So here I am, sprawled on the carpet with my hands tied behind my back, stunned, panting, and humiliated.
And soaking wet.
Because although I hate Declan, my coochie thinks that bastard is divine.
To top it all off, he handled me like I was as weak as a limp noodle. All those years of self-defense training, all the hours I’ve sweated through advanced yoga poses, contorting my body in near-impossible ways, honing my core strength and toning my muscles, and that bossy Irishman wrangled me into submission in ten seconds flat like I was a bleating baby cow in its rodeo debut.
Then he spanked me, kissed me, and—for the final indignity—shoved me onto the floor and swaggered out.
The arrogant son of a bitch. First, he almost made me cry. Then, he almost made me come. As soon as I get the chance, I’m going to kill him.
Slowly.
Muttering curses, I sit up and get to work on the necktie binding my hands. After a few minutes of struggling, the knots loosen, and I get free.
The first thing I do is head straight to the drawer in the dresser in his closet where I saw a cigarette lighter when I was snooping earlier. I return to the bedroom and light his tie on fire.
Watching it burn is right up there with the top five most satisfying moments of my life.
When there’s nothing left but a smoldering scorch mark on the carpet and the acrid scent of burnt silk in the air, I toss the lighter onto the bed, sit cross-legged on the floor in front of the windows, slow my breathing, and meditate for twenty minutes.
And when I say “meditate,” I mean mentally run through all the ways I’d love to see Declan die.
Take a deep breath and remember who the fuck you are.
He’ll never get a rise out of me again. Every time I see him from now on, I’ll be a rock. I’ll be a cat, aloof and disinterested. Armed with sharp teeth and claws.
“Fucker,” I mutter under my breath. “Egotistical, overbearing, bad-tempered jerk.”
Take a deep breath. Remember who you are.
Another twenty minutes of affirmations produces as little positive effect on my mental state as the meditation did. I move on to yoga, but quickly discover that all the Feathered Peacock poses in the world can’t rid me of the brain stain that is Declan O’Donnell.
So be it.
I’ve survived bullies before.
I’ve survived humiliation before.
I’ll survive him.
Hours later, another one of the goon squad arrives, carrying a tray of food. He’s got dark blond hair, hazel eyes, broad shoulders, a cleft chin, and a spiderweb tattoo on one side of his neck.
His hands are the size of anvils. His jawline could cut steel. I instantly nickname him Thor.
I’m beginning to think Declan hires these guys based on their level of hotness. Birds of a feather and all that.
“Where’s Kieran?”
Thor doesn’t spare me a glance as he sets the tray down and picks up the old one. “Don’t bother tryin’ to chat me up, lass. I’ve been told not to talk to you.”
Like Kieran, he pronounces “you” like “ye.” Declan must’ve put something funny in the last food delivery, because I’m starting to think Irish accents are the sexiest of them all.
Or maybe that’s my brain bleed talking.
I don my brightest smile. “Oh, that’s okay. I don’t want to get you in trouble. I just wanted to know your name so I could tell Declan what a good job you did, but I understand you’re under orders. Mum’s the word.”
He straightens and glowers at me.
I make a zipper motion across my lips. “Seriously. No talking, I promise. Except if you could just tell me if Kieran’s okay, that would be great. We’re friends, you know. You and I could be friends, too, if you wanted, but I know that probably goes against your whole badass gangster vibe to befriend a helpless captive and whatnot. Has anyone ever told you that you bear a striking resemblance to Thor, the Norse god of thunder?”
He pauses before saying, “Usually I get Captain America.”
I gasp. “Oh my god, you’re so right! It’s that jaw. Very heroic.”
He looks momentarily pleased, before he remembers he’s not supposed to be talking to me. The glower makes a reappearance.
“Right. Sorry. My bad. If you could just tell Kieran I was asking after him, I’d really appreciate it. I feel so bad about his nose.”
“Don’t. It’s an improvement.” The faint approximation of a smile curves the corners of his mouth. “All the lads thought it was dead sound, lass. Wicked craic.” His smile vanishes. “Don’t tell Declan I said that, if you please.”
“I won’t. You can count on me. If he asks about you, I’ll tell him you were a mute asshole. That should make him happy.”
He lowers his head and examines my face for a moment. Then he nods and turns back to the door. Just as he’s about to leave, he turns back to me.
“The name’s Spider.”
“Your mother named you Spider? I don’t think so. What’s your real name?”
He considers me in silence for a while, then says grudgingly, “Homer. And if you repeat that, I’ll—”
“Homer? Very cool! I wish I were named after an ancient Greek poet, but I’m embarrassed to admit my mom wanted a name that would fit either a boy or a girl and found Sloane on some random baby name website. At least your mother had real inspiration. I think mine was drunk on rosé.”
When I notice how strangely he’s looking at me, I get worried. “Did I say something wrong?”
“Most people from this country think of the cartoon character Homer Simpson when I tell them my name.”
“Oh. Well, I’m not most people, now am I?”
When I grin, he chuckles softly, shaking his head. “I hear you offered to cook Kieran a meal.”
“Yes. But not only him. I offered to cook for all of you. I’m a very good chef, if I do say so myself. It’s too bad you and Kieran aren’t supposed to be talking to me, because you could lobby Declan to let me into the kitchen. It would be good therapy for us both. I’m already getting bored. Imagine how much I’ll annoy him in another few days when I’m really climbing the walls!”
He opens his mouth, remembers he shouldn’t be having this conversation, and shuts it again.
“Oops. That’s my fault. I don’t want to get you in trouble, so you should probably go. When I see Declan next, I’ll pretend to be crying and blame it on you.”
“Decent of you. Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.”
“By the way, what’s that stench?”
“I used Declan’s cigarette lighter to burn one of his ties.”
We gaze at each other in silence for a moment. He says gently, “Why don’t you give me the lighter, lass?”
“Ooh, good idea! You can tell him you took it away from me and I started sobbing. He’ll probably give you a raise.”
I retrieve the lighter from the bed and set it on the tray of empty dishes Homer’s holding. Then I smile at him. “It’s been nice meeting you. You and Kieran are both very sweet. I can’t believe you work for such a douche.”
He suddenly turns dead serious. “It’s my honor to work for him. He’s one of the best men I’ve ever known.”
Another one who’s drunk the Kool-Aid. The doctor said the same thing. “I think we’ll have to agree to disagree. But it was still nice to meet you. Please give Kieran my best.”
Homer can’t decide how to respond, so he leaves without saying anything.
He returns in short order with bags and bags of clothes. He sets the bags inside the door, turns to me, lowers his voice, says, “Kieran says hullo, and we’re working on the cooking thing,” then leaves again.
If only the lord of the manor were as nice as his minions.
I dig through the clothes, delighted to find almost everything I asked for. I contemplate texting Declan a list of things I’d like from Louis Vuitton and Cartier, just to see what he’d do, but decide I’d rather be shot dead than communicate with him. So I dress, eat the food Homer brought, and meditate again.
By the time all that’s finished, it’s twilight beyond the wall of windows, and I’m tired.
Unusually tired. Unless I had a big night out with Nat, I’m always brimming with energy. Right now, I feel like someone sucked all my energy out with a vacuum.
That’s probably what Declan was doing right before I woke up next to him in bed.
I walk around the room three times, inspecting everything again, hoping to find any clue about its occupant I might have missed, but have no luck. I also don’t find anything I can use as a weapon. Not that I think Declan is going to hurt me, but there’s no telling when the desire to stab him will present itself.
I’m about to give up and go to sleep when the man himself returns.
I didn’t think it was possible for him to look angrier than the last time I saw him, but I was wrong.
He closes the door behind him with such force, I jump. Then he stands there, staring at me with glittering icicle eyes, trying to kill me with a look.
“What did I do now?”
“What exactly did you say to Spider?”
I pretend innocence. “Was that the tall blond guy? I didn’t say anything to him.”
“No?”
Uh-oh. He knows something. Shit, I wonder if there are cameras in here? “I simply thanked him for bringing me food.”
“And what did he say?”
“Only that he wasn’t supposed to talk to me.”
Declan moves toward me, one step at a time, never taking his blistering gaze from my face. I resist the urge to back up and square my shoulders instead.
His voice low, he says, “He wasn’t supposed to talk to you. That was a direct order. Yet somehow he left this room with little red hearts in his eyes and the strange urge to conspire with Kieran to get me to let you cook for them.”
“Oh. Really? That is strange.”
He keeps moving slowly closer, a panther stalking its prey.
I clear my throat. “Actually, he was quite intimidating. He’s really got that whole strong-silent-type thing down.”
“So you’re saying he was silent? He didn’t speak a word?”
I lift my chin and meet his challenging stare. “Yes. That’s what I’m saying.”
Declan stops only inches away. He’s so close, I feel the anger coming off him in heated waves. He gazes down at me, grinding his jaw.
“Why would you lie for him?”
Either there are cameras in here, or Spider confessed. Trying to bullshit him clearly isn’t going to work, so I tell the truth instead. “I don’t want him to get in trouble.”
Declan draws a slow breath through flared nostrils. He’s trying very hard not to grab me around the throat. “Why would you care if he gets in trouble?”
“I don’t want him to get in trouble because of me. Also, he seems nice.”
He repeats flatly, “Nice.”
“Yes.”
“He’s killed six men within the past seventy-two hours.”
“Oh. Hmm. That does seem like a high number for such a short period of time. But he is a gangster, so I guess it comes with the territory. Is there a quota they need to meet or something?”
He does the slow-breathing thing again. When he seems confident that he’s controlled the urge to break my neck, he says, “You’ve bewitched two of my men. One whose nose you broke. The other one you only spent minutes with. Kieran fancies himself your butler, and Spider fancies himself in love. I won’t be able to send anyone else in here for fear they’ll come out trying to kill me.”
I have to suppress my smile. If he sees it, he could explode. “Just because you’re immune to my charms doesn’t mean everyone else is.”
His voice deadly soft and his eyes burning, he says, “Aye, your infamous ‘charm.’ That must be the influence your crazy ex Stavros was operating under when he attempted to shoot his way into the building.”
I arch my brows. “Stavros tried to rescue me? Already?”
“Aye.”
My heart skips a beat. “Oh god. Is he okay? You didn’t kill him, did you?”
“Why do you care one way or another? He bored you so much, you broke up with him.”
“That doesn’t mean I want him dead! And I asked you not to hurt him, remember?”
“I remember. Which is the only reason he’s still alive.”
I exhale a relieved breath and press my hand over my heart. “Whew! What did you do with him?”
“Put him on a slow boat to China.”
I can’t tell if that’s the truth or if he’s being sarcastic, but I know he didn’t hurt Stavros. I can tell by his expression that he’s disappointed in himself about it.
“Thank you. I appreciate it. Sincerely.”
When he only stands staring at me with those blistering eyes, I feel defensive.
“What now?”
“You’re strange. And powerful. And aggravating beyond belief. I can’t decide if I should muzzle you for the remainder of your stay or unleash you on my enemies. I think you’d have them all eating out of your hand within an afternoon.”
After a moment, I say, “Funny, but that almost sounded like a compliment.”
“It wasn’t. I don’t like you.”
“I don’t like you, either.”
The space between us crackles with heat. His gaze is palpable, as if there’s a current of electricity attached to it, shooting into my body, straight down between my legs.
He looks at my mouth and moistens his lips.
That’s the last thing I remember before I wake up in the hospital.
