Page 20 of Stolen Rival (The Stolen #1)
“Thank you so much, Mr. Farrell. I appreciate that. And the women did so well out there tonight, you must be very proud of them.”
“Aye, they’re a great team. We wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for our generous sponsors though.
” He drops his stare from my face back to Patrick’s feet.
“If you’d ever like a behind-the-scenes tour, or a photo op, you let me know Ms. McCarthy.
The team here at Drake Park will always take care of Mr. Mahoney and his family. ”
Cillian snorts, still sitting on the sofa. “Sure, there’s even a section of the stadium named after him.”
I wonder if they have a fucking statue to him out there as well. Hopefully, it has a tiny dick, or a fucked-up nose, and keeps Patrick awake at night.
After telling me there’s a signed rugby ball in the bag as well, and that the players will be right out, Mr. Farrell excuses himself, backing away from Patrick with a million thank yous and nods. Is he always this worked up? Or is it just Patrick who puts the fear of God in him?
“Where are the other sponsors?” I gratefully accept a mojito refill from the server and take a long sip. I’m probably not passing Patrick’s test; I’ve had two beers and am about to launch into my second mojito, but if he’s going to slice my throat when we leave here, at least I’ll be minty fresh.
“That’s because they’re not here. Patrick’s sponsorship contribution is significant enough that they build custom access around him.
Patrick Mahoney says jump and the Serpents’ organization says how high.
” Cillian takes a drink of his beer. “Think private dinners with the team, access to team trips…” He points his bottle at some signage around the lounge.
“Sponsor-branded post-match lounges. Hell, they even wanted to rename the stadium after him.”
Are my eyes deceiving me? Is Patrick Mahoney…
blushing ? The more I stare at his cheeks, the more I see a faint tinge of pink.
It’s probably just the light, or maybe I want to see more in him than a hard-nosed killer.
Maybe part of me needs him to show a sliver of humanity, considering I’m going to spend the rest of my life with him.
Why is this team important to him? He can’t possibly be an important part of the local community. They don’t actually like him, right? Everyone fears him, and they like his money.
“My mother was a big fan, used to play in her youth. I’m just carrying on her legacy.” He slices a hand through the air, his expression cutting off any further conversation. It’s the first time he’s mentioned his parents, but from the look on his face, he’s unlikely to share more.
Shame.
I’ve seen enough today for curiosity to tug at me.
Who is Patrick Mahoney? To me, he is nothing more than a murdering, piece of shit mafia boss.
He’s not a benevolent man, he doesn’t give a crap about the locals, but something about the way Mr. Farrell spoke about Patrick, the reverence in his voice makes me wonder, is there a heart under all that barbed wire?
The team bursts into the room in a flurry of activity, saving Patrick from the many questions racing through my mind, none of which he’ll probably answer.
But just the way his eyes softened when he mentioned his mother tells me he’s more than a hardened mafioso.
Or maybe it’s the fact they’re not around that turned him into the cold-blooded killer he is today.
The players make their way toward us, and unlike me and my brittle, fake smiles, they seem genuinely happy to see their benefactor.
There’s a waft of something mouth-wateringly delicious in the air, and while I can’t wait to eat, I also can’t take my eyes off this team of women having the craic with my intended.
They all hug him. Hug him, one at a time. They thank him for coming, rib him about why he’s wearing a suit to a rugby game and not his personalized shirt. Patrick’s not rigid as he returns their hugs and smiles, he seems almost… human.
His acting is sublime, a truly award-winning performance. If I didn’t know the real Patrick, a man who delighted in robbing me of most of my bloodline, I’d think this version of him might be the real one.
“They really love him.”
Cillian nods. “They’d have gone the way of the dodo, if it wasn’t for him. He saved the team.”
“A regular knight in shining armor,” I mutter into the rim of my mojito before taking a large gulp.
Patrick turns, holding out his hand in silent invitation.
Time to meet the team. Now that I’ve seen how much they all adore him, I’m half scared they won’t like me.
And I really want them to. I don’t usually care what kind of an impression I make on others, but I guess having everything ripped away has left me a little…
vulnerable. And in dire need of friends.
Could these women be my new friends? There’s no way in hell Patrick will let me hang out with anyone from my old life.
Especially not Eabha. She’d annoy him so much he’d slit her throat within the first five minutes.
She’s mouthier than I am. That means starting over, making new friends, his friends. My stomach clenches.
I need to accept that this is my life now and try to make the best of it, but every cell in my body screams in defiant rage. It feels like I’m getting into bed with the tall, dark, and handsome enemy. Metaphorically speaking. And soon, I’ll have to physically get into bed with him as well.