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How and why is this possible?
The moment of distraction allows Hugh to buck me off and switch positions so I’m the one now pinned to the ground. He belts me ruthlessly as he doesn’t like being made an eejit of. Hugh doesn’t like to lose.
Cian is swearing in French, which confirms this looks as bad as it feels.
“Had enough?” Hugh mocks, breaking my nose.
With blood gushing from my neb, I laugh manically. “Is that the best you got, motherfucker?”
Hugh roars, pinning one shoulder down to the ground as he continues to belt me.
It would be easier if I gave up as my head isn’t cut, and I know Hugh will kill me if I don’t submit. But suddenly, images of my mum, images of her being pressed into the carpet as some cunt rides her, slam into me, and I wheeze in air, desperate to breathe; just how she was.
I remember the way she extended her arm, her last desperate attempt to assure me everything would be all right.
I can’t let her down—not again.
I turn my cheek, seeing the tattoo on Hugh’s wrist as a clear fuck you, so with a new lease on life, I rear up and bite over it—hard. He presses the heel of his palm to my forehead, attempting to pry me off him, but I only bite down harder, tasting Doyle blood. It’s heaven on my tongue.
“Ye fucking cunt, get off me!” Hugh screams, the hand he used to lamp me, now frantically trying to free his wrist from my jaws.
I wrap my fingers around his wrist, holding him captive as I gnaw through skin and muscle. The bloodlust leaves me hungry for so much more. Only when I have a hunk of his flesh in my mouth do I release him, bringing up my knee to catch him with a nice ringsend uppercut.
His wheezes leave me lured, and I shove him off, coming to a quick stand. I spit out the lump of flesh in my bake. It lands at Liam’s Nikes with a wet plop.
Blood runs down my chin, and I slowly wipe it away with the back of my hand, never breaking eye contact with Liam. My chest is rising and falling quickly, my lungs desperately trying to catch up—I’ve never felt more alive.
Did I pass his wee test?
Hugh rolls around on the ground like a wee wain, and I curl my lip in disgust. His cries are music to my depraved soul. It takes all of my willpower not to kill this fucker, but not now. Things have only just begun.
Liam toes over the hunk of flesh before bursting into loud laughter. “Yer off yer nut!” he bellows, rushing over to me and slapping me on the back cheerfully.
“I just kicked the shit out of your brother, and you’re congratulating me?” I ask, bowed in half and clutching my side as I attempt to breathe.
“Aye, ya did what not many have done before. This is a cause for celebration.”
He offers me his hand, and as he does so, the cuff of his shirt rides up, allowing me to see that he, too, has the mark which suddenly doesn’t seem so rare.
A crucifix tattoo.
What?How is this possible?
It’s like one sprouted on Liam, seeing as I ripped into Hugh’s with my teeth.
My theory that Aidan took my ma’s life is now not so certain. It seems the Doyle men bear this mark, which means…any Doyle could be one of the three men I’m hunting. But first things first, I need to uncover the significance of this tattoo.
I thought it paid homage to their Catholic faith, but now, I believe it’s something else, and I will do anything to find out what that is.
Aidan bends down to pick up Hugh, but he slaps his hands away, not wanting any help. He’s feeling wick I beat him. He comes to a shaky stand on his own, looking shook. He clearly didn’t think I could fight.
In response, I press two fingers over my bake and blow him a smug kiss.
With a growl, he advances forward, but Aidan grips his forearm, stopping him. I wonder who Aidan is to the Doyles.
Liam digs into his pocket and asks for my number as he produces his mobile phone. I give him the number to my prepaid phone that can’t be traced back to me.
“All right, bucko, I’ll be in touch.”
