Page 26 of Stolen Rival (The Stolen #1)
If they were, we wouldn’t be in this mess. Patrick wouldn’t be here courting him for his blessing because Dylan would have bestowed his kingdom to his sons.
As we get settled, the little kids take turns running up to him to plant kisses on his cheeks, and the grown-ups do the same, patting his shoulder, or hand, and giving me a nod or a smile as they do.
It’s a well-practiced ritual but seemingly born out of love and adoration, rather than a directive.
This chosen family adores their patriarch.
It’s clear from the watery smiles, warm glances, and the way they all want to sit in the seats closest to him.
As nice as he’s being, though, I’m all too aware that he wouldn’t have reached his position if he wasn’t utterly ruthless.
If Patrick was more genial, like his cousin, I wouldn’t be so fearful and filled with abject horror at the idea of spending all of eternity with him.
“So, tell me, Sorcha. How are you adjusting to life as a Mahoney?”
Plates of food appear from the wings like they’ve been kept waiting for the head of the household to arrive. None are placed in front of him, and when I raise an inquisitive brow, he gestures at me to eat my salad.
I’m not sure what he’s really asking, so I skirt the question as best I can. “Patrick has been very kind to me.”
The old man snorts. “Then he’s been abducted by aliens.”
The quip catches me off guard and makes me laugh out loud. I like this genial man; it’s a shame he’s so sick. He could have been someone I enjoyed spending time with during my stretch at Mahoney prison.
“Or had a personality transplant.” It’s an overstep, but hopefully he won’t have my head for poking fun at his surly cousin.
Our laughter draws stares from around the table, but I try to ignore my husband’s heated gaze making my cheek sizzle and, instead, enjoy conversation with the man who’s really in charge. At least for now.
“It’s not going to be an easy adjustment for you in many ways, Sorcha. I knew your da. We had a few irons in the same fires over the years and until this business with the O’Sullivans.” He shakes his head like he still can’t believe what happened. “Well, let’s just say, he wasn’t the worst of us.”
That feels like a massive thing to admit for a man in his position, and maybe he’s simply saying it out of kindness to make me feel better—and it does.
“I know he generally kept the women of the family out of the business side of things.”
When I stay silent, afraid to betray anything about my father’s work—even though he’s gone, and there isn’t a lot I could share anyway—Dylan continues.
“It won’t be much different with Patrick.
He’s never been one to need or want an equal partner, so in that regard, I imagine things will be the same for you.
He’ll keep you out of the nitty-gritty of the business.
” He pats my hand again. “You’ll do grand though, Sorcha love.
Whatever you do, just keep your wits about you, and everything will work out. ”
His words are weighted with subtext, and when I stare into his alert blue eyes, it’s as though he’s talking to me about Cathal. Does he know Patrick’s holding him over me as collateral?
Wouldn’t be surprised.
He doesn’t let me linger on it, though. My salad is replaced by an enormous bowl of Irish stew that smells so good my mouth waters.
When I’m done with my main course, I excuse myself to use the bathroom, trying to remember where the hell the toilet is.
I’m verging on crossing my legs and jiggling up and down when the unmistakable sound of skin slapping skin meets my ears.
I freeze, a bolt of fear shooting down my spine and settling into my bones.
There’s a room to my left; the door is ajar, and inside, a woman is clutching her cheek with both hands and a brute of a man towering over her. “Stupid bitch. I told you, didn’t I? Wait till we get home. I can’t believe you’re making me do this here, at my place of work.”
I don’t recall seeing him earlier tonight, but the next voice I hear from the left of the room is definitely familiar.
“You tell her,” Andrew, Dylan’s underboss, says. “These fucking women need putting in their place.”
Horror leaches through my chest. I slowly back away before either of them see me and escape into the bathroom, quietly closing the door and sliding the lock into place.
I cram my fist into my mouth and silently shed some tears for what I just witnessed.
An old memory resurfacing at the sound of the woman’s muffled shriek.
A couple of years ago, Tiernan and I got into it.
My older brother did to me what I just witnessed that man doing in the other room.
A shudder makes my entire body shake. Da watched the whole thing and didn’t step in, didn’t admonish him, didn’t comfort me, or even check to see if I was okay. It told me exactly where I stood in the hierarchy: nowhere.
Do I tell Patrick about what I saw? What can I say? A man hit his wife while Andrew stood off to the side egging him on. And what would Patrick do, even if he knew? Maybe he’d agree with the man’s harsh treatment. Oh, God. Is this what my future holds? A backhand between courses at work dinners?
I shake my head. No. Patrick’s job might make him a monster, but I’ve never seen him hit a woman or speak to a woman like that. Realization strikes me that while I hate him for what he took from me, things could be so much worse. I could have been forced to marry that wife-beating piece of shit.
Patrick isn’t a good man, but from what I’ve witnessed, he’s different. And let’s face it, the way I’ve pushed him since he kidnapped me, if he was of a mind to belt me, I’ve given him ample reasons. Yet he hasn’t. Not even close.
On trembling legs, I leave the bathroom. As I pass the ajar door once more, there’s another crack, undoubtedly his hand connecting with her face again, and while I send up a quick prayer for God to take care of the woman, I thank him for not landing me somewhere like that on top of everything else.
Back at the table, Dylan keeps me engaged in conversation through dessert, which helps take my mind off what I saw. It’s as though it was a dinner for two and none of the rest of the group were even in the room. He seems truly interested in getting to know me as a person.
But there’s still a lingering question burning in my mind. Did I do enough to convince Dylan to hand his kingdom over to my new husband?