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“Then come say sorry.” He folds himself around me, soaking his wet chest into my back. “We’re married, Cara. Mistakes don’t feel that good.” He parts the gown and drags a tattooed hand down towards my navel. Colourful murals and black ink coat his skin. They are oddly fascinating, beautiful even. It’s like watching a canvas fuck into me.
“I know nothing about you. We aren’t a couple. I don’t know how to navigate this,” I confess as his fingers find their mark, and he circles my clit and bites the curve of my neck below my hairline.
“No, we’re not, but we are a team. Your loyalty is with us now, to the Brayfords, to me. Sex is a perk of marriage. You're lucky I don’t look like Olson,” he reminds me of the old man with a limp and yellowing teeth. Rebecca had looked sick to her stomach at the union. I shudder, and Ronan chuckles roughly against my ear.
“So, you just want sex?” I suck in a breath as his fingers keep working me effortlessly.
“That and your loyalty.” He nips my neck again, and I my head lolls backwards.
“What do I get?” I moan when he sinks two fingers inside. They are gone before I can enjoy their presence.
“Shay, you get Shay.” He cups my face and turns me to look at him. “I will bring your sister here, but you have to swear yourself to me Cara. If you betray me, I'll kill you both.”
I miss my sister, her playful manner and the security she brings. I have no allegiance to my father, not with how easily he sacrificed my safety, how he treated us like pawns, pressing us to do his bidding and putting us in harm's way. When I was taken as hostage, he never once asked how I was, only if he, my attacker, had mentioned my father. I am no better than a chess piece in his life. At least with Ronan, I will be cared for. He’s shown more consideration for my feelings in the last twenty-four hours than my parents have in my entire life. I want Shay back in my life. I want to be cared for.
“Okay. Please bring her here.”
“Good girl.” He lifts me and walks us back to the shower, his mouth urgent on mine.
“Tell me about your father. How did he conduct business?” Connor asks as we sit in the library.
I’ve spent the day being interrogated about everything from the man who broke into our room to who visited my parents’ estate and any unusual happenings. My weapon of choice sits on the table between us. Ronan is nursing a drink opposite me. The long hairpin is decorated with dried blood. He eyes it before looking and smirking with pride.
“We were never allowed to meet anyone face-to-face. If guests arrived, we would work in the house. The same if we had a party.” I swallow, feeling a little guilty for divulging this to Connor Brayford. “He can’t do that anymore. They know our faces.”
“You played the part of servers?” Connor tilts his head.
I nod and rub my neck absentmindedly. “Sometimes we wore contacts, maybe a wig, but we kept our identities secret. He thought it would protect us.”
“He wanted you to spy for him,” Ronan drawls, and my cheeks heat.
“That too.”
“Tell us everything you know.” Connor relaxes back.
“Wait.” Ronan stands, confusion littering his gaze. “If your identities were secret, how did your attacker know to take you?” The accusation rings clear in his tone.
“We never knew. It bothered my father because he knew someone was on to him. I never admitted to being Declan’s daughter. I pretended that I worked for him, but they knew it was a lie. I never told my father this, but they said they knew about his dealings with The Panel.” I search their eyes, and Connor perks up.
“What do you know about The Panel?” he demands quietly. Isaiah and Deacon move in, and I sense a shift in the air.
“Nothing. That was the one and only time I heard of it. What is it?” I shoot a baffled look around at the men, and Connor bares his teeth, visibly angry.
“So he’s outsourcing. All we need is those sick fuckers involved.” He stands, knocking the rest of his drink back.
“We don’t know that,” my husband murmurs. “He could be in their pocket, owe them. I’ll keep my ear to the ground.”
“We know they like to play executioner to us all. Ireland isn’t part of their territory. I think Declan was up to something,” Isaiah adds, and Deacon agrees. Connor is watching me closely, and I know it’s because he doesn’t trust me.
“He travelled a lot to London. Sometimes, he was gone for a week at a time. I think he is using an alias. Try the surname Marks. I heard him refer to himself as that before, and I never knew why.”
Isaiah nods and makes his leave, no doubt to look into whatever my father has up his sleeve. One by one, the men leave until I’m sitting opposite Ronan, as he swirls the golden liquid of his drink around the inside of his tumbler.
“You did good, doll,” he remarks, lifting his drink and finishing it. “Come here.” I make my way across the room and stand before my husband. Ronan threads our fingers and tugs me down onto his lap. “Tell me about how you stabbed that guy in the side again.” He smirks, and my heart thuds painfully against my chest. There's a darkness in Ronan. I’ve seen glimpses every now and then, but it’s only now as I’m perched on his lap, his erection hot and hard between us, that I realise he gets off on this kind of thing. He likes killing. He enjoys the pain. They haven’t told me who the man was, and I didn’t dare ask.
I falter in my thoughts, struggling to pull forwards the memory of the masked man wrapping a cord around my neck and drowning me. My chest concaves, and I latch on to Ronan's eyes to find some sense of calm. Safety. “He pinned me down,” I whisper as my husband unzips his fly and pulls himself free, huffing as his cock stands proud between us. “I remembered my hairpin was on the side.”
Ronan jerks himself off, my legs straddling his wide thighs. “Keep going.”
