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)
Leavin’ her in her room, I make a beeline for my wing of the house. I have my own bedroom and bathroom with an entrance staircase that allows me to escape without being seen. In the sanctuary of my room, I lean against the door and shut my eyes. My head rests against the wood.
The taste of her is still on my tongue. If her mouth is so delicious, so intoxicating, I can’t imagine what her cunt tastes like. I can’t allow myself to even wonder. Considering the thought of havin’ her for myself is dangerous.
I strip off and head into the attached bathroom and turn on the shower. The only thing I can do now is calm myself down, that and my raging erection. My cock weeps for her, but instead of going back to the bedroom and fuckin’ her, I step under the cool spray and grip my shaft.
Slowly, I stroke myself. I shut my eyes and think about her. I recall the way she kissed me. How her lips tasted. The gentle curves of her frame against mine. I’m lost in pleasure as my hand moves faster. Everything about the feckin’ girl is what I want and need.
I tighten my grip, wondering how her cunt will feel as I fuck her. Will she pulse around my shaft? Will she milk my dick? The idea of coming inside her, of filling her with my release, sends heat racing down my spine, and I spill my seed against the tiles and watch it wash away with the water. Down the drain where it belongs. I can’t be with her. She’s forbidden fruit that I don’t intend on taking a bite of any time soon. Or ever, I tack on at the end of my thought.
When I lift my eyes, I see a flash of long, dark hair, and then it’s gone. I’m sure I’m hallucinating now. It’s not her. It can’t be. She wouldn’t have watched me do that. But if she did, I wonder what she’s feeling right now.
I turn off the taps and step out of the shower. With a towel around my hips, I head to the bed and pick up my phone from the bedside table. I send a message to Tye, asking him to get all the information on Miren Doyle on my desk first thing in the morning. Anything and everything he can find. I don’t care if it’s one sentence or ten pages. I need it.
I do need to rest, though. I’m exhausted. I’ll call church in the morning. We’ll sit down and figure out just where we go from here. And then I’ll bring Miren into my office, and she’ll be forced to confess whatever it is she’s hidin’.
I thought for a moment earlier she was goin’ ta, but instead, she kissed me.
Once I’m in bed, I lie on my back and stare at the ceiling. But I can’t sleep. My thoughts, instead, are on the girl down the hall. And I realise her kiss will forever be a mark on the monster.
FOURTEEN
MONSTER
“Jameson called with some info,” I tell the brothers at the table. “It seems Bragan’s wife has more responsibility than we initially thought. He had some contacts hack into the MI5 and Scotland Yard database, and her pseudonym Amanda Walsh has gone into hiding because she’s not just his wife.”
I look at each man. The news I found out this morning has not been sitting well with me. My gut is twisted in agony as I consider what this means. For years, I’d been going after the wrong man. Well, not entirely. I’ve been going after someone who was merely an instrument.
“What do you mean?” Rebel asks as he leans back in his chair to regard me.
I push to my feet and make my way to the printer where I left the documents that I printed off for them. I didn’t want to tell anyone about this, but we can’t stop the shite about to hit us. I set the pages on the table and push them over to Rebel.
“Take one and pass it on. We always thought Bragan was the head of the Irish mob.”
Rebel looks up at me, shock clear on his face. “It wasn’t him. It was her.”
I nod. There’s no denying it, because I can’t. I made an assumption. It was wrong. I was wrong. The silence hangs heavily in the room. I don’t feel guilty for going after Bragan, but even after digging into his organisation all these years, I never found out about Sinéad. She was nothing more than an ex-wife I figured escaped his clutches.
“She ordered the hit on yer ma?” Sully asks as he stares at me.
“Aye,” I finally respond when I can look at them. “I fucked this up.”
“You didn’t,” Racer throws back. “The Irish mob were behind the killing. It doesn’t matter who pulled the trigger, or who ordered the hit.” His tone is confident, his words adamant.