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“Five point two million. With interest.”
Her already pale face grows whiter in the gloom. I almost want her to fight me on this. Want her to command me to go track down her piece of shit of a papà instead of trapping her when she’s completely innocent in all of this.
But she doesn’t. She’s too fucking good. Trying to protect the man who should have protected her. Sweet little Songbird. I am going to cage you.
“What are you going to do to me? How… how are you going to make me pay?”
She’s trembling, and the defiance in her gaze wanes, replaced with terror. Her knuckles are white as bone as she clutches her own chest, hiding herself.
I let go of her jaw and ease my thigh out from between her legs. She gasps and nearly collapses with the lack of support. When her knees buckle, I grasp her waist, pulling her upright against my body.
“I may be an ugly bastard, but believe it or not, I don’t need a whore.” I inhale against her hair, smelling sweet vanilla. “Besides, I don’t fuck redheads.”
She’s quiet for a moment before she whispers, “Then what do you want from me?”
What the fuck do I want from her? It’s not like I haven’t imagined turning her into my whore. Imagined what her pussy tastes like, what she’d feel like wrapped around my cock, my rule about redheads be damned.
I’m not sure I can even put it into words. The ache I have for her. Something far more than physical need.
“There’s something inside you I need to understand,” I murmur.
Something I saw on that balcony a year and a half ago. Something I’ve witnessed at every single one of her violin performances since then as I sat watching alone in the very back row. “You’re going to play for me until I can figure it out.”
“Play for you?”
I release her waist, and she remains standing this time.
“Violin, Songbird.”
Confusion, then understanding, crystallize in her gaze.
“You want me to… to be your own personal musician?”
“Live-in musician,” I correct her. “Let’s go.”
“No. No way! I’ll play for you, but I’m not living with you!”
“This is not a fucking negotiation,” I grunt. Merda, my shoulder is really starting to throb. At least it’s finally distracting me from my hard-on.
“I can’t. I-”
“You’re not staying here,” I cut in sharply. “You will live under my roof until your debt is paid in full. That is the deal I struck with your father. If he doesn’t pay, I take you. He didn’t pay. Now I’m taking you.”
“No,” she says hoarsely. “He wouldn’t-”
“He did,” I inform her flatly.
For the first time, I see her large eyes fill with tears. She’s actually held it together pretty well so far considering everything that’s happened. But cracks are starting to show. A single tear rolls from one eye, and I halt its progress with my thumb. Before it can absorb into the leather, I raise it to my mouth and taste its sweet salt.
She watches me with horrified fascination, her shock at my action stopping her crying.
“Time to go,” I tell her. It’s not a good idea to stay here after Curse and I have killed three of Sev’s men. There’s a chance Mad Darragh will send soldiers, too, and when they don’t find O’Malley they’ll want Deirdre. Just like I do. Those are problems I’m going to have to deal with later. I take my gun from the top shelf, and when Deirdre sees me do it, she purses her lips and takes a shaky breath.
I don’t hold the gun to her head. I don’t have to. She knows she has no choice but to follow me as I lead her out of the kitchen. If she doesn’t walk, I’ll just carry her.
I do end up carrying her though, cradling her against my chest this time, when we reach the disaster of the living room.
“Put me down! I’ll walk,” she says, fighting against my hold.
