The barista giggled. “Any time.” I felt her gaze flick my way briefly, questioningly, missing my gaze that begged for help before she slipped away.
Alone again, the air between us was thick with tension. Between my father’s volatile rage and Tristian’s radio silence, I was one breath away from a total collapse facing Darragh.
“We have some things to discuss, sweetness… You are a very sweet girl, you know,” Darragh purred. “Falling for someone like Tristian can be tough on such a delicate little thing…” His tone sharpened. “And his mood swings. Christ above. I’ve tried to tame him through work, but the brute never bends. He’s all sharp edges and rage, that boy. But perhaps all he needed was a…” he reached out and ensnared my fingers in his calloused grip “… softer touch.”
My stomach coiled sickeningly. I pulled away.
Darragh smirked. Then the sneer faded into a calculating grimace.
“You look like you haven’t slept in days.”
I didn’t answer… he seemed to have them all given I was wearing my heart on my sleeve. Darragh tutted in what I supposed was his attempt to be soothing. “That emotionally stunted boy, so cruel. You’ve my deepest sympathies,doll. He can be sobrutalto the ones that care about him most. I know it as well as the best of them, eh? You try and try and try, and that’s how he repays you. You poor thing.
“Then again,” he continued, low, “I also know Tristian can be brutish in other ways.” He leaned forward. Face lined with fake concern, he reached for me again. I flinched back, ready to shove my chair away—but he’d hooked his foot around one leg, and it barely shunted. Fingers on my skin, he stroked thick callouses across my cheek, leaving it burning with revulsion. Then he found the gash across my eyebrow.
“Did he do that to you?” he asked, and the attempt at sentimental kindness he softened his voice with made me feel even sicker than just the feel of his rough touch. “Did that boy hurt you, eh?”
I shivered pulling back. “Tristian would never hurt me.”
Darragh smiled. “Well that’s good. I’m glad to hear it.” He resettled into his seat, picked up his coffee and took a long swig. “Of course, I didn’t think he would. I understand Tristian, you see, I know him very well. Better even than he knows himself, I’d wager.”
He took a long drink of his coffee, watching me over the rim. I was desperate to leave but I had the sense that Darragh would react in much the same way as Papa would. The moment I tried to slip past, his hand would shoot out and snag me in a vice-like grip. So I sat, rigid, anxious, and waited for this to all be over.
At last, Darragh lowered his coffee cup. His gaze fixed on me. Hands steepling beneath his chin, when he spoke again, it was with a delicate seriousness. “You’re a sweet girl, doll, truly you are.” He tilted his head. “Too sweet for all of this, really.But you’re in the way. And I need Tristian focused.” Then he let out a disappointed sigh. “I’d hate for you to become a problem.”
My throat tightened, my heart hammering against my ribs.
“However.” He leaned back, comfortable. “You stay on my good side, give me what I want… and I’ll make sure Tristian comes out of his fights in one piece… I’ll even make sure your father keeps his hands to himself.”
My throat constricted.How did he know…?
Darragh chuckled at the unasked question. “I have my ear to the ground, sweetness. Have to in this business. Believe me, very little of what goes on behind closed doorsremainsbehind closed doors. I’m not saying your daddy hurt you in public, I know he has far too much to lose doing that. But people whisper, sweetness. And whispers have a way of finding me.” He tapped both his ears before he tipped a wink at me.
“So, I’ll keep this nice and simple. You get Tristian to behave for me, and I’ll see to it the two of you are safe. But if not…”
He didn’t finish, but I knew the answer from the look in his eyes.
I couldn’t move, couldn’t react, couldn’t even speak.What was I supposed to say?Tristian hated this man for very good reason. My time captive with him in The Obsidian still haunted my nightmares, and the way he kept showing up and throwing his weight around hadn’t gone unnoticed either. IfTristian, my hulking tattooed boyfriend who threw down in boxing matches, was scared of Darragh, then that said everything I needed to know about the Irishman.
Recognizing my paralysis, Darragh stood up, coffee in one hand. He leaned down, heavy and suffocating, and pressed the other to my shoulder. I flinched again, and a small, satisfied smile touched his lips.
“I’m glad we were able to have this conversation, sweetness,” he said. “We’ll talk soon, eh?”
He walked out, pausing only to wave goodbye to the barista and throw her some flirtatious little compliment that left her giggling. Then he was gone, leaving me trembling in the booth.
My phone vibrated on the table. My heart leaped at the contact… then sank.
Tristian
We have a meeting at Noah’s office this afternoon. He wanted me to let you know. Starts at 5.
No “hello.” No response to my frantic messages. Only a cold, logistical update. It stung worse than the slap from my father this morning.
I wiped my face, swallowing the sob that threatened to break through, and tried to find a spark of hope. Maybe this was a doorway. Maybe I could fix this.
But I couldn’t wait until the meeting arrived. I’d accomplish nothing in a room with my father and his looming. No, I needed to see him now, to ease all this out before whatever awaited us later.
Doing my best to put my latest run-in with Darragh out of mind, I gathered up my things and hurried from the coffee shop. Before long I found myself standing in front of Tristian’s apartment.
