Page 15 of Stolen Rival (The Stolen #1)

“Absolutely not.” I turn back to face him.

“Why would I need protecting in my own home? In fact, didn’t you tell me that this place was completely secure?

” I snort. “Either you’re full of shit, or you think I need protection against your dangerous shrubbery.

” I raise a brow at him. “Which is it? Are you full of shit? Or do you have a garden bursting with rogue flora that doesn’t obey your every command? ”

I’m playing a dangerous game. He could easily hop his desk, drag me back to my room, and lock me there for the rest of eternity, but there’s a nagging feeling in my stomach that won’t let up.

And granted, it still has stitches in it, but my gut doesn’t generally lead me wrong.

Patrick needs me. If he didn’t, I’d be dead already.

The man wants me to acquiesce, which means he’s going to have to meet me at least part way, and I’m going to enjoy every second of earning every inch he gives.

“Maybe you’re the dangerous one. Maybe my trees need protection from you.

” He points a shiny metal letter opener at me.

Jesus Christ, does this man have a micropenis?

There has to be some kind of psychological reason for him always grabbing the nearest weapon-adjacent item and using it to threaten people.

“Right, because my injured self is a formidable match against hundred-year-old and fifty-foot-tall trees.” My voice has a snicker to it, but inside, my stomach is withering.

Those trees are tall, so are the walls that surround the Mahoney property.

There’s no way Sean or anyone else is getting in, or me out, without being discovered.

“Seventy-five feet.” Smug fucker. “And one hundred and eighty-five years old.”

I swallow down the acidic taste on the back of my throat.

“I can barely get up and down the stairs without breaking a sweat. You think I’m going to be able to haul my fat arse up seventy-five feet and make a break for it over your wall-mounted electric fence?

” There’s literally more chance of my family coming back to life and rescuing me than there is of me being able to scale the walls of this place.

It’s an educated guess that he has electric fences, but I could see the high walls from my window. And Da always said barbed wire could be cut, while electric fences were the smarter option.

“Fuck me, Patrick, I thought you were a smart man, even if you picked a clueless waste of space as a bride.”

As much as I loathe him with every fiber of my being, Patrick isn’t an idiot. He wouldn’t make it easy for people to get into his house.

As expected, that’s the moment something inside him snaps because he’s on me like bees on sugar water in a second, pinning me against the wall with his big hand on my throat.

“Don’t speak about yourself that way.” His voice is a low grumble, and with the oxygen deprivation to my brain, it’s possible I’m dreaming that he’s scolding me for calling myself fat and useless as opposed to calling him stupid.

“Some men prefer their women with curves rather than stick thin. And your father might have kept you out of the business, but you’re far from stupid, Sorcha McCarthy. ”

Whoa? So, I was right. He was scolding me for talking shit about myself. Okay then. And some men… Is he referring to himself?

Back up, back up. Do not ask that question. We are not going there.

“Trust is earned, not given, mo mhuirnín, ” he continues. “You’ll go out with one of my guards. Behave yourself, and we can negotiate a longer leash.”

He’s so close, his manly scent threatens to hypnotize me into being putty in his hands. Instead, though, I stand on his toe, making him jump back. With a little more distance between us, and having caught him off guard, I’m able to push his hand away from my throat.

“I don’t know who taught you to court women.

” I rub at my neck, mostly to prevent him from grabbing it again.

“But choking isn’t my kink. And leaving bruises around my throat doesn’t quite send the message to people that we’re all loved up.

” I push past him, ready to run out the open door like a deer being chased by a predator.

“I’m going out into the gardens. Your heavy will find me in the rose garden reading a book or stealing fruit from your trees. ”

“You’ll wait to be escorted outside, Sorcha.”

I’m already striding to the back of the house.

I don’t flip him off, but I don’t slow my pace either, which serves to do nothing other than make my side throb.

I half expect him to appear behind me, to spank me for my missteps, for my sassy mouth, my insolence, but instead, when I open the back door, a man in a giant’s body is already there, waiting for me.

I fucking hate Patrick Mahoney.

I want to scream but bite it down and smile instead. Because the hardest part is behind me. I’ve gotten permission to get to where I need to be, when I need to be there. All I have to do now is wait.