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Marko’s SUV is a roaring pyre of flame. Vlad simply doesn’t exist anymore.
Marko himself is slumped against the side of the building next to the restaurant, smoke curling from his suit jacket and blood leaking from an ugly wound to his head as his men frantically start to perform CPR.
The sound of approaching sirens fills the air.
11
EILISH
This is fucking ridiculous.
I already had to reschedule an advisor meeting I had booked this morning because of Gavan’s stupid demand to be here at eight. Then I had to beg that same advisor toactuallymeet with me after all, after Gavan’s assistant Rachel called to tell me her boss wanted me to come in later instead.
Now it’s four in the afternoon and I’ve been sitting in his goddamn office doingnothingfor three fucking hours.
I won’t lie: part of me has thought about messing up his office in some way. Not trashing it or anything crazy like that, andcertainlynot stealing anything like last time. DearGod, no. But just screwing with him a little, like messing up his perfectly ordered shelves. Making the pens on his desknotin perfect parallel alignment.
Except that would drive me, with my neat-freak tendencies, about as nuts as it would him. AndI’mthe one sitting in the office right now who’d have to actually look at those messed-up shelves and askew pens.
I’m also probably the one who’d have to fix them all later.
I blow air out through my lips and try and go back to the schoolwork I’ve been puttering away at. I’m sitting on Gavan’s luxurious leather couch with my laptop. I mean I might as well get something done while I’m…
I blush.
While I’m…what?Notparading around Gavan’s office in front of him, wearing nothing but lingerie? Lingerie I’m mortified at myself for having specifically gone out and bought to wear for him? Pearl-white, lacy bra and matching thong panties that I purposefully made sure coordinated with the French mani-pedi I got yesterday? Again, forhim?
I waseagerfor him to see all this. I mean seriously, what the fuck is wrong with me.
And it’s not just the prancing around doing odd tasks in my underwear, or the French tips that have me—horrifyingly—excitedto show up at Gavan’s office every morning.
It’s what comesafter. No pun intended.
After the hungry, wolfish looks and feel of his eyes on me reaches a breaking point. When his gaze latches onto mine, and he crooks his fingers.
When my pulse skips when I go to where he’s sitting at his desk, or on this very couch. When my skin tingles and my core melts when I drop to my knees for him.
When I swallow his thick cock, leaking my need for him into my panties.
Or when he rips them off me and fingers me to an earth-shattering orgasm. Or spanks me over his lap. Orall three.
None of this should be turning me on. I shouldn’t hunger for Gavan’s touch. I shouldn’t be so eager when I walk into his office. Yet I do, and I am.
I should be sick at the fact that he’s blackmailing me into this. That I’ve been roped into this devil’s deal with him. That he’s forcing me to be his…hisplaything.
Right. Forcing you.
Sure.
You keep telling yourself that.
It would be bad, but I really could stop this if I wanted to. I honestly don’t know how my family would react if I were to come clean about what I did, in order to break Gavan’s hold over me. I mean neither Neve nor I was close with our dad. Neither of us, frankly, shed a tear at his funeral. And if I were to explain why I did what I did that ended up causing his death, I can’t imagine Neve, Cillian, or Castle would even bat an eye.
But what if they did? What if telling them changed the way they saw me forever? The way they thought about me? Cillian didn’t have much love for Declan, but theywerehalf-brothers.
I love my uncle, and I know he loves me. But does he love me enough not to snap if I told him I was at least partially responsible for Declan’s death?
I shudder.
