Page 44 of Stolen Rival (The Stolen #1)

SORCHA

“Oh! Sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt.” I stop dead in my tracks.

The house was so quiet I went for a wander to make sure I hadn’t been left alone.

The three brothers are sitting in the front room around a card table.

There are tumblers of scotch in front of Liam and Darragh—along with Patrick’s ever-present glass of water—crumpled bills, and for a change they’re all in casual wear instead of various stages of undress from business attire.

I make it a half-turn to leave before my husband speaks.

“What is it, mo mhuirnín ?” He no longer barks at me like he did only weeks ago, instead there’s a warmth in how he speaks to me that I haven’t heard when he addresses anyone else.

I ignore the questioning looks of Darragh and Liam when I turn back to talk to Patrick. I shake my head. “I’m okay. It was just…” I hug myself with my arms, a chill rolling through my bones. “It was so quiet, I wanted to make sure I wasn’t… you know… ”

The more words fall from my lips, the more foolish I feel, and the hotter my cheeks get.

“You weren’t by yourself?” Patrick finishes my sentence. There’s no trace of mockery in his voice.

I shrug. “Guess I got used to having a house as busy as Connolly station with my brothers and people Da used to have over.” A ripple of sadness sweeps through my chest. “I’m not really used to it being so quiet.”

Translation: I’m lonely as fuck and can’t face reading another book just yet.

“You should join us.” Liam shifts in his seat and stands, offering me his chair. “I’ll grab one from the dinner table.”

Despite all my instincts to say yes, if for no other reason than I crave the company of another human being, I wave him off. “It’s okay. I shouldn’t. My husband tells me I have a terrible poker face. And I’m far too inexperienced to play sharks like you three.”

Despite having played with my family, and being a decent player, I’m not at the level of sport these three seem to play at. I offer him a gratitude-filled smile. “Thank you, though.”

Patrick reaches out and takes my hand. “He’s right, Sorcha. You don’t need to be alone here. Sit. Join us. Play a hand.” He squeezes my fingers like he’s giving me silent reassurance that it’s really okay.

I roll my lips. “I don’t have any money to play with.”

Darragh snorts. “That’s okay, you can take some from Mr. Moneybags here. Your husband is a wild cheat, Mrs. Mahoney. Come on, Sorch, sit and play with us. It’ll make me look good if you lose instead of me for a few hands.”

I feel weird every time someone uses my title. I’m not sure if I like it or loathe it. Perhaps it’s both. Perhaps it’ll always be both .

Liam ducks into the dining room to grab a chair.

“I’m not sure that it’s Patrick’s fault you suck at poker, Darragh.” I pat his shoulder. “But nice try.”

Patrick chuckles as Liam sets the seat down between Darragh and Patrick.

“She’s not wrong. I’m not normally one to give Patrick a compliment, but you don’t make it hard for him to win, Dar.

” Liam pushes the seat underneath me as I sit, and Titan takes up residence at my feet, lying her heavy head on top of my slippers.

“Thank you.”

Liam tips his head to me before making his way over to the bar. “Drink? Since your lout of a husband has no manners.”

“Please. Gin and tonic would be lovely.”

Patrick’s face is more relaxed than I had expected. I lean over to him. “I don’t have to stay. I appreciate it, but I know how important time with your brothers is to you.”

They play cards damn near every night when they’re all here.

Patrick pats my hand resting on the table. “That’s enough. I’d like you to stay and play some poker. Okay?”

When I nod, so does he. “Good. It’s also not true that you don’t have any money of your own, either.”

I snap my eyes to meet his. “Does that mean you’ve given me back my go bag?”

Patrick nods. “In a manner of speaking. The account went live today, the documents and cards are in the study. I just haven’t given them to you yet. There’s a phone, too, although it’s pretty basic. Security reasons.”

Security reasons my arse. He just doesn’t want me contacting my friends.

I search his face, looking for a hint as to why he’s giving me back some of my freedoms, but I can’t get a read on him.

“I don’t understand. I’m never by myself.

You said so yourself. If you’re not with me, one of your lackeys is, and they love it when I ask them to buy me an ice cream. ”

Darragh snickers.

“Aye. It must be great for the self-esteem having to ask this arsehole for a tenner every time you want to buy something.” Liam hands me a drink, refills his and Darragh’s tumblers, and retakes his seat.

I open my mouth to answer, not really sure what to say, when Patrick squeezes my hand again. “He’s right, mo mhuirnín. You need access to your own money. It’s not right for you to have to ask when you need to buy something.”

“Not even he’s that much of a dick.” Darragh smirks as he takes a drink.

Patrick huffs out a sigh. “Right, are you fuckers done taking the piss and ready to lose your money?” He fronts me some cash and deals me in.

Watching my husband play poker reveals another layer to him. He’s shrewd, perceptive as hell, and aggressive with his plays. After an hour, I’ve overtaken Darragh and Patrick, and I’m staring Liam down over my trio of nines.

“Fold.” Darragh places his cards on the table with a huff. “You didn’t tell us you married a hustler, Patrick.”

There’s a curious amusement in my husband’s eyes when his hand makes it onto my thigh.

“She led us up the garden path with her ‘not well’ when I asked her if she played.” Liam stares at his cards so hard that I’m surprised he’s not burning holes through them.

A phone rings and Patrick’s brothers look right at him. “No phones during games.” Darragh points at him. “You have to throw an extra hundred in the pot.” He’s downright gleeful even though there’s zero chance he’s going to be the one to win it .

Patrick flips him off. “I’m waiting for an important call.”

Darragh shrugs. “Rules are rules.”

Patrick tuts, leans across to kiss me on my cheek. “I’ll be right back, mo mhuirnín . Don’t let these pricks push you around.”

“Like that was ever an option.”

Patrick leaves, and my game with Liam continues. He’s almost as hard to read as his brother. “You’re good for him.”

It’s an unexpected compliment from an even more unexpected source. I haven’t been here for very long, but I got the impression Patrick’s brothers tolerated me because they had to.

“It’s nice to know he has someone who’s looking out for him.” Liam’s stare is heavy on my face, but I keep my eyes on my cards.

“Isn’t that what wives are for?”

“It’s more than that,” he presses. “He has a heavy burden to carry, but since he met you, it’s somehow seemed lighter.”

Is it? I can’t say that I’ve noticed. He’s up before the birds, works like a dog, and goes to bed in the wee hours absolutely knackered. He looks like shit, only eats because people hand him food, and despite having a nicely carved six pack, I’ve never seen him exercise.

He’s not exactly the model figure for a healthy work-life balance.

“Sure, you know what they say.” I finally make eye contact. “Behind every man is a good woman waiting to carve out his spleen with his own blade.” I give him a wicked grin as I put my cards on the table.

He smirks at me, not yet looking down at the cards. “Patrick has always needed someone who isn’t afraid to push back. Or cut out his spleen, if the situation calls for it.”

Darragh is vibrating in his seat. “You keep him on his toes. It’s fucking glorious to watch. It’s about time, too.” He looks down at my cards, splayed out in a triumphant arc. “As is watching you play poker. You’re a fucking shark.”

Liam’s eyes widen when he sees that I’ve beaten his hand. He shakes his head as he slides the winnings across the table to me. “Going to give me a chance to take back my winnings?”

I’m already bundling up the notes. “Thanks.” I yawn. “But it’s past my bedtime. Maybe another night?”

Darragh nods, answering for his brother. “Absolutely. If I can’t take money from these fools, watching you do it is the next best thing. Feel free to join us every night.”

I laugh, feeling lighter, better for having spent some time with the three brothers I should hate right down to my very bone marrow. “Thank you.” I pocket the cash and say my goodnights before following the sound of Patrick’s voice to the library to tell him I’m heading upstairs to bed. Our bed.

Warmth blooms in my chest.

Ours .

“What? No. She won’t be making the trip with me.”

I stop dead in my tracks, arm outstretched to push the door open beyond the sliver it’s been left ajar.

“I know you wanted to meet her, but what use would she be at a business meeting?” He sighs, loudly. “For fuck’s sake, she’s an empty suit. I don’t know how the fuck McCarthy stayed in power so long when his own daughter is like a pint with no head on it.”

He pauses, presumably for the other person to laugh, laugh at me.

My stomach hollows out. I don’t know whether to laugh or cry. I can’t have misheard, and considering I’m the only McCarthy left, there’s no mistaking he is talking about me.

“Aye, like a sheep trying to do algebra.” He chuckles, a cavernous sound that echoes around the library. Alright, Patrick, you’ve made your fucking point. He gets it. You think you married a dumb bitch who has precisely zero business acumen or street smarts.

I suppose we can’t all be perfect little mafia soldiers.

Ugh. Bitterness fills my mouth as a heaviness takes over my body. I really thought we were making progress, but it’s all been a lie. It’s always lies with him.

I spin on my heel and head toward the stairs. Fuck him. Fuck all of them. I bet they all think I’m, what was it he called me? An empty suit?

Tears fill my eyes as a lump grows in my throat. I thought… I don’t know what I thought. That I could maybe one day fall in love with the monster who killed my family? That maybe he wasn’t that bad? Maybe he was only a walking red flag to everyone else and to me he’d be different?

I almost slap myself in the face as I traipse to our bedroom. If I could get away with it, I’d sleep in the one I used when I first came here, but that will raise questions, and I’m not ready to answer them yet.

What the fuck was I thinking?

Leopards don’t change their spots.

If it walks like an arsehole, talks like an arsehole, and kills your whole family like a psychopath, hearing him call you a dumb fuck to one of his work colleagues shouldn’t come as a surprise.

So then why does it feel like he’s reached inside my chest and sliced open my heart with a rusty blade?