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ROHAN
“Where the fuck is she?”
I kick back in my seat, plonk my feet on the edge of my father's desk, and place my hands behind my head.
Watching Gabriel King have one of his colossal meltdowns is one of my favourite pastimes. Especially when the veins protrude on his forehead, as they are now. “You had one job, Rohan. One.”
He paces back and forth, frustration evident at the way he’s gripped his hair in his hands. “Can you do nothing right? And for fuck’s sake, take your feet off my desk. Show some fuckin’ respect, son.”
“She got away. Once she took off into the forest behind her house, I lost her.”
Okay, that’s a blatant lie, but what my ole man doesn’t know won’t hurt him.
Sure, I followed her into the woods, and I intended to tie her up and drag her back here, per my father’s request, but then I saw the box she clutched as though it were her only lifeline. The Ryan family crest, amongst others, was delicately engraved into the ancient old redwood top, and I knew I didn’t have to kidnap the heir to the Ryan family because pretty little Saoirse would find her way home all on her own.
It’s not what my father asked, but I’m not exactly known for following orders. I have my own motives for the missing, and most definitely clueless, gangland princess, and letting her come to me could work out better for my bigger plan.
I bite down on my bottom lip, muffling the laughter teasing the tip of my tongue, but I do as I’m told and remove my feet from his precious desk. Even I know when not to push Gabriel’s buttons.
“What’s so important about this bitch, anyway?” I ask as I turn to face him, playing innocent. “I get that she’s a Ryan, but keeping her away from here would be the better choice, no? The Ryan seat is free for the takin’. Especially if little Saoirse stays hidden.”
My father drops to his hunkers before me; his eyes, a mirror image of my own, scalding my skin. “There’s more than that at play here, Rohan. And contrary to what you think, you do not know everything, so do what you’re fuckin’ asked to do next time.”
“How the fuck am I to know there’s more at stake when you won’t tell me shit?”
Oh, how easy the lies fall from my lips when they’re all I’ve been fed my entire life.
One swift and lethal movement, and his hand curls around my throat, squeezing so fucking tight, he cuts off my airflow. “Listen here, son. You may hold the King surname, but you’re not in charge. You’re nothing more than a foot soldier, and until you stop fuckin’ up and start doing what you are told to do, it will stay that way. Understood?”
I nod, unable to formulate words as his hand crushes my windpipe.
Finally, he loosens his grip and then stands to full height, peering at me with fierce eyes. “You better hope Saoirse Ryan doesn't step foot in Killybegs because if Oliver Devereux gets to her before we do, we’re fucked. Now get out of my office. I need to clean up the mess you made before everyone finds out what a colossal fuckup my son is.”
I stand, then raise my hand to my head, saluting my arsehole father. “Yes, sir. I’ve got shit to do, anyway.”
Little does he know, Saoirse Ryan is already on route to his kingdom, and I’m going to have one hell of a time helping her tear it fucking down.
Your reign is almost over, ole man, and I’m going tofucking enjoy taking it from you.
* * *
Where the fuck is she?
Ironically, that’s the same question my father asked me two days ago when I returned,empty fucking handed,as he so eloquently put it.
Three nights ago, when I stood in the woods with the long-lost princess, it was painfully apparent she was, and most likely still is, unaware of her mother’s past and the legacy she left behind. It was all over her annoyingly alluring face.
Saoirse didn’t know who we were or why we were there…because if she did, I can guarantee she wouldn’t have hesitated when she jumped off the roof.
She would have run and never looked back.
She might think I let her go, but Saoirse hasn’t seen the last of me, and once she arrives at my playground — which should be any minute now — I’m going to enjoy teaching her how to play my games.
“It’s been days, man. You sure she’s coming?” Aodhán’s voice quips through my Air Pods. “What does she look like? She could walk right by me, and I wouldn’t notice her.”
“Trust me,” I reply. “Saoirse Ryan is not someone who goes unnoticed.”
From the front seat of my gunmetal grey Lamborghini Aventador SVJ, I peer across the street towards the bus station. I spot Aodhán waiting by the doorway to arrivals, ready and bouncing on the balls of his feet, trying his damndest to keep warm on this piss-cold Irish day.
