AllFreeNovel
Share Us
But despite everything, I've never really felt like I'm in danger until this mob of Irishmen, guards, and foot soldiers, or whatever the Irish mafia call their people, started to chant for my demise in whatever horrific way this Orla might have departed. If it has anything to do with Vito Rossi, then I don’t need specifics to understand it would have been protracted, painful, and unspeakable. I’ve been forced to stand and watch as he tortured traitors, enemies, those who were aging and not even a threat, and young men who were really only boys, more times than I care to remember. The first time, it made me sick to my stomach and I have absolutely no doubt every single one of those occasions was meant as a threat. A way to remind me of my own fate, should I step out of line. I’ve felt the brunt of his anger many times, but never quite to the point of outright torture. Not that I’d put it past him. It’s more a case of, it hasn’t happened yet. It’s come close enough.
Right now, though, it doesn’t matter who I am or what I believe. It only matters that I am the Viper’s bride, and it doesn’t take a genius to understand that I’ve been taken in retribution for his atrocities. The fact that he would probably enjoy whatever I’m made to suffer on his behalf doesn’t mean a thing to these people as long as they believe they have their revenge.
The men of organized crime are all pigs. No matter what their alliance, they’re all the same.
But as I steal a glance at Ciaran, I can't help but feel a strange fascination for him. Despite the danger and uncertainty, there's something about him that draws me in, fool that I am. Maybe it's the way his eyes glint when he looks at me or the roughness of his voice when he speaks. Whatever it is, I can't deny I'm intrigued.
I catch Ciaran staring at me and quickly turn away, feeling my cheeks flush with embarrassment. I don't know what's gotten into me. This man is my captor, my enemy. I shouldn't be feeling anything towards him.
But as he commands that Vito will pay, and the man who drove us here roasts the men about how they are better than the Viper’s lackeys at La Cosa Nostra, I can't help but feel a sense of relief wash over me, though I know I’m far from safe.
Hearing that the girl, Orla, was Ciaran’s woman sends a chill down my spine. What he says to his men in public is likely a very different thing to his behavior behind closed doors. God knows Vito’s is. Will Ciaran take out his anger at losing his girlfriend on me when there’s no one to see?
My instincts have been honed during the months I spent with the Viper, and I can read the room well enough to feel the menacing level of unrest still poses a danger to me. It’s finely balanced, everything poised on a knife-edge that could fall either way. And because of it, I decide to take matters into my own hands. I will not stand by while others decide my fate. Not ever again.
So, I walk around and stand in front of Ciaran, trickles of fear forming beads of sweat that drip down my spine as I turn my back on the rabble who would devour me.
He tips his head to one side, considering me, and I’ve no doubt he’s wondering what I’m up to now.
I don’t want these men to see my fear, but there are catcalls from the crowd, and I can’t help a nervous peek over my shoulder.
An air of expectancy ripples like electricity in the air; a collectively held breath that’s waiting for whatever comes next.
Taking my courage in my hands and setting my shoulders with determination, I take my fate into my own hands and sink to my knees in front of him. His hands hang loose by his side and although I sense his curiosity, Ciaran doesn’t stop me.
My hands shake, and I have to suck in a breath as I lift my fingers to his fly and fumble to undo his button and zipper. I’m not sure if I’m more worried he’ll stop me or make me go through with this.
The jeers and mocking from the men behind me steel my determination, and I snake my hand inside Ciaran’s pants, and run my fingers down his rapidly thickening cock, not sure if I’m grateful for his arousal or not.
But it’s too late to stop now.
I lean forward and bring Ciaran’s hardened length to my mouth, wrapping my lips around the head and swirling my tongue over it. He’s hot and rigid and a little salty. Taking a deep breath, I dip my head down and take in more of him.
For a moment, right out of left field, comes the unwelcome reflection of what my mother would think if she saw me right now. I ruthlessly push the conjecture from my mind. It’s too late for that. Even if I wanted to stop, I can’t anymore.
Without another thought I take the tip into my mouth, hoping I’m doing this right. I lick the slit and then try to take more of him into my mouth. Judging by Ciaran’s sudden intake of breath and the look of surprise on his face I guess I’m not doing too badly.
I wrap my fist around the base of his cock and start to move my head back and forth. I’m not sure how long this will last before he pulls away. Vito always said my skills were severely lacking.
But this is what I want; to be the master of my own destiny. To make my own choices. Believe me, it’s way better than the alternative.
So, I take his cock and close my eyes to the whistles and catcalls coming from the men behind me. My cheeks burn and the blood rushes to my face, my ears ringing with the coarse laughter. I can feel the heat of the men’s gazes boring into the back of my skull and the disapproving frowns, but I can’t care. Not now.
“Jesus God! I might not be a practicing Catholic, but seeing the lass suck you off while she wears another man’s wedding gown is a bit much, don’t ya think?” The words come in a thick Irish brogue from right behind me.
The hairs on the back of my neck prickle as I feel the mood of the room shift and I wonder if I’ve made a pivotal mistake. I’d forgotten how the Irish perceive their religion, even if they’re no more than a bunch of hypocrites.
“There’s a quick and easy answer to that,” Ciaran says, and when I raise my eyes in curiosity, as a cascade of heckling fills the room, my blood runs cold as from somewhere a knife appears in his hand.
Reflexively, my fingers tighten around his hard cock, which earns me a light slap on the wrist, but with my life hanging in the balance, I’m shaking too much to take heed.
His free hand digs into my hair, dislodging what’s left of the elegant updo I began the day with, and I expect him to pull me off him and berate me in disgust.
Or maybe just dispense with any precursors and slit my throat.
But instead, his fingers tangle and fist in the long tresses and his gaze is mesmerizing as he passes the knife to his brother without breaking eye contact with me. “Deal with it,” he bites out succinctly.
I don’t have time to wonder what he means. The next moment my breath freezes as I feel the cold blade of the knife against the skin of my back.
