was all a song and dance for his boys—show no weakness—just like their old man taught them. But he was scared of James now. “I’m just giving the bitch what she deserves.”
Don’t call her that. He clenched his teeth to keep the words internal. “Get. Out.”
Ricky hesitated, and finally laughed. “You want her first. I get that. But me and the boys want a turn when you’re done.”
What the hell had happened to his sweet little brother who needed protection? He didn’t recognize this man—this monster. But then, James barely recognized his own reflection in the mirror anymore. Brendan’s death had changed all of them for the worse.
It didn’t matter, though. Brother or not, the only way Ricky would lay a hand on Carrigan was over James’s cold, dead body. He waited, letting that truth seep over his little brother’s face. Ricky’s eyes went wide, and he practically scrambled out of the room.
The door shut, and James sighed. He’d pay for this later, just like he’d paid for taking the whip to his brother’s back. Maybe Ricky still would have gone after the O’Malleys personally…but maybe he wouldn’t have. He finally looked up to find Carrigan watching him. She didn’t look particularly afraid, which would be what he’d expect of a woman held captive by her enemies.
No, she looked furious.
“You have me here, so what’s the plan? A little torture, maybe with some rape thrown in for shits and giggles.” Her voice didn’t waver, and hell if he didn’t respect her for it. She must have been terrified out of her damn mind, but she wouldn’t show a single slice of weakness that could be used against her. It had to cost her to keep it hidden—he of all people knew the cost of keeping that kind of thing locked down.
“No.” He moved around behind her to check the cuffs. They were tight enough that she couldn’t squeeze out, but they weren’t rubbing her wrists raw. He fished the key out of his pocket and unlocked them. He couldn’t leave her here, because he couldn’t afford to be here with her every second of the goddamn day, and it was glaringly obvious that he couldn’t trust her with anyone else. “Come on.”
“Thanks, but I’m good.”
He ignored her, hauling her to her feet by her upper arm. It felt wrong—so fucking wrong—to manhandle her when he couldn’t get those stolen moments at the club out of his mind. James shook his head, as if the motion could dislodge the feeling of her clenched tight around his cock.
It didn’t help.
He wanted her again, more than he’d wanted any woman he’d ever been with. It didn’t make a damn bit of sense, but even having his hand on the bare skin of her arm was enough to have his body roaring to life. Only ironclad control kept him from showing exactly how deeply she affected him.
She was the one woman he couldn’t have.
He marched up the stairs and threw open the door to his room. It was the only place in the house that he’d guarantee no one would fuck with when he wasn’t around, so it was a solid choice. But he couldn’t shake the almost primal satisfaction of seeing her surrounded by everything his.
Damn, he was losing it. He had to get his head on straight, because one fuck—even as mind-blowing as it’d been—didn’t change a thing. She was the daughter of the enemy, and he’d just kidnapped her. There was no possibility under the sun in which she didn’t hate him.
Carrigan walked farther into the room, and he couldn’t help noticing exactly how little that tiny excuse for a dress of hers covered. It barely touched the bottom of her ass, and that curve was enough to make what little blood was left in his brain course south.
“Stop staring at my ass.” She stopped next to his dresser, seemingly fascinated by the shit thrown across the top.
He crossed his arms over his chest. “Does your daddy know you leave the house dressed like that?”
She snatched the lamp off the dresser and spun. James barely had time to register to move when she threw it at his head. He got his arm up just in time to take the blow but, fuck, that hurt. Carrigan wasn’t done, though. She snatched the heavy ashtray he used to keep change in and flung it at him. “My daddy is going to skin you alive when he finds out what you’ve done.” A boot