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“That could be arranged,” I said with a menacing scowl, remaining completely calm.
We needed to have this out once and for all.
He growled, his hands clenched into tight fists. “You arrogant, worthless piece of shit.”
I bowed my head. I had to agree. Not that it changed a single thing. “This is the only shot you get. Because after I leave, I will find her, take her home with me, and she will become my wife.”
“Or you’ll die here.”
I bowed again. “And Sophie’s child will grow up an orphan,” I said.
Dying was always a possibility. One I had made my peace with a long time ago. And I would rather die than live my life without honor, or her by my side.
So, when his fist came right toward my face, I didn’t move a muscle.
Let him get it all out and let the chips fall where they may.
I blocked a few of his blows, had him work for the win and exorcise his frustration—up until the point where I got cocky, and he got dirty. He kicked me in the nuts and then scored a perfectly executed blow to my head, and everything turned black.
CHAPTERFORTY-TWO
“It’s going to start raining soon.”
I looked up at the clouded gray sky and swallowed down against the ever-present simmering nausea. Today, the Irish autumn didn’t bless us with the same moderate temperatures it did the past few days.
Temperatures that barely warmed the cold I felt inside.
Instead, the wind was sharp and aggressive, and the dark clouds hung threateningly low.
I turned around to gaze at Donovan and O’Reilly—my permanent shadows—who looked like they could use some warming up.
Luckily, they didn’t interfere with my life too much, though I still expected them to grab me and drag me back home at any given moment. Though they hadn’t even tried to take me back—a fact both reassuring and heart-wrenching. They were always just there, watching me, shadowing me.
Always.
Not that their presence kept the loneliness at bay that I felt so acutely— I could still taste it like a lingering bitterness on my tongue and feel it like a dull ache in my bones—every second of every minute.
I’d always thought this was what I wanted—being alone, being free—but somehow, it wasn’t as freeing as I thought it would be. It wasn’t giving me the happiness I always thought it would.
Freedom suddenly wasn’t the opposite of being trapped in a golden cage.
Loneliness was.
Not that it kept me from forging ahead.
And neither would the bone-deep weakness that kept me from my walks more and more these days.
Keeping food down was such a struggle. Most days, I didn’t even bother anymore.
But since yesterday, even holding down a sip of water had been a challenge.
Damn morning sickness.
Or was it the added stress of having decided on my future that made it all worse?
Well, right now, my biggest worry was to steer Fiona to where I wanted her to go—before it started to rain—while pretending we were on a boring walk—which couldn’t be farther from the truth.
I side-eyed her. I’d been in Ireland for over two weeks now. I’d forced her to walk with me most days, which seemed to help to pull her out of her state somewhat. When I arrived, she’d been worse than I thought. She had trouble sleeping and panic attacks, and she was living like a recluse—and hiding it all from her parents—who were even more inattentive than I ever thought possible.
