Mafia King (Young Irish Rebels #2) - Vi Carter Page 0,19

I can think of is how hard he was against me. He had been aroused as he had pressed me against the wall earlier, and I had liked the feel of his body against mine. My mind had skipped and jumped, wondering what it would really feel like to have a man.

I press my legs firmly together as if I can stop the thoughts. Heat quickly makes a path up my neck. It was the worst thing about having red hair and pale skin; I couldn’t hide my burning cheeks. I was like a beacon.

“I’m really thirsty.” The word please lodges itself in my throat.

His footsteps move away from the door, and I clench my fist. I need to say please.

I’m ready to go back down the steps and find an alternative when I freeze on the third step.

“Go back down, and I’ll give you water.”

I’m grinning at how stupid he is and walk back down the steps. I stand still and place my hands behind my back. I look too suspicious, so I fold them across my chest. Now I look guarded.

I drop my hands on either side of me as the basement door opens. There is an energy of anticipation at seeing his face again. His legs appear, and he stops his descent.

“Are you going to say please?” He asks, and I can’t see his face, but his voice holds no humor.

I won’t say it.

He bends, and I meet his dark eyes, my stomach squirms. He takes a quick look around me before he throws the bottle of water down the flight of stairs. I’m rushing forward and jumping. I just barely catch it in mid-air.

I can’t wait to wipe the grin off his face as he heads back up the stairs. I don’t move until the door closes before I open the bottle of water. I wasn’t lying about being thirsty. I empty nearly three-quarters of the bottle before I set it on the top of the washing machine and get to work on the aluminum. I roll it into small balls and drop them into the water bottle. Each one brings a memory of Noel teaching me how to build homemade bombs. It’s what my family did. My dad was known for his bomb-making. He had built a lot for the RA. He was a respected member.

The likes of the Northerner upstairs was the enemy. I’m still confused why I was handed over, but right now, all that mattered was staying strong and remembering what they did to us. They killed innocent women and children. They took our land. That’s all they cared about, land and killing.

Once I have enough aluminum balls in, I take the drain cleaner out of the tumble dryer and pour it into the water bottle. I place the lid on and make my way up the stairs. The impact wouldn’t blow down the door or anything, but it would be enough to cause a loud explosion. I shake the bottle and place it at the door before racing back down the steps. I’m waiting, and the excitement that bubbles up inside me starts to dispel. It was silly of me to build a bomb. I’m ready to take a step towards the stairs when the explosion roars down the stairs. The plastic bottle shoots past me like a missile, and I duck as it rolls to the ground close to my feet.

The door opens, and his feet clear the fifth step before he comes into view holding a black 9 mm pistol. He glances at me but looks around the room with the gun raised. He’s looking for the threat. It takes him a moment to see there isn’t one, and I’m the only one down here.

His gaze darts to the torn bottle close to my feet; he frowns but doesn’t put the gun away as his gaze dances between me and the bottle.

“What’s that?” He’s pointing at the bottle with the gun. “What’s that smell?”

I don’t answer. Pride swells inside me, and for a moment, I can picture Noel grinning at my antics.

That slowly dissolves as the gun is pointed at me. “What the fuck did you do?”

I’m not stupid. I have a gun pointed at me, and I have no idea if he will pull the trigger. It’s the first time in my life someone has pointed a gun in my face.

“I made a bomb,” I answer.

He lowers the gun and glances at the bottle before pushing it into