Total pages in book: 74
Estimated words: 69875 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 349(@200wpm)___ 280(@250wpm)___ 233(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 69875 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 349(@200wpm)___ 280(@250wpm)___ 233(@300wpm)
“I wanted some fresh air.”
He glares at me, and I know he doesn’t believe me. “Come.” It’s only one word, but it scares me. I notice him fist his hands at his sides, and I note he has the knuckles of a fighter.
“I’m not done,” I inform him, lifting my chin with an air of confidence I don’t at all feel.
If any one of Patrick’s men will hurt me, it’s this man. He looks like he’s ex-army, and I’m pretty sure he’s well trained to take down mercenaries. I don’t see how a twenty-two-year-old college girl would be able to fight him off.
“Miren,” my father’s voice calls to me from the hallway. “What’s taking so long in here?” I turn to find him standing just behind the guard at the open door. The look on his face tells me I’m going to be locked in my prison cell for the unforeseeable future. There is no response that will keep him calm, so I don’t reply.
He moves into the room and notices I’m right at the window. There’s no denying what I was trying to do.
“I asked you a question,” he seethes before making his way toward me. Each calculated step he takes sends ice racing through my veins.
“I… I wanted some fresh air,” I tell him, attempting to keep my tone calm. “It’s not really out of the question. Is it?”
He ponders this for a moment before he smiles. “Not at all.” He turns to the door and gestures for his guard to step back. “Just remember, my men enjoy the chase. And I can’t stop them from doing what they need to once they catch you.” He shuts the door with the ghost of his warning gripping my chest.
I close my eyes and breathe deeply. A need to run still courses through my veins, but I don’t. I know I’ll be killed if I try. And knowing my mother is alive and out there somewhere, I decide to see this through.
Back in the living room, I settle on the chair I was in earlier. Patrick is on the phone. I can’t bring myself to consider calling him Dad, but that’s who he is.
“I don’t give a fuck,” he curses into the speaker. “If those bastards come near me, I will kill them all.” His threat is pure venom. I wonder who he’s talking about. “I’ll make sure they pay.” He hangs up before turning to look at me once more. “Feeling better?”
“Yes.”
“Good. Now, we’re going to take a little trip. Get away for a while. I’d like to show you what a luxurious life you’ll have if you agree to stay here.” He offers me a grin that seems genuine, but the man is a savage.
“Why? I know what you do. It’s not like you can hide it. You hurt people for fun,” I throw back and immediately regret it because the look my father gives me is pure venom. “I’m sorry. I just… I want to go home.” I’ve never been able to lie to my mother, and now I realise I can’t lie to the man who has stolen me either.
“You think you know me, wee one?” he says with a chuckle. “You have no fucking clue who we are. The blood that runs through yer veins is filled with violence. From before yer great-grandfather was the leader of the Irish mob. He was born in Ireland, he married and had one son and one daughter who he knew would be able to take over the mob he ran with an iron fist.”
“You’re…” My mouth drops open as I consider the repercussions of his words. My family are part of the mob. They’re the mob. Fuck.
“Now, we’re going to head out—”
“Boss,” one of the men comes rushing in. “The perimeter has been breached.”
Patrick looks directly at me. “You will go up to the bedroom with Declan and stay there until I call you down,” he orders before spinning on his heel and racing from the living room with the rest of the guards. My father heads for the opposite side of the entrance hall, and the door is shut on his actions.
Declan brings me to the room I woke up in a few days ago and leaves me inside. He shuts the door, but I listen for a click of the lock, which never comes. In the bedroom, I open the balcony doors and step out. I can hear a young guy speaking, “I’m not fucking telling you anything,” he spits, and I am surprised. I doubt anyone would talk to Patrick like that and live. I’m pretty sure most would beg for their lives.
“You’ll tell me all about those Royal Bastards. The MC will be taken down, whether you help me or not.” Patrick’s tone is filled with rage. A motorcycle club. It’s the only thing I can think of when I overhear him say MC.