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“So, why do you care about your father’s hand?” I muse. He sold her off. Hasn’t she learnt she is a means to an end for her father?
“I don’t.” Tears slip down her cheeks, and I thrust the gun in, making her gag slightly, ensuring Connor is satisfied by my treatment.
“He has another. He’s lucky he still has that after his little stunt. If you disobey me again, I'll take your sister's hand, given how much she likes to feed you with irrelevant information.” Her head shakes at my threat. “No?” I remove the barrel from her lips.
“I won’t disobey you.”
“Good. Now go to our suite and wait for me.” I lean down to brush my mouth along the shell of her ear. “So I can punish you.”
Her shoulders sag, her chest concaves, and when she blinks at me, I nudge my chin towards the door.
Slowly, she scrambles away and rushes out the door. Relief washes through me that she is out of harm's way. Shay is hot on her heels and my dislike for her has me firing my weapon. They squeal. The bullet hits the wall nearest her face and splinters the plaster.
“Not you,” I bite, smirking, as Shay stops and slowly turns. Cara hangs back, and I sneer, pissed off that she isn’t already in our room. She flees and only then do I move towards Shay. In some ways, she looks very much like her older sister, only her face is rounder, her hair shorter and unlike my wife’s vibrant green eyes, Shay’s are a sludgy green. They are similar in build, but Shay carries petulance too well; she is immature and outspoken. Spoilt and bratty. I don’t like or trust her and seeing how quickly she has manipulated Cara’s feelings, I’m wondering just how close these women are, or my wife thinks they are?
Her shoulder straightens, her chin lifts, and a gleam of hatred stares back at me. This woman, unlike my wife, adores her father. She is the apple of his eye, and although she and Cara are close in age, he’d never put Shay in the position he has Cara.
“You’re here for less than an hour and you’ve unsettled my wife already. Are you willing to die for Daddy? I don’t mind killing you because of him.” I shrug, and she swallows. “You’ll leave Cara alone tonight.” Her stare hardens, and I fire again, making her yelp. “Won’t you?”
She nods and swallows thickly. “Yes.”
“Now fuck off.” She scurries away, and I heave out a frustrated breath. “Cara will learn her place,” I affirm before turning to my boss.
“She’s young. A little too emotional,” Connor rumbles and encourages us to sit so we can resume our meeting. “If Cara acts out again, Ronan, I’ll cut her hands off. I doubt your prick will appreciate that.” He concludes, his fingers threading together as he levels me with a look that suggests he questions my loyalty to him. I stopped him from aiming at Cara. It was instinctive. My heart, for the first time in a long while, lurched, and it was all because of a redhead with big green eyes and my name attached to hers.
Cara Michaels. My wife. Mine.
If anyone is to ever dispose of her, it will be me and only me, and I have no intention of ever removing her from my life. I like the woman too damn much. I nod in false agreement at my boss. I like the release she brings when my day has been full of death and destruction. The cloud-like comfort I get from her presence when moving around our room, the soft lilt of her accent and the way she clings and lets me purge myself in her little body. She does it with a dignity and self-worth no woman I’ve ever met has. She demands it in a way I want to give it, in the privacy of our room.
Isaiah grimaces, and Deacon chuckles. I sit forward, resting my arms on my knees.
“Maybe we should mention The Panel and see if our guy takes the bait. Although I think this is beneath them.”
“If they are in play, it will mean everything we assumed about Lola’s abduction to be wrong,” Deacon rumbles. “We suspected retaliation from one of the other families but this, The Panel. It’s something I don’t wish to dwell on. If we’re right, then life is about to get real fucking shit and if we’re wrong…”
“We could enrage them,” Isaiah finishes for him as we share a look.
We are a force of our own making. But The Panel, with their cult-like mentality and secrecy. Their control with the police and the government will always give them a head start. They see themselves as law and executioner, and to this day, no one knows who they are.
It gives them an edge none of us have.
“It’s not The Panel.” Connor frowns. “Declan might be involved with them, but that’s his problem. They have no need to target us. My being at the helm keeps the other families in line. It’s in their best interest.”
“So we press for more information.” I grin.
“You want to be the one to do it?” Connor asks, and I shake my head. “Something else on your mind?” he muses, a teasing smirk on his face. Arsehole.
“Isaiah can do it. He needs to practise his knife skills.”
“I missed once. Once!” he calls over our laughter.
“He wasn’t even moving. It’s embarrassing.” I chortle and head upstairs.
I stand outside the door, fighting a mix of emotions. I'm angry that she keeps putting herself in a position to force my hand, in a position of danger, but more so, I’m relieved Connor didn’t hurt her.
Stepping inside, I close the door as she rushes towards me. “I’m sorry,” she chokes, gripping her throat fearfully. “She got in my head, and I—” I crush my mouth to hers and push her up against the door.
“Stop talking,” I pant, gripping her top and shredding it down the middle.
