Page 13 of Stolen Rival (The Stolen #1)

PATRICK

There’s a certain… satisfaction in watching grown men metaphorically piss their pants using words alone. Fear has a stench, and these men are stinking up my dining room. It’s odd how the only person here who doesn’t appear to be afraid of me is Sorcha.

Well, her and my brothers but that goes without saying.

I tip my bowl toward me and spoon the remaining soup into my mouth.

Setting it down, I carefully weigh up each of the men around the table.

Most avoid my gaze, but one has the merest hint of challenge in his eyes.

My smile grows. A wicked part of me never far from the surface hoped this would be the outcome of this little gathering.

Pushing back my chair, I rise from the table and move behind Sorcha.

I sweep her hair over one shoulder, noting how she stiffens at my touch.

Not from fear, though. Apprehension, maybe.

Anxiety at what my next move might be. I trail my index finger along the back of her neck. “Beautiful, isn’t she?”

Liam snickers. Darragh grins. And the other six… they say ab solutely nothing, their eyes staring into their untouched soup.

“Isn’t she?” I bellow.

A chorus of yeses rises up from the table.

I drag my knuckle over her cheek. Every cell in her body probably wants to pull away from me, to bite my hand or elbow me in the nuts, but she doesn’t.

I’m impressed. She’s got bigger balls than these six arseholes, although the man sitting closest to Liam is still tracking me, his shoulders pinned back instead of slouched, his soup untouched.

I move along to the man sitting on my betrothed’s left and drop my hand onto his shoulder. He jumps as if shot with two hundred and forty volts. I dig my fingers into the thick muscle above his collarbone, a smile on my lips and a threat in my grip.

“She’ll make a stunning bride, don’t you think?”

He nods vigorously. So quick to agree, to bend the knee to the new king. Condescendingly, I pat his cheek, then move on to the next, and the next, and the next until I’m standing right behind the one who challenged me with his eyes.

“And what about you, Cormac?” This time, I grip one of McCarthy’s former captains with both hands on either side of his neck and rock him back and forth in what could be mistaken for a friendly gesture.

“What do you think old man McCarthy would think of his daughter being here tonight, with the enemy?”

He clears his throat and stares directly ahead. “He wouldn’t like it.”

“Hmm.” I scan the occupants. Not a single one of the men is watching me, their heads bowed as if it’s Sunday, and they’re in fucking church. “He wouldn’t like it. Do you hear that, mo mhuirnín ? What do you say to that?”

Her belligerent stare warms my groin, her guts something that should shame these fucking cowards. She’s got more backbone than every one of them put together.

I hold her gaze, interested in how she’ll answer.

With false courtesy or brave defiance? I hope it’s the latter, even though I should crave her submission, especially with a looming visit to my cousin on the horizon.

The more I allow her to get away with, the tougher time I’ll have ensuring she plays the dutiful bride in front of the only man who matters.

“No. He wouldn’t like it. In fact, he’d hate it. But as you put a bullet through his head, it’s a moot point, wouldn’t you say?”

There’s a gasp from the man to her left, and another snicker from Liam.

Once again, I let my gaze linger on her, our eyes locked in a private battle.

I’m not sure why I’m taking this backchat from her, especially as this was supposed to be a test of her compliance.

I wouldn’t take that mouth from anyone else, that’s for sure.

Maybe because they don’t turn me on—but she does.

My dick could knock a hurling ball for six, it’s that hard.

Besides, I’m still in full control of this situation. I can allow a little latitude under the circumstances. It’s fun.

“That’s my girl,” Cormac murmurs.

“Wrong.” I snatch his steak knife off the table and slit his throat. Blood spurts from the wound, and there’s a gurgling noise before he nosedives right into his untouched bowl of soup. “She’s my girl.”

Stunned silence greets me. I hadn’t planned to kill anyone tonight, but I’m not mad about it. Sends the perfect message to those who might have considered colluding to overthrow me.

Leaning over the dead body, I pick up his napkin and wipe the knife clean, then set the blade on the table, tossing the blood smeared napkin beside it. I return to my seat and slide a hand around Sorcha’s neck, massaging the taut muscles.

“Maeve,” I call to my housekeeper who’s seen it all before. She appears almost instantly and shows no reaction to the bloody tablecloth, nor the dead man face down in a bowl of soup.

“Yes, sir?”

“We’re ready for the next course now, thank you.”

Nodding, she begins gathering up the soup bowls, but when she reaches Cormac’s, she hesitates and looks across the table at me.

“You can leave his. It’s not as though he’ll drown in it.” I dab my napkin at the sides of my mouth, then set it down beside me. “Maeve cooks the best ribeye steak in the entire county. I expect to see clean plates. After all, you wouldn’t want to offend her, now, would you?”

“You’re just going to leave him there?” Sorcha asks, aghast.

“Yes.”

“My God,” she mutters.

“Your God. Indeed.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“I know.” I sit back as Maeve and two members of the kitchen staff set down our main course. Pointing to Sorcha’s plate, I snap, “Eat.”

Surprisingly, she does. Wonders never cease.

The silence is broken only by the sounds of eating and the occasional side-eye at the blood stain that’s finally slowed its relentless march across the tablecloth. Plates empty, the five remaining survivors of the evening sit back in their chairs, waiting for the next set of instructions.

“Dessert?” I ask. “Or are we done here?” It’s not a question, even though it’s framed as one .

“I’m pretty full,” the man sitting across the table from me says, his eyes flickering up before he returns his attention to his plate.

“Me, too,” another one says. “Thank you for inviting us to your home, Boss.”

The other three mumble similar sentiments. Taking Sorcha’s hand, I rise to my feet, pulling her with me. After Liam and Darragh have also risen, the five men get up.

“You’ll receive your instructions in the morning.” I motion to the door, and they all file out into the hallway. I follow, towing my reluctant fiancée along with me. One of the men, another of her father’s captains, turns around and smiles at her, then squeezes the hand I’m not holding.

“Your da would be happy to know you were well taken care of, Sorcha,” he says in an obvious attempt to get on my good side. “It’s a dangerous world out there.”

“More dangerous in here, but thank you.”

I suppress a chuckle. It wouldn’t do for her to realize how amusing I find her. As the door closes on this evening’s guests, she yanks her hand from mine and folds her arms.

“Permission to go to my room, Boss Mahoney .” Sarcasm threads through each word. I grip her chin, tipping her head back.

“Careful, mo mhuirnín . I’m not averse to taking a knife to your pretty neck.”

“It’d be preferable to marrying you, so be my guest.”

Liam chuckles again. “Fuck, that’s some big lady balls you’ve got there.”

She glares at him, then returns her attention to me. “But then you’d still be single. And considering your last fiancée is barely cold in the ground, you seem desperate for a wife for some reason I haven’t yet fathomed. ”

She’s either extremely perceptive, or she’s taking shots in the dark. I’m not sure which yet. “Not desperate. Calculating.”

She shrugs. “Whatever. Can I go, or do you want to continue this thrilling conversation in the hallway?”

I run my tongue along the underside of my top teeth. My dick could not get any harder. “You may go.”

The impish little witch curtsies before darting up the stairs as if Titan were snapping at her heels.

“You’ve got the human equivalent of a migraine on your hands there, brother.” Darragh claps me on the shoulder, a shit-eating grin stretching his lips wide.

“I can handle her.”

“I hope you’re right, for all our sakes.”

The sound of a door slamming reaches me. I run a hand over my face.

So do I, brother. So do I.