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She blinks once, twice, unsure if I’m being sarcastic or not. “In the ten years since I’ve known you, I’ve never even seen you with a girlfriend, and now you have a fucking wife,” she hisses, voice growing louder with every syllable. Lorcan puts his hand on her arm in an attempt to calm her down, but she shrugs him off. “And let me guess, you’ve locked her in your little dungeon under the city, chained to a mattress, with a loaf of bread and a bottle of water. Because she’s gotta be fed and watered, right?” she snaps. Her pale face has turned beetroot as blood and fury rushing to the surface of her skin.
I raise an eyebrow at Lorcan. “Is that what you did to her? Because it sounds like she’s got a bit of PTSD.” Then I turn back to Poppy’s wrath. “If it makes you feel better, my darling sister-in-law, she’s having the time of her life in my penthouse apartment in New York.” Not exactly true. After trashing every square inch of the joint, she locked herself in one of the guest suites, and I haven’t seen her since. Married life, amiright? “Anyway, I’m a little offended you think I kidnapped her. If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were suggesting no one would marry me simply because they want to.”
She snatches up a folder and spins it toward my head like a Frisbee. I only have to move my head a couple of inches to stop it from slicing into my neck. The smirk on my face only seems to make her more mad. “Of course I’m suggesting that, Don. Despite all of your Hollywood good looks and a grin that the Cheshire cat would be jealous of, you’re a goddamn monster,” she spits. “You spend your days in the dark, torturing and killing and whatever other sick shit you do. So forgive me if I find it hard to believe that a nice young lady just happened to find the best in you, just at the time you needed a wife most.” Now, annoyance prickles at my skin. I lean on my elbows, nostrils flaring. “I’m sorry, darling, are you under the impression that your husband is a fucking saint? Hate to break it to you, but all of the torturing and killing and sick shit that you seem to think I do, I do for this family.”
“And that’s exactly my point. You do it for the family. You’re the head henchman, just like your father was, and his father before that. Being a monster is in your DNA. Cruelty floods through your veins, and your brain is hardwired to kill. Being a ruthless bastard is in my husband’s job description. But you? It makes up the fabric of your being.”
Despite Lorcan tugging at her elbow, she rises to her feet, stabbing a shaky finger in my face. “You don’t have a heart, Don. God didn’t give you one.”
“Stop talking,” Lorcan growls, tightening his grip on Poppy’s elbow.
“Don’t tell me what to do,” she hisses, flashing her husband a death glare. “The damage is already done. I know there’s nothing I can say or do now that will convince you to let her go, so now we’ll have to make the best out of the situation.” She picks up her cell from the table, along with a stack of documents. A quick jerk of her head toward Declan, and he scrambles to his feet. “We’ll incorporate her into our plan because if Belsky does get into power, then we need to make your sham marriage look like the real deal.” After pinning me with a lingering side-eye, she stalks toward the door. She pauses, then spins on her heel to deliver one final blow. “You’re going to tell me where she is, and I’m going to visit her tomorrow. Call it a welfare check,” she spits, loaded with sarcasm. “And if any of your men dare to stop me, I’ll chop their dicks off.”
And with that, she clip-clops down the hall with Declan scurrying after her. Lorcan and I sit, not speaking until the sound of her stilettos dissolves into nothing.
Eventually, Lorc lets out a loud hiss, reclining in his chair. “What the fuck, Don?”
But I let the silence stretch out between us for a few moments more. I’m still basking in the storm Poppy just unleashed on me, rage simmering underneath the surface of my skin. Not because her words sliced through me like a knife, but because she’s right.
Being a monster is in my DNA.
I know destruction and nothing else.
The locked box in the darkest corner of my brain is rattling. The one I welded shut and put a padlock on for good measure just under ten years ago. When I stuffed Emilia in there, I promised myself it’d never happen again. And it hasn’t. These days, my sex life begins and ends at leaning into the ears of senator’s wives at charity functions, taking the hotel key card they slip me, and following them up to their room when their fat husbands aren’t looking. I fuck them from behind, staring at the headboard and blocking out their pathetic moans. I ignore my fist twitching to grab their throat, my palm burning to meet the curve of their ass. I chase my pathetic release and am already heading for the exit when they tell me we should do it again sometime.
And then Romy fell into my life.
Beautiful and cold, clad in an exterior more impenetrable than Fort Knox.
Her hidden secrets and feisty attitude all come together and beg me to break her. But by breaking her, I break the promise I made to myself.
“Don?” I’m beckoned back to the room by Lorcan’s softer tone. We lock eyes, his shimmering with concern. “Look, man, don’t worry about Poppy. You know she takes a few hours to calm down.”
Cracking my knuckles, I mutter, “It’s not Poppy I’m worried about.”
“What?”
I rap my ring against the dining table and rise to my feet. “Nothing. I have work to do.” I pat the back pocket of my jeans, where his list lays folded next to his daughter’s drawing. “Businessmen to shut up. I’ll keep you updated with any intel on Belsky.”
He doesn’t say anything, eye line still tracing me as I stride across the room. When my hand is on the doorknob, his voice slices through the tension, stopping me in my tracks. “Donnacha.”
He never uses my full name when it’s just us two.
I lock my jaw and turn to face him. His hands are clasped over his torso, nostrils flaring. “Don’t let her distract you,” he says softly. “We need you.”
Something rushes through my veins. A cocktail of pride and determination. I straighten the length of my spine, curl my fingers into my palms, and clear my throat. “I live and breathe for protecting this family. I’ll die for it too. Hell will freeze over before I let a woman get in the way of that.”
My statement needs no response, and I don’t wait for one. Instead, I turn on my heel and storm down the hall, a newly lit fire spitting in the pit of my stomach.
Fuck my promise to Romy Daniels. I won’t distract myself with my desire to break her. She’s nothing but a pawn in a bigger game. Once Belsky is off the East Coast, she can go back to the whorehouse she came from.
