Page 24 of Stolen Rival (The Stolen #1)

PATRICK

Emerging into the arrivals hall at JFK airport, I glance around, seeking the driver Dylan promised to send to pick us up and take us to his mansion on the shore of the Hudson River.

It’s been some time since I’ve been on this side of the pond, but it’s somewhere I’ll have to spend a lot more time once I inherit Dylan’s business interests and extensive wealth, although Ireland will always be home.

A white sign with Mahoney in thick black lettering stands out from the crowd.

Keeping a tight hold on Sorcha, I weave through the hordes toward the man dressed in a black suit, dark sunglasses covering his eyes.

I almost laugh at the stereotypical mafioso.

With that getup, he could audition for a role in The Godfather.

As we approach, he lowers the sign and stuffs it underneath his arm, then holds out his hand. “Mr. Mahoney, sir. Right this way.”

Spinning on his heel, he beelines for the exit. An imposing Escalade with blacked-out windows is double-parked right outside the terminal building. A parking attendant approaches, their expression one of glee, but whatever our driver says has them hurrying away.

It pays to be powerful.

Our driver opens the rear door and takes our luggage to the boot. I motion to Sorcha to get in first. She does without question, continuing the silent treatment she kept up for the entire flight where she spoke only when spoken to.

Once our seat belts are fastened and the driver pulls out into a constant stream of traffic, earning a blare on the horn of an approaching vehicle, I activate the privacy screen and twist toward my wife.

“This monosyllabic attitude is wearing thin.”

Her tongue darts out to wet her lips, and her fingers clutch her handbag a bit tighter. “I thought you wanted a compliant wife.”

“I do.”

“Then I’m not sure what your problem is.”

Honestly? Neither am I. A week ago, I’d have said this is precisely the kind of behavior I wanted her to display. Now I’ve had a taste of her snappy comebacks and sharp one-liners, I crave more.

“The problem is it’s not my intention to quash your personality.

I don’t want a silent wife. You’re allowed to have thoughts and opinions and to voice those.

As long as you treat me with the kind of respect which befits a man of my position and standing in this world, then I have no problem with you showing your character. ”

There’s a beat of silence before she laughs, but it’s not an amused sound. It’s filled with astonishment.

“You want respect? A man who murdered my entire family and who is holding the safety of my last remaining relative over my head who, I might add, isn’t capable of hurting a fly. A man who forces me to marry him. Does that sound like a man who deserves respect to you?”

I smooth a hand over my tie and tug on the cuffs of my pale blue shirt.

“May I remind you that it was because of your family’s actions that I needed a wife in the first place?

If your father hadn’t ordered that hit, then you and I would never have met, and you could have lived a life of your choosing.

But we all have to play the cards we are dealt. ”

She snorts. “Even so, respect is earned, not given. Husband. ”

If anyone else showed such contempt, I’d have slit their throat by now. But with Sorcha, it amuses me. I’m not entirely sure why.

We both stare at each other, locked in a silent war of wills. She bristles, becoming more indignant, and when she opens her mouth, I brace myself for a barrage of abuse that’s certain to come my way. Except something far worse happens instead.

She breaks down into floods of tears. I’m a tough man, and I can deal with a great many situations, but this… I’m not qualified for this.

Fuck. If we get to Dylan’s house and her eyes are puffy and red, he’s going to know she’s miserable, and the last thing I need is his focus to be on Sorcha rather than on handing over the business to me.

Dylan might be a boss, but in his eyes, we care for family.

And like it or not, Sorcha is now a part of mine.

“You really have no heart?” Her breath hitches, her cheeks wet.

“Can’t you put yourself in my shoes for a fraction of a second?

You t-t-took everything from me, and now we’re married.

How am I supposed to resolve those two things?

To you, my family deserved it. Their deaths were nothing but a business transaction, but to me, they were my flesh and blood, people I saw every day, people I loved.

” She sniffs, brushing her nose with the back of her hand.

An urge to reach out and try to comfort her rolls through me, but I fear she’d swing a punch directly at my face if I tried. I don’t regret what I did. If I didn’t kill her family, they wouldn’t have stopped until me and mine were dead. But something’s pressing on my chest.

I can’t give her back her family, but I can maybe smooth things over enough between us that we both survive this trip, and maybe beyond. “I’m sorry.”

Her watery eyes meet mine, and she narrows them, evidence she doesn’t buy my apology.

I clear my throat and try again. “I’m not sorry for what I did, but for what it cost you.

” I’m shocked to find that I might just actually mean the words that came out of my mouth.

I can’t imagine how difficult things are for her right now.

I’ve been so wrapped up in my own business, using her as a tool to get what I want that I didn’t take a beat to think about it from her perspective.

“I’m sorry things are difficult for you, but if you work with me, I’ll do my best to make your life easier.”

On the off chance Dylan doesn’t put a demand in his will for us to remain married—which I fully expect him to—I plan to divorce her once I’ve absorbed his business interests into mine. Not that she needs to know any of that.

“How?”

“I’ll make you a deal.”

She frowns. “What kind of a deal?”

“If you play the part of a dutiful, respectful wife while still letting your personality show, when we return to Ireland, I’ll loosen the reins a little. ”

Those ice-blue eyes of hers fill with the flickers of hope, and I flinch under the weight of it. “Say more things like that.”

I half smile. “You will be allowed to leave the property once a week—with a bodyguard. You can visit your brother, go to a spa and get your hair and nails done. Whatever you like.”

“Twice a week. And I resent the implication that the only hobbies I have are making myself look more palatable for the male population.”

I chuckle at her sass. “This isn’t a negotiation. Once a week for the first month, then I’ll revisit my decision. If you’ve been a good girl, then we’ll see.”

Leaning over to her side of the car, I run the back of my forefinger over her cheek. She doesn’t pull away. Good.

“Can you be a good girl, Sorcha?”

She rubs her lips together, and a faint pink flush creeps up her neck. “I-I can.”

“Excellent. Then we’re both winners.”

Her nostrils flare as she takes a deep breath in. “What’s he like? Your cousin, I mean.”

“Astute, even with cancer ravaging his body.”

“It’s sad. It’s a horrible disease.”

I shrug. “We all have to go sometime.”

“Yes, but there’s a bad death and a good death. Cancer is definitely a bad death.”

“So’s taking a bullet to the stomach and bleeding out slowly.”

“Who are you talking about?”

“Niamh.” I stare directly into her eyes. “My original choice for a wife.”

A fierce blush blooms in her cheeks. “I’m sorry you got landed with the booby prize. I’m sure she was far more beautiful than me. Probably thin, too. And I’m guessing blonde. ”

The car hits a bump, and her tits bounce up and down. My eyes lock on her chest. She’s got a magnificent rack, and when the time is right, I’ll enjoy burying my face between them.

“You shouldn’t talk shit about yourself. Your brain doesn’t know the difference. Feed it lies and they become the truth.”

She looks away, returning her gaze to the view out of the window. “You’re not denying it though.”

I clasp her chin and force her to turn back around and face me. “You’re a beautiful woman. Curves are sexy. So is character. Remember that.”

Her eyes flare wide. “Did you just pay me a compliment?”

“Yes.” I draw my thumb briefly across her plump bottom lip, and fuck me, she parts her lips. I slip it inside. Her mouth closes around my thumb, and she sucks.

A hiss spills out of me at the flush of heat spreading through my midsection. The change in atmosphere came at me so fast, it made my head spin.

There’s a popping sound as I pull out my thumb. I almost move in to kiss her when the intercom buzzes, and the driver informs us we’ve arrived at Dylan’s place. I unfasten my seat belt and alight from the car. By the time I reach the other side, Sorcha is standing on the gravel driveway.

“Wow.” She glances around, taking in the impressive structure. It’s a modern building, all glass frontage to take in the views, and while it’s too contemporary for my tastes, I can appreciate the architecture.

“Different to Ireland, huh?”

“Very different.”

“Maybe pick your jaw up off the floor before meeting Dylan.”

A small smile lifts the corners of her mouth up. “Did you just make a joke? ”

“No,” I lie, taking her hand and registering that there isn’t a moment of hesitation nor a trace of a tremble as I wrap my large calloused fingers around hers.

“I think you did. Wow. A joke, a compliment, and a deal all in one day. Are you sure you’re feeling okay?”

Her smile widens, and something shifts in my chest. Providing she plays her part well, and I make it back to Ireland alive and a whole lot richer, I might have to acknowledge that marrying Sorcha McCarthy may not be the disaster I feared it could be.

A uniformed staff member opens the door, and we’re ushered straight up a wide glass and oak staircase to the second floor. There’s a guard standing outside a room at the far end, which I guess is where Dylan is holed up while he waits for the grim reaper to arrive.

I look down at Sorcha. She’s gnawing on her bottom lip. Nerves, I guess. I tug her lip away from her teeth before she draws blood.

“Relax,” I murmur. “You’re going to do fine.” I squeeze her finger. “Ready to meet Dylan?”

Rubbing her lips together, she nods.

I motion to the guard. He opens the door, and we enter. Whatever Sorcha has said, and whatever fears she’s holding onto over her brother’s safety, I will watch her like a hawk. One wrong move, and she will live to regret it.