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His wary gaze follows me as I slowly circle behind him.
“While you’ve been losing the respect of your men, I’ve been gaining it.” I place my hands on his shoulders. He goes rigid. I squeeze the tiniest bit before I clap the right one, and Sheehan flinches. I continue my small trek until I’m in front of my recently vacated chair. Instead of sitting, I turn, place my palms on the desk top, and loom over him. “I now own the deed to this house. It, as well as the entirety of what’s inside, belongs to me.”
His complexion goes white. “That’s not possible. I didn’t sign it over to you.”
I straighten and reach into my inner jacket pocket, pull out a rolled up sheet of paper, and toss it on his desk. “Didn’t you?”
Sheehan unfurls the damning evidence with trembling fingers. His eyes scan the document and he swallows hard, his jowls shaking with the effort. It drops from his lax hold, but his gaze remains locked on it.
“The original is in my possession for safe keeping.”
Finally, he raises his head. “When? How?”
“You should be careful who you trust when they hand you a stack of papers to sign and you don’t bother reading them.” I pluck the document up and pocket it again. “Now…get the fuck out.”
We stare at each other a moment longer, until, at last, Sheehan breaks contact and slowly stands. His shirt is rumpled and gapes open at the bottom. With as much dignity as he has left, I suppose, he buttons his jacket and rounds the desk with his gaze locked straight ahead. He passes me and continues through the narrow space between Darragh and Craig, neither of whom have holstered their weapon.
Sheehan makes it to the door and pauses. He turns and finally meets my eyes. “You have no idea what you’ve just set in motion. If you think that by taking over my organization you’ll also be able to gain control of Dublin from the Donnellys, you don’t know Carrick or his sons very well. They will kill each and every one of you before they’ll let that happen.”
I sneer. “Let them try.”
He stands there for another second, his hate-filled gaze drifting over the three of us, and then walks out of his former office. I jerk my chin up and Craig follows him to ensure he doesn’t accidentally lose his way or take anything that no longer belongs to him.
The stench of stale sweat and sourness makes my stomach turn. I can picture all the times I stood in here and was disciplined by the bastard who just left. He tried to break me. Almost did. But I refused to let him win. He would have enjoyed it too much. Satisfaction washes over me at the recent play of events. It couldn’t have gone better. Unless, of course, Sheehan had given me an excuse to kill him. I’m almost disappointed he didn’t. I glance up to find Darragh studying me.
“Now what?” he asks.
“We let word get out about who’s in power now. I expect it will reach Donnelly by the end of the day. No doubt he’ll want to set up a meeting .”
He glances around. “And the house?”
“It can stand, but sell everything in here. I want it gutted. When the eldest Donnelly son gets tired of fucking Nessa and discards her, she’ll at least have somewhere to go. Don’t let it be said that I’m entirely heartless.” Which reminds me of my completely fuckable house guest. “Now that that’s taken care of, update me on getting into Ms. Walsh’s flat.”
“It’s completely secure. Not even our best guys could figure out the code to get in.”
Imogen is turning out to be quite the conundrum. Why does she have two different cell phones and a locked-tight laptop, as well as a high-tech security system? What’s so important that it needs that much protection? I glance at my watch. Perhaps when I get back, we can play nice and maybe she’ll answer some of my questions. Unable to stand being in this house any longer, I exit the office just as Craig returns.
“Has the trash taken himself out?”
He nods. “Yes, sir.”
“Excellent. You and Darragh are in charge of arranging for this place to be stripped of everything and sold.” I continue out the front door to the waiting town car, get in the backseat, and, once the driver’s behind the wheel, tap the cracked-open window divider between us. “Home.”
As soon as he pulls away, I reach into the dry bar and pour myself a glass of whiskey. Then I sit back and toast to there being a new Dublin King.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Imogen
If Liam doesn’t kill me, the boredom will. Once again, I’ve been left in this stupid locked room with absolutely nothing to do. At least I’ve been fed. For someone who kidnaps a woman because he wanted to, my captor has been notedly absent aside from that disastrous dinner last night. Don’t forget the kiss, though? I groan. As if I could. I’d love to scrub my brain of it forever, but the memory won’t go away. Nor will his taunting words after. Had he actually thought of me when he masturbated? Because the bastard had been right. I had dreamed of him. Dirty, filthy dreams. I woke up needy with my pussy throbbing so bad, I ended up taking care of it myself.
Liam doesn’t strike me as a man who can’t get any woman he wants. Especially without resorting to kidnapping her off the street. So what exactly does he want with me? I find it hard to believe it’s just for a fuck. Does he know who am I and this is just some giant mindfuck? No, he can’t know. I only do because Mum told me as she lay dying. I used every one of my computer skills, and, other than her confession, I couldn’t find a single piece of evidence—nothing—that backed up her claim. Had she been mistaken? Confused? Lied?
Since it’s not possible for Liam to know my secret, there has to be some other reason why I’m here. Never one to shy away from conflict, the only thing to do is ask. This time, though, I won’t settle for a simple “because I want you here”. Bored, I climb off the bed and pace the room. I glance up at the ceiling. Are you happy now, Mum? I’m exercising.
I’ve made close to ten passes when the lock on the door clicks. The main one, not the other that connects to his bedroom. I stop in the middle of the room and wait. It opens, and Liam stands there wearing another perfectly fitted suit that accentuates his muscular form. I push away the attraction I’m not supposed to feel.
He leans a shoulder against the door frame and takes me in. My temperature rises from that single glance. “Have you been keeping yourself busy while I’ve been away?”
