
A mess waiting to be uncovered. A slut ready to take my cock.
” She whips back and I move right before her head cracks my nose.
“It’s okay baby, no need to hide it from me. ”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Maybe she doesn't. I could be off my mark.
But I know Collins. I’ve seen that sea monster in the depths of her soul through our years together. A part she hides. And I’m itching to release it.
Tilting her head back, hand firmly on her neck, I grin down into her flushed face. “We’re being watched.”
The brutal kiss steals both our breaths. It takes all my self control not to throw her on top of the bar, drown her in liquor and lick every drop off her sweet skin before sinking inside of her.
She gives as good as she gets. Collins groans into my mouth, nails clawing into my forearm, hips rocking back, seeking relief. I can’t help but grin. She’s needy. She wants me.
That’s good for me. I can work with this.
The kiss ends too quickly, as I bite her bottom lip and she moans. It’s the sweetest noise I’ve ever heard. My thumb soothes her swollen lips, fixing the smear of gloss and then licking it, to take the last bit of her essence for myself.
The noise around us picks up and we look around, watching as the men shift and cheer, glasses slamming. The room sways with energy, anticipation and need as my shoulders hike up and my hand digs for my knife.
The far back steel doors open, revealing Maeve entering her court like a Queen coming to conquer. Knives decorate her belt and at her back is Killian, a wraith hovering just out of reach. The men part for them both, fear rolling over our heads.
“Maeve?” Collins gawks, elbowing me. “That’s Maeve?”
It’s a sight, I’m sure, for Collins. She’s used to the business persona of her sister—suits, pale face, no funny business. Here, Maeve is the warrior, returning home from a long battle. This is her domain.
“Come with me.” Weaving through the tables, I hold fast to Collins’ hand, as I drag her between the black tables and chairs, approaching the makeshift stage. It all feels old Irish, a harken back to the days where clans meant survival.
Killian hangs on the back of her chair, a presence no one wants. He doesn’t notice me, his eyes fastened onto Maeve. The world could be on fire, and he’d only see her.
It’d be romantic if he wasn’t a sadist.
Locking eyes with my friend, I try not to cower. She’s glaring with enough force to set me ablaze, her irritation palpable. She wants me dead. Hell, maybe disembowed.
“Ace,” I begin, nodding in deference. “I ask to be put in as a contender.”
She ignores me, warily watching her sister at my side. Her barely clothed, dripping in lust, little sister who is now my fiancée. As much as I love Maeve like family, I have the urge to step between them, to protect Collins.
“You brought her.”
“As is my right,” I defend. “She wears my ring. My fiancée deserves to be here to witness.”
Witness my rise or my fall.
But having Collins with me, as an O’Brien, is a bold move. I came to win.
Maeve assesses me, face closed off, before she nods the barest amount. A simple runner puts my name under the pool of contenders to begin the vote.
This shit is too much. Not having her back, her trust, is eating me alive. Maeve saved me all those years ago, and earned my loyalty. This split is bullshit.
“You need to understand, Maeve,” I murmur, words soft. I don’t need others listening in. “This was never done to hurt you. Nothing I do is ever to harm you—or this clan.”
She snorts, kohl rimmed eyes narrowing. “No? You have a twisted way of showing it.”
Maeve looks at Collins as if it’s her fault. Just a flash, of rage, or unfairness stemming from years of being pitted against her siblings by her father. I step in front of Collins, baring my teeth. Maeve has my loyalty—but no one hurts Collins.
“If you touch her,” I warn, keeping my voice level.
“You’ll, what?” She challenges. When I don’t answer—because what d you say to a killer?—she waves her hand to dismiss me. “Step back.” Hesitating, I hold Collins’ hand, as we move away to let the rest of the contenders put their names in.
Once they’re done, she stands, calling the room’s attention. “Welcome to The Games, boys.” She smiles, and a few of her men laugh. “It’s been a long time, but we’re ready. You’ve been without a second for years and it’s only fair we open them up to choose a new one.
“The Games take place over the next few weeks, honoring our clan’s virtues: innovation, strength, loyalty.
Each trial will focus on one. Whichever contender wins the most trials, will become second,” she says, voice steady.
“Here’s where you come in. You all will vote on the contenders you want to represent the clan.
Choose wisely. They will be your second—someone to lead you should I fall. ”
The men cheer loudly, shouts echoing around us as the anticipation builds.
“But first,” she drawls. “We’ll start this off right.” She leaves the first step. “When the clans were a means of survival during the dark days, there would be an offering to the old gods. A sacrifice for a productive vote. To find the best second to serve the Captain.”
The hairs on the back of my neck rise as Maeve jerks her chin. “Bring him out.”
Chains rattle and the room stills. Dragged into the center of a small circle is the dirty, stained body of Julian Bruno—mine and Roman’s younger brother. Born a few months after me to Senior’s wife, he was raised as a spare—given anything he wanted, with free reign to cause chaos.
We had vastly different upbringings.
He drops to his knees before Maeve, snarling up at her. His face is similar to Roman’s, lightly tanned, angular, thin with black eyes full of hate. Those eyes are inherited from our father.
“Your brother killed one of my runners,” she hisses. “A child.”
Julian snorts, spitting at her feet. “You think I care about some dirty Irish scum? The twerp was collateral.” She slaps him.
The entire room freezes and Julian spits blood on her toe.s “Fuck you, you crazy bitch. When Roman finds out you took his brother—”
“He’ll be too late.” She shoves him to the ground, pinning him with her heel. A drop of red wells under the sharp point and I don’t feel an ounce of sympathy. He deserves worse.
“He was fourteen.” She pushes harder and he gurgles a plea. “Did you know his mother was killed? That he was abused by his father?” Her eyes find mine in the crowd and hold them. “No, why would you? To you, he was just collateral.”
My heart twists at her words. At how she speaks directly to the pain in my chest.
There’s a brief pause before Killian drops a blade into her palm. “With this blood, we honor the old, we bless the new.” She slices, a fluid strike, severing Julian’s throat. The cut is so deep, blood sprays those close to the gore and a murmur releases around us.
I wrap an arm around Collins’ waist, expecting her trembling, but instead, she’s ice cold. Like she’s used to this brutality.
Maeve drops the knife to the floor. “Let the voting begin.”