Darragh said cheerfully, “I would like that very much indeed.”
The goon navigated to my texts. “Sent,” he said a moment later. “Not sure I’ll get a reply though.”
“Oh? And why’s that?”
“Da Vinci’s been leaving the doll on read for the past few days.”
Darragh looked down at me, sullen. “Oh, you poor petal.” He pushed a stray hair from my face, and I flinched, not moving as his arm around my shoulder tightened. “Well, don’t you worry your little head,doll. I’m sure Tristian will get back tothismessage. Now, while we wait… why don’t we getacquainted, eh?”
Chapter twenty
Tristian
The needle hummed in my hand. Usually work grounded me. Today it wasn’t enough. My phone had been buzzing on and off all day with notifications from my little doll. It had taken every ounce of effort in me to ignore them—though I had broken this afternoon, reading the string of texts without replying just before I started my shift.
Although, I didn’t have to look to know what they said. She was begging, worried. Reaching out the only way she knew how, soft and persistent. I was a cold-blooded bastard for leaving her on read. I couldn’t answer because I didn’t trust what mental state I was in. If I went to her like this, angry and bitter still from my meeting with Darragh, I’d scare her off for good, shatter her fragile world. And scaring her was the last thing I wanted to do.
I wiped the excess ink from my client’s skin, my mind drifting to my father. He hadn’t called in days, which was never a good sign. I was a man trapped between three cliffs: play the puppet for Darragh and keep Ingrid safe, bend to my father to keep my mother’s bills paid, or burn it all down and risk my kneesstillbeing shattered by that sick Irish fuck. Nothing felt like freedom.
James walked over, nodding to my client as they headed for the door. He caught my eye, his expression grim. “Darragh is at his club tonight…”
I shrugged, forcing a nonchalance I didn’t feel. “Good for him.”
“Told me and Kane to let you know he’s offering you twenty thousand to lose your next match in the ring.”
My brows furrowed. “Is he fucking crazy?”
“Possibly,” James muttered, leaning against the counter. “We know how Darragh can get… give you an offer you can’t resist and use it against you the next day.”
I rubbed my face with my hands.Twenty grand.It was the price of my soul, neatly packaged to pay for my mother’s treatments. He knew exactly where to twist the knife.
I turned back to cleaning, didn’t say much else as I tried to clear my mind.
Kane was just walking in from his break when my phone buzzed again. Another message from Ingrid. I glanced at the screen, expecting to see the first line of text. Instead, I noticed she’d sent me a picture.
Curiosity getting the better of me, I opened it… and my body went numb.
It was a photo of her. She was in a VIP booth, looking painfully small against the velvet upholstery. She was wearing a white dress so tight it traced every curve of her hips—a dress I hadn’t seen, a dress that screamed for the wrong kind of attention.
Beside her, clutching her tight and grinning all too easily, was Darragh.
Beneath that, a message that I was sure Ingrid hadn’t typed:
Ingrid
Making some new friends at The Obsidian.
Kane drove like a man possessed, but it wasn’t fast enough. When we reached the club, the bouncer stepped aside the second he saw the look inmy eyes. I didn’t care about the sweat, the liquor, or the grinding bodies. I stormed through the club, James and Kane at my heels.
When I stepped into the VIP area, the sight of her nearly broke my restraint. She was exactly where the photo placed her, coiled up next to Darragh, whose grip on her shoulder was possessive. She looked so small against him.
“Tristian, my boy, you’ve come to join us!” Darragh said, his voice dripping with mock warmth.
Ingrid’s head snapped up. Our eyes locked, and I saw the sheer terror dissolve into a desperate hope.
“I must say,” Darragh went on, “I haveso enjoyedgetting to know Ingrid here—ordoll, isn’t that what you call her? She’s been telling me all about herself. A harpist, in this day and age! Interesting, eh? And I believe there’s something else, too. You’re getting intoart, is that right? Thinking of becoming a painter like da Vinci here, are you?”
Ingrid foundered. “I—” she sputtered. “I didn’t—”
