Page 52 of Stolen Rival (The Stolen #1)

PATRICK

If there’s one thing I despise above all else, it’s being helpless.

The shoulder injury is manageable, even if it does hurt like a motherfucker, made worse probably by me refusing to wear a fucking sling.

But the gunshot wound to my thigh and the sheer volume of blood loss has left me weaker than a dying breath.

Andrew almost made sure it fucking was my dying breath. According to Cillian, I was whisper-close to finding out if God exists, or if my deeds on earth would send me straight to hell.

If it weren’t for Cillian’s and Molly’s expert surgical skills and my brother stepping in as a blood donor, that’d be it.

What I wouldn’t give to kill that bastard all over again. If things had gone down differently, I’d have taken him alive and enjoyed every second torturing him until he begged me to end it. But regrets are pointless. At least now I know he can never hurt Sorcha again.

There will be others, though. It’s the nature of the beast, which is why I’ve commissioned the building of panic rooms on all three floors of the house. I might not be able to get out of bed without help, but I can use a fucking phone.

I’ve also commissioned something else. A surprise for Sorcha that I know she will love. After everything I’ve done, and all she has suffered, it’s a small token, but one that I hope she sees as the beginnings of an apology I will spend my life making.

Speaking of, here she comes, carrying a steaming bowl of soup and a stack of sourdough bread on a four-legged tray and wearing a determined expression that I’ve come to realize stands for she means business.

“Before you open your mouth, no arguments.”

See what I mean?

She places the tray above my knees and reaches behind to plump up my pillows.

“For God’s sake, woman, give it a rest.”

Leaning back, she pierces me with her no-nonsense stare. “What did I just say? You almost died , Patrick. Stop being a stubborn shite and accept that until you’re back on your feet and 100 percent better, this is your fate. It’ll go easier on you if you accept it rather than being McGrouchy.”

I can’t help the curve to my lips, although when she meets my gaze, I glower at her.

“And that look doesn’t scare me either, so quit it and eat your soup, or so help me God, I will feed every spoonful to you myself, and we all know how much you like that.”

“Once was enough. I’d prefer to keep my fucking balls, thank you very much.” I pick up the spoon and dive in. It’s another Maeve special, and I can’t help a groan of pleasure from slipping out. “And don’t give me that look, or I’ll put you across my knee and give you a spanking you won’t forget.”

Once, a comment like that would’ve scared her. It’s evidence of how far we’ve come when she throws back her head and laughs, then gives a full, albeit fake, body shudder. “Ooh, promises, promises.”

I roll my eyes, then scarf down the entire bowl and devour the plate of bread. Sorcha sits on the edge of the bed in silence, watching me like a hawk. I pretend not to like the attention, but underneath it all, I’m reveling in it.

“Finished?”

“Yes. Tell Maeve I said thank you.” I capture her hand as she goes to pick up the tray. “And thank you, too.”

“What for?”

“For putting up with my moods.”

She lifts the tray off the bed and places it on the bedside table, then sits on the bed once more. “You’re a proud man whose job it is to always show strength, even when you’ve been shot. Twice. But you don’t have to play that part in front of me.”

A sigh lifts her chest. “We had a horrible start, but I do understand why you did what you did. Da might’ve kept the more brutal parts of his business from me, but I’m not stupid.

I know how this works. He gave the order to murder the O’Sullivans, maybe even the Mahoneys too.

Yet they only did half the job by not taking you all out.

He left you no option but to retaliate, which he should have anticipated and got us all to safety. ”

“It wouldn’t have mattered. I’d have found you anyway.”

“Maybe.” She hitches a shoulder. “But it would have shown he put us first. I loved my family with all my heart, but Da was not a saint, neither were my brothers.”

“No one in this business is a saint, especially me.”

“Why are you defending them?”

“I’m not defending them.” I tuck a lock of hair that’s fallen across her face behind her ear. “Your father should have at least tried to hide you from me, even if any attempt would’ve been futile. That’s why I’m having panic rooms built on each floor of the house.”

Her eyebrows shoot up her head. “You are?”

“Yes.” I take hold of her hand and brush my thumb over her knuckles. “Before you came along, I didn’t see the need. Arrogance told me that my brothers and I could protect the staff, and therefore, what use would a panic room be?”

“A panic room wouldn’t have stopped Andrew from taking me.”

“True, but it could stop future attacks. It’s all about minimizing risk.

” I bring her hand to my mouth and kiss her soft skin.

“I have never experienced the kind of fear I felt when I realized you’d been abducted, and by a man I knew was capable of murder and thirsty for blood.

To almost lose someone you care about deeply is a special kind of torture, and one I’m not willing to put myself through ever again. ”

It takes a solid five seconds for what I’ve said to register. Her eyes widen, and her mouth falls open. “What did you say? You… you care about me?”

“Yes.” Sliding a hand around the back of her neck, I bring her forehead to mine.

“I can’t pinpoint the moment when you became more important to me than a pawn in my maneuvers.

It wasn’t a sudden thing, more of a gradual shift.

As much as you’re a splinter in my arse much of the time, I cannot imagine my life without you in it. ”

It’s as close to an admission of love as I can get. She deserves more than I’m capable of giving her, but I’m selfish enough to keep her anyway.

Cupping my cheeks in her small hands, she kisses me. It’s the first time we’ve kissed since she was taken, and I react to it like a man starved of attention who’s suddenly drowning in it.

“Come and sit here.” I pat my thigh. I’d love to get her beneath me, but with a messed-up shoulder and a gunshot wound to the leg, I can’t do it. And I fucking hate that I can’t.

She straddles me, hands braced on my chest. I brush my thumb over her peaked nipple then give it a firm pinch. Instantly, she wriggles away putting too much distance between us for my liking.

“Oh no, you don’t. You are not getting me all hot and bothered when you’re still recovering.”

“But—”

“Nope. No, no, no. I refuse to let you turn me into a horny bitch who forgets that her husband nearly died just so she can get some.”

She climbs off me, her attempt at a disapproving scowl making me laugh. “Sorcha Mahoney, you are some kind of woman.”

She grins. “You’re not so bad yourself.”

“True.” I pop my uninjured shoulder. “I’m a fucking catch.”

Her lips flatten. “You did not just say that.”

I push myself upright, exhausted but determined not to let it show.

She’ll only worry and fuss and insist I get some sleep.

Extending an arm, I cock my head. She gets the message, tucking herself into my side.

She fits like a woman made only for me, and I can’t imagine a single day without her in it.

“We never got to talk about the conversation you overheard when I was on the phone.”

“No.”

That single word tells me she hadn’t forgotten but was biding her time.

I kiss her hair and hold her that little bit tighter.

“The meeting I went to the day you were taken was with a man who’s been stepping on my patch, and I flew to England to put him in his place, without shedding anyone’s blood.

He asked me on the phone if I was planning to bring you, and I instantly knew his game.

He’d heard I’d married but didn’t know the circumstances and thought it might’ve made me soft.

What I said to him was a lie, but at the time, it felt like the best approach.

If my enemies ever find out what you mean to me, it will put your life in jeopardy. ”

“That’s ludicrous, you know? Most, or rather normal people only marry someone who means something to them. My parents loved each other; I bet yours did too. I can’t imagine being married to someone who doesn’t at least like me.”

“It happens all the time in our line of work.”

“So, you don’t think I’m a useless eejit?”

“Far from it. In fact, I’ve been mulling over something Dylan said when we visited him in New York. He said you’d be the making of me, and he was right. I don’t want a meek wife who hides in the shadows. I want a partner, an equal, in my bed, my life, and my business.”

“I want that, too,” she whispers. “And it seems you’re one of the few men in our world who believe women are more than broodmares.

” She tenses, like she’s reliving a memory, or gearing herself up to say something.

“When we were at Dylan and Mairead’s house, I saw a man backhand a woman on the way to the bathroom, and Andrew was there, too, encouraging him.

He said something about needing to put women in their place. ”

Every muscle locks tight, coiled like a fuse waiting for a spark. Whatever my faults, I have never—and will never—hit a woman or think of women as less than men. In most cases, they’re far fucking better than the male of the species. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

She shrugs against me. “Like I said, in my experience mafia women are here to breed the next generation and obey their husbands. At the time, I didn’t trust you to be any different.”