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“N-no, Conor. We’re done. I’m not going anywhere with you.”
He releases another one of those cold laughs that I swear I’ll hear in my nightmares for years to come.
“It’s cute that you still think you have a choice.” His eyes narrow to slits. “But you don’t.” He takes a menacing step forward. “You really fucked up. I was trying to keep you out of it, but you just had to go and do something reckless, didn’t you?”
I have no idea what he’s referring to. Me running away? There’s no way he can know I followed him or that I went to the cops.
“Now I’m in the fucking shit with my family, and I have to answer for your mistakes.”
The menace in his voice has my bladder threatening to release. He must notice my confusion as he yells, “The cops, Mia! You went to the fucking cops! How could you be so fucking naive?!”
My mouth drops open as I gape at him.
“H-how?”
Rolling his eyes, he snarks in that Irish brogue of his that has always been my undoing yet now makes him so much more dangerous, “You really fucked up. You’re lucky he was in our pocket, but he went to my fucking brothers so now I have them on my ass.”
My head is reeling as I try and fail to put the scraps of information together. This clearly goes way beyond one club, some drugs, and a one-time murder. Cops in their pockets? I mean, that’s something that powerful people have. People in criminal organizations and the mafia. People who are unstoppable; untouchable.
Color drains from my face as I realize just how badly I underestimated Conor. It’s not just him who is involved in illegal shit. It’s his family. All of O’Shea Corp? Most likely.
“I see you’re finally starting to get it,” he drawls. “Good. Now you realize your only option is to come home with me.”
Numbly, I shake my head. Refusing to believe him. Refusing to leave with him. Refusing to accept the corner I’ve been backed into.
“Mia,” he growls. I watch with eagle eyes as his hand slides beneath his suit jacket. I’ve seen this move before. I know what’ll happen when his hand reappears.
On cue, he lifts his gun and points it directly at me. “In the car, Mia. Unless you prefer a bullet to the brain. Those are your only choices. Knowing what you know, we can’t leave you alive.”
“I don’t know anything!” I wail, only now realizing that I’m crying.
“You know enough. You’ve seen too much. You come back to Boston with me, or you die right here and now.”
My shoulders shake with silent tears. “And if I come back to Boston with you, what then?”
“That’s up to you. If I can prove to my brothers that I can keep you in line and you’re under our constant supervision, you’ll be permitted to live.”
“With you.”
“Yes. We are not over.” His words are said in absolutes, leaving no room for argument.
“I’ll basically be your prisoner.”
“You’ll have everything. Money, a place to live, mind-blowing sex.” He smirks as my insides shrivel and die. I can’t even stand the thought of his hands on me again.
“In the car, Mia,” he barks when the silence stretches between us. “You know it’s the only option you have. We’ll go home, and I’ll sort this out and then we can go on like none of it ever happened.”
He moves further into the room, clearly intent on grabbing me and dragging me to the car. However, I quickly scurry away from him, regaining that space between us.
His back is now to the kitchen, and when I glance over his shoulder, my mom brings her finger to her lips.
Not wanting to draw attention to her, I focus back on Conor and snort. I stare at him like he’s crazy. Does he seriously expect me to just move past all of this? Brush it under the rug and pretend it never happened? Far too much has gone down, too much pain has been dealt.
“You raped me!” I yell at him.
He rolls his eyes. “Don’t be dramatic. You—”
“No!” I yell as Conor turns, right as my mom brings a frying pan down on his head. The clang of metal rings out across the room, followed a second later by the unmistakable pop of a gunshot.
