Page 14 of Stolen Rival (The Stolen #1)

SORCHA

Hopefully, the slam of the door is enough of a “fuck off and leave me the hell alone” so that the three stooges won’t come anywhere near my bedroom for a while.

I can’t stand this stupid pony show for a moment longer.

Even though Sean’s note is burning a hole in the palm of my hand, I need to get this fucking dress off me before I can focus enough to read it.

With trembling hands and a racing heart, I strip down to my underwear, throw on leggings and a hoodie, and lock myself in the bathroom, relieved and almost grateful that Patrick didn’t take this door off its hinges as some kind of safety measure when he moved me into this room.

Almost grateful, because that arsehole still killed my family, took me against my will, and is using Cathal, an innocent, vulnerable boy with special needs as a weapon, a threat to keep me in line.

That’s more than enough to show me his character, and it’s rotten to the fucking core.

Patrick Mahoney never does anything out of the goodness of his heart because he doesn’t fucking have one .

Who could forget the fact he just sliced a man’s throat at the dinner table? Da never really talked business in front of me, but I’ve seen Cormac around our house since I was wee. I knew him. And Patrick disposed of him like he was nothing, no one, just a simple inconvenience at the dinner table.

The man’s a fucking monster.

And no matter what small luxuries he affords me in my ivory-tower prison, I need to keep myself grounded in the fact that he is a villain. If every priest in County Kildare got together to perform an exorcism on Patrick Mahoney, they couldn’t get all the demons and darkness out of his body.

His soul is doomed for all eternity. And if I had even a shadow of a doubt about the beast’s constitution, it was made clear at dinner while Cormac’s blood seeped across the perfectly ironed white tablecloth as we all sat waiting for our ribeye steaks.

A shudder shakes my bones at the memory.

It took all my strength not to scream and flee the room like a horse at the sound of a pistol, but somehow, I managed to stay calm and sit still.

To be honest, it looked like Cormac had accepted his fate from the moment Patrick walked into the room.

Cormac didn’t even try to hide his hatred for the Mahoneys.

If Patrick hadn’t killed him when he did, Cormac would have been a problem somewhere down the line.

Make life easy for yourself, Da used to say. Don’t leave loose ends, don’t show weakness to the staff, and put an end to potential problems before they even have a chance to bloom.

Seems Patrick and Da had more in common than I thought. Another shudder rolls through my body. Patrick Mahoney doesn’t even deserve to be held in the same thought as Da.

Bastard.

I press my back against the bathroom door and slide to the floor, fingers trembling at what I’m about to read when I unfold the small piece of paper Sean pressed into my palm when he squeezed my hand.

The tiny almost unrecognizable grain of hope tucked way down deep in my chest sprouts a fresh seedling.

From the look in Sean’s eyes, he was not only relieved to see me alive and well, but there was a determination in his features, and I hope that determination wasn’t just to survive, but to get me the fuck out of here.

My hand shakes so much I drop the piece of paper twice, but when it’s open, that bead of hope inside me doubles in size.

Sunrise in the orchard

Day after tomorrow

Bring a book—pretend to read.

You’re not alone.

My heart skips to a fast-paced rhythm as I struggle to keep my breath under control. How will they get onto the Mahoneys’ property? Are they coming to rescue me?

Excitement quickly fizzles to caution. Is Cathal safe? I won’t leave this place if my brother isn’t protected, if Patrick can still get to him.

There’s no way Patrick will let me go outside into the garden the day after tomorrow out of the blue, especially by myself.

I bite my lip, thinking. It’s still early, close to 8 p.m. I can tell them I need some air after witnessing a murder in cold blood.

It might be an everyday occurrence for this family of barbarians, but it isn’t for me.

My father didn’t do a lot right in his life, but he didn’t kill people where I could see. Seems it’s one of the few times being the waste-of-space child served in my best interest. No use teaching the girl to kill; she’d inevitably fuck it up.

I throw on a pair of trainers, pull my hair into a high ponytail, and steel myself for yet another encounter with the grim reaper.

After running through a few arguments in my head I take the staircase down to where the brothers are loud enough for me to follow their voices.

My plan is simple: I’ll go out this evening with an escort.

I’ll go out again tomorrow morning with a book, set a precedent for reading outside.

It’ll prove I can be trusted, that I’m an obedient little thing who doesn’t need to waste someone’s time by having them babysit me among the dangerous fucking apple trees.

And hopefully by day three, they’ll let me wander the grounds by my big girl self, without a hulking brute of a security oaf following me around like an angry guard dog.

Patrick Mahoney has surrounded himself with several creatures all trained to kill on command, and I don’t want man, or man’s best friend, to be my undoing.

It’s a Hail Mary, but it’s the only plan I’ve got in the time Sean’s given me. And if it doesn’t work, it’s on Sean to get me where I need to be so he can pull this off.

The McCarthys have never needed rescuing a day in their fucking lives, not until the Mahoneys came and fucked everything up.

I’ll make this son of a bitch pay. I don’t know how or when.

I’ve got much more important things to worry about, like getting the hell out of here before I’m forced to say, “I do.”

He may be handsome, but I’d rather boil my fanny flaps than let that man anywhere near my naked body. Men like Patrick Mahoney need heirs, and Da would be horrified to know how I’d ended up.

Another pang of grief strikes, taking the air from my lungs, tears immediately springing to my eyes.

Fuck. How did my family live with this every day?

The killing? The constant threat of being killed?

We’ve lost people over the years, part of the job, Da would say, but this…

this is inhumane. How am I supposed to marry the man who stole everything from me, even if it was part of the job to him?

The Mahoney brothers are in the study, in various stages of undress.

Patrick sits behind his desk, still fully suited and booted.

Liam’s lying sideways on an oversized leather chair, his tie and shoes are gone, and the top two buttons on his shirt are open.

And Darragh’s stretched out on the sofa adjacent to Patrick’s desk, in his undershirt.

Both brothers are sipping a deep golden liquid from tumblers. Patrick, I notice, is drinking coffee.

To draw their attention from whatever they’re talking about, I knock on the door, then push it open wider. If they wanted privacy, they probably should have closed it all the way. They aren’t the only people in the house anymore, and we all need to get used to it.

“Sorcha, to what do we owe this delightful pleasure?” Darragh is clearly tickled by the fact his older brother has landed himself with a troublemaking fiancée.

“I’d like permission to walk the grounds.”

Patrick’s face darkens. “No.”

This is off to a great start.

“Look. I understand that you hold all the cards here, but if you want a dutiful wife to toe the line, you’ve got to give me something in return.

Compromise. Do you know what that big word means, Patrick?

” I swallow. In for a penny… “If not, I’m sure that colossal library full of dusty old books has a dictionary in there. You could go and look it up. ”

From the smirk on Darragh’s face, Patrick has never had to consider the word compromise before in his life.

“No.” Patrick’s monosyllabic—and repetitive—answer beds under my skin like a splinter.

“Fine, then I’ll find a way to off myself for real this time.” I plant my hands on my hips.

Patrick braces his hands on the edge of the oak desk and stands. “Then what’ll happen to poor wee Cathal?” There’s an edge of threat in his voice, but he’s taunting me. I knew he’d throw my brother in my face at the first opportunity. He seems to love reminding me that he has the upper hand.

“I imagine you’d get rid of him, too. Like you did the rest of us.” I wave my hand like it’s no big deal. “I guess then at least my family would all be together in heaven.”

Liam snorts. “Right, like the McCarthys are all up there having the craic with God. People like us don’t end up at the pearly gates.”

That’s a thought I don’t want to dwell on right now, so I give him a dismissive shrug and spin to leave. If Patrick’s going to be an unrelenting prick, there are worse fates to befall me and Cathal than ending up buried in shallow graves.

“Wait.” It’s Darragh who speaks. “Come on, Patrick. Don’t be a stubborn arsehole. If she’s supposed to live here, be your wife, have your kids, do you really expect her to spend all her time cooped up in that one bedroom? That’s shitty, even for you.”

“She has an en suite.” Patrick’s pushback is pathetic and he knows it. There’s not as much fight in his voice. “But I suppose I can spare one of my security team to escort you out into the gardens.”