Page 9 of Stolen Rival (The Stolen #1)
PATRICK
Ignoring the intrigued stares of my brothers, I set a half-drunk cup of coffee on my desk and flop into a chair.
I pinch the bridge of my nose. This woman will be the death of me—if I don’t kill her first. But that’s the problem, isn’t it?
If I do that, then I’ll lose the inheritance that belongs to me.
I need her to marry me, but I don’t ever plan to share that piece of intel. She’ll use it to her advantage.
At least her being a McCarthy means she understands what it is to live our life. There won’t be any training required. She must’ve watched her father while growing up, and her brothers too, even if Brendan McCarthy kept her far away from the business.
That’s good for me because I don’t have the patience or the time to draw up a fucking PowerPoint on what it means to be the wife of a boss. I’ve an expanding empire to run. An empire that, if I play my part, and Dylan plays his, is about to grow exponentially.
With the McCarthys and the O’Sullivans gone, Ireland is mine. I’ve overtaken swathes of Britain thanks to my tie-in with the De Vils, an old money English family whose morals are, fortunately, dark fucking gray.
I’m ready for the next move.
All I need is for my cousin to keep breathing long enough for me to put the fear of God into Sorcha and force her into saying “I do,” without her causing trouble down the line.
“She’s gonna keep trying to run.” Liam crosses my office, tugs the stopper off the decanter of whiskey, and pours himself a drink. Even though I’m teetotal, I keep alcohol in here as a reminder of what happens when I let myself go. When I let my control slip.
“And I know you. Your patience is as thin as a sheet of tracing paper. If you kill her, you’re digging the grave. You brought her here. Your problem, not ours.”
I glare at him, too tired to spar like we normally would. “Can’t kill her, can I?”
“Oh, that’s right,” he says, feigning innocence when he’s anything but. “You need a wife, and fast. I can see it now. You standing at the altar, and her screaming obscenities as we haul her up the aisle. I’m sure Father O’Connor won’t smell any kind of a rat while performing the ceremony.”
“Father O’Connor will do as he’s fucking told if he wants to see another Sunday mass. But you’re right, I need her compliant and willing.” My smile comes slowly. “And that’s what leverage is for.”
Darragh frowns. “Leverage? What leverage?”
I sip my coffee, eyeing him over the rim of the mug. “While she was languishing in the hospital, I took the opportunity to put the feelers out, do a little research. I wanted to make sure there wasn’t another one I’d missed. Turns out, I did miss someone else.”
Liam’s eyebrows flicker up. “Who?”
“The McCarthys have another kid. He’s eighteen. The youngest of the family.”
Darragh tilts his head to the side. “He was in the house?”
“No. He doesn’t live with them.”
“Why not?” Liam queries. “Where does he live?”
“Brannock House?”
He frowns. “Never heard of it.”
“Neither had I. It’s a live-in facility for people with severe brain damage who need round-the-clock care.”
Darragh lets out a low whistle. “They kept that quiet.”
“Yeah. My guess is they didn’t want their enemies discovering they had a special needs child in case they used it against them.
You know what this world is like. Can’t show weakness.
According to my sources, he’s lived there since he was two days old.
Mother died in childbirth, apparently, although the official story is that she had a heart condition that killed her. ”
“But I don’t get it.” Liam scratches his neck. “If they kept him hidden all this time, how come it took, what, a phone call for you to unearth his existence?”
“Because, brother, when an entire family is wiped out, save for a couple of distant second cousins who fell out with the McCarthys years ago, people’s tongues loosen. They want to kneel before the new king. Me.”
“What are you gonna do?” Darragh wonders.
“About the kid? Nothing yet. But use him to bring the spitfire to heel? You’d better believe it. And if she doesn’t play ball, she can watch while her only remaining sibling takes his last breath.”
“You’d kill a special needs kid?” Darragh’s always been the softest out of the three of us.
“He’s not a kid. He’s eighteen. And yeah, if the troublemaker upstairs keeps kicking up shit, I will happily put a gun to his head and pull the trigger.”
It’s not a bluff. She fucks this deal up for me, and I will take my revenge. I would wager she thinks he’s safe, but safety is an illusion created by people who think that good still exists in this world.
After Sorcha McCarthy witnessed her entire family being gunned down, I’m pretty sure she no longer believes there’s good in the world, and I’m only too happy to prove that to her.
“So, what happens now?” Darragh asks. “What’s your plan?”
“Tomorrow, I’ll sit our guest down and tell her she has a choice to make. Be obedient and silent, and agree to marry me, or watch as her brother’s brains paint the walls of Brannock House. From what I’ve seen, it could do with a paint job.”
Liam snorts. “You’re a fucking animal.”
“Yeah, I am. As firecracker Miss Sorcha McCarthy is about to find out.”