Page 53 of Brutal Heir (Ruthless Heirs #3)

THE DEVIL’S GRIN

R ory

The old Quinlan estate on the outskirts of Belfast smells like damp stone and decayed history. It’s colder than I remember. Its walls are thicker, shadows darker, air tighter. Maybe it’s not the place that’s changed. Maybe it’s me.

Bran walks beside me through the narrow corridors, silent as the grave. Much like the six-hour flight here. His jaw is tight, eyes refusing to meet mine. I don’t blame him. He’s delivering me like a lamb to the slaughter. Again.

I can’t help the wave of bitterness that rolls through. My family did nothing to protect me from these monsters, and the moment Blaine is in trouble, I come running back here like a fool.

A man in black waves us through another set of steel-reinforced doors until we reach a long hallway lined with dark oak and tarnished sconces. At the end, a room. No windows. Just a long rectangular table, two chairs, and a wide pane of mirrored glass on the wall.

It takes me half a second to realize what it is.

One-way glass.

I step forward into the dimly lit chamber, throat closing as I peer through it. On the other side, another room. Cold. Stark. Blaine sits tied to a chair in the middle, his head hanging low, a deep gash leaking blood down his temple. A sharp gasp escapes through my clenched teeth.

One eye is swollen shut. His lip is split. But he’s alive. Still breathing. Still my little brother.

I press a hand to the glass, my heart breaking open in my chest.

“You said he was okay,” I whisper to Bran, not looking away.

“He is . For now.” His voice is hoarse, worn raw.

I don’t reply. Because we both know what comes next.

“You never should have run,” he bites out through clenched teeth.

“And Da never should have forced me to marry him,” I hiss back.

“He didn’t exactly have a say in the matter, Brig.”

“That’s a heaping load of shite and you know it.” I heave in a steadying breath. “Da made Conall Quinlan.”

The truth is heavy between us for a long moment. Neither of us speaks. Barely breathes.

The door behind us opens, and I know it’s him before I even turn around. The temperature drops, the air thickens. My lungs constrict like they remember too well what fear tastes like.

Conall Quinlan enters the room as if he owns the world. Tall, cold, controlled. The Butcher of Belfast in a three-piece suit and the devil’s grin.

"Brigid," he says smoothly, like it’s a greeting between old friends. “You look well.”

I don’t respond. I don’t move. I’m scared if I do, I might lunge for his throat. Or faint. Maybe both.

His smile sharpens as he steps closer, slow and deliberate, like a predator savoring the hunt. “You’ve grown even more beautiful,” he murmurs, circling the table slowly. “New York’s been kind to you.”

I keep my mouth shut despite the volley of curses perched on the tip of my tongue.

“It’s been a long year, hasn’t it? Tell me… was he worth it? Your little rebellion? The Italian?”

“Fuck you,” I hiss, unable to remain silent for another moment.

“Watch your filthy whore of a mouth,” he snarls. He lifts a hand, eyes dark and menacing. “Or shall I remind you what happens when you disrespect me?”

I don’t wince. I don’t dare give him the satisfaction. Instead, I force my feet forward and step between him and the window. He doesn’t deserve to look at Blaine.

He chuckles softly, the sound as pleasant as shattered glass. “Still so fiery. That’s why I liked you in the first place. That fire, that spark. It’ll make breaking you all the more satisfying.”

Drawing in air through my nose, I force myself to remain calm. “You can try.”

“I won’t even have to lay a hand on you, Brigid. I’ll make your brothers do it for me.” He smiles gently, gaze flickering to my older brother standing motionless by the door. “That’s the difference between me and Rossi. I understand how to gain loyalty.”

The image is too brutal and bears too much truth to even get a word out.

Another glimmer of amusement brightens his cold hazel eyes. “So…Alessandro Rossi, huh? Gemini’s broken little prince. Tell me, Brigid, does he feck you like I used to?”

“Better,” I snap. “He’s a real man, Conall, with the biggest cock I’ve ever seen. Not a little gobshite in a suit pretending he’s king of the feckin’ world.”

That does it. The first real reaction. A flash of fury. Then a sharp crack, and a searing sting blossoms across my cheek before I realize his hand moved.

“There she is, my sharp-tongued Brigid.”

“It’s Rory now actually.” My stomach churns. I fight the urge to wretch. “Why am I here?” My voice is steel, even if the rest of me is shaking.

“To give you a choice.”

I blink. “What?”

A beat passes before he drops the bomb. “I still plan to marry you.”

The words slam into me like a blow. “You’re out of your feckin’ mind,” I whisper.

He chuckles. “Maybe. But even you must see the poetry in it. After all your running, all your rebellion, you’ll still be mine. And trust me, that will be the worst punishment of all.”

“I’d rather die,” I hiss, eyes searching desperately for Bran. Please, help me, dammit . The coward doesn’t even look at me.

“Would you?” Conall nods toward the glass. A damp curl of strawberry-blonde hair tumbles over Blaine’s brow. “Because you’re not the one who’ll pay.”

Behind the glass, my brother lifts his head weakly. One of Conall’s men steps forward with a knife.

“No, wait!” I lunge forward.

But it’s too late.

The man plunges the blade into Blaine’s side. Not deep enough to kill but enough.

Blaine screams, his voice raw and ragged, and I nearly collapse against the skewed chair.

“No. No. No.” I press my hands to the glass, my breath fogging up the surface. “You bastard!”

“Next time it won’t be his side,” Conall says softly behind me. Then his hand is at my throat, squeezing. Not tight enough to choke, but just enough to send panic surging through my veins and force my lungs to seize.

“Is that what you did to Maeve?” I rasp out. “To your own sister?”

Again, that cocky smile falters and his fingers tighten.

“She’s no sister of mine. She was a feckin’ traitor and she deserved what she got.

When I found out she was the one who helped you escape…

” He clucks his teeth, shaking his head.

“Her screams as I plunged the knife between her ribs are an enchanting melody I fall asleep to every night.”

A tremor darts up my spine, and I wrap my arms tight around myself to keep from shaking. Jesus, Mary and Joseph…he’s a monster.

“So, what’ll it be, Brig?” He ticks his head toward the glass window. “Next time, it’ll be Blaine’s throat. Or your father’s. Or Bran’s. Or maybe I’ll fly to Manhattan and carve up the other half of that pretty Italian face into something truly unrecognizable.”

A sob breaks from my throat. “Stop…”

“Then say yes.”

He gestures to the window again, fingers constricting so the edges of my vision begin to blur. “You see your brother over there? He enjoys breathing. Just like Maeve did. You want Blaine to join my traitorous sister?”

“Of course not,” I spit, barely keeping the tremor at bay.

“Then your choice should be simple. Marry me and he continues to breathe. Or don’t…”

I shake my head. “Please…”

He leans in, voice venomous. “Say. Yes.”

Another groan of pain echoes from the next room. My heart fractures.

I draw in a ragged breath, and the steel grip around my neck only tightens.

And then Alessandro’s face flickers through my mind—his touch, his voice, his love. The way he held me like I was worth saving. Like I was worth everything.

His last text message flashes across my vision.

I love you, Rory .

God, I’ve never loved anyone more. I want to hold on. I want to fight. But I’ve already lost too many people. And I can’t lose anyone else.

I turn back to Conall, the fire in my chest replaced with ice. “Yes,” I choke out.

His grin is slow. Triumphant. But at least he releases me. “I knew you’d come to your senses, Brig.”

I sag against the glass wall, gulping in blessed oxygen. I don’t look at Blaine again. I can’t. Because if I do, I’ll fall apart.

And right now, I need to survive. Long enough to find a way out of this hell.

I curl my fingers around the butterfly pendant beneath my collarbone. Alessandro. It's the only part of me that still feels real.

Clutching it with every ounce of dwindling strength, I vow to find a way out of this and make it back to him.