Page 20 of Stolen Temptation (Irish Kings #3)

Rory

I clench my fists and glare at the grass, wrestling to control my fury. If I look at her again too soon, I’m afraid I’ll go postal.

She cringed. I reached out to wipe a smudge off her cheek, and she thought I was going to hit her.

Her reaction was too quick not to be ingrained.

That means some cocksucker’s struck her in the past. Took their hand to my painter.

Generally, I consider myself to have fewer violent tendencies than Finn or even Darren.

But put me in a room with whatever waste of life hurt her, and I swear I’d twist his head off his neck like a bottle cap and use it for soccer practice.

And once I bashed his face and skull in too much to kick anymore, I’d piss down his open throat and mash his head inside.

Yeah, that fantasy isn’t soothing my bloodlust at all. I need to divert my attention.

I picture her hauling ass across the estate grounds. If I didn’t possess knowledge of the layout or have the labyrinth weapons network at my disposal, I never could have caught her.

Not that I’m going to tell her that.

The distraction technique works. Imagining her legs shifts into recalling the sensation of her body pinned beneath mine on the ground. That helps tame the worst of my murderous inclinations, but if I continue down this path, it will also leave me with a whole new problem.

I reach the bench and lower myself onto the seat beside her. Before she can react, I pull the bracelet from my pocket and cuff it around her wrist.

She yelps. I take advantage of her surprise and tighten it until the device lays flat against her soft skin, exactly the way I designed it.

Kiara examines the smooth locking mechanism on one side.

“What the heck is this thing?”

“A tracker. Just in case you get the bright idea to try to run again.”

Immediately, she begins tugging at it with her other hand.

I tsk . “Don’t bother trying to remove or deactivate the bracelet.”

Her head snaps up. “What?”

“Without the key or a proper tool, you’d basically have to gnaw off your own hand.”

After one last tug, Kiara visibly deflates. It’s as if my statement ripped a hole in the hull of her hope, sinking her beneath the waves.

She doesn’t flinch away from my proximity. She doesn’t even acknowledge me. Instead, she studies her hands like they hold the secrets of the universe, studiously ignoring the new accessory.

The heat in my chest from earlier still burns from the fire ignited by her dilated pupils and flushed cheeks.

One second, I was aroused and preparing to kiss her.

The next, she was kneeing my nutsack into next month.

A forceful exhalation shoves out of my throat. “You’re a real piece of work, you know that?”

In truth, her ballsiness almost amuses me. It’s as impressive as it is irritating. Kiara is an insanely fast runner. Like I said, if I didn’t have the advantage of cameras and home turf, she might have slipped right through my fingers.

Whether she had a chance or not, Kiara tried to run from me. She put herself in danger doing so, and that pisses me off.

If she had managed to leave the estate, where would she have gone? Escaping to where? Running to who?

When we’ve both caught our breath and the fountain is the loudest thing around, I use my smartwatch to retract the guns from the hedgerows, then give Kiara a look. “Where were you even going?”

Kiara remains silent, still staring at her open palms. The behavior is unusual enough that it’s starting to freak me out. Is she so upset over her little failed escape attempt that she’s gone mute? Or is she plotting her next move?

“What does it matter to you?”

Even her voice is duller than usual, but at least she’s talking again.

“What made you think you could succeed? We confiscated the cash you had on you, you have no wheels, and in case you forgot, you’re wanted by two mafia families who are at war with each other.” My anger grows again as I recite the dangers. “Do you have any sense of self-preservation at all?”

When Kiara deflates, I hate myself a little more. I’m chastising her with these pointed questions, but I might as well be kicking a puppy.

Tears pearl in her eyes and fall straight down her cheeks. I panic at the sight.

Shit.

Why am I such an asshole? And why am I blaming myself for her tears? Since when does the crying of a random woman even affect me like this? Nothing about this should bother me.

And why is she even breaking down in the first place? She’s such a spitfire, so I guess I thought she wasn’t the weeping type.

Panic surges in my chest. What do I do? Comfort her about the fact that I kidnapped her and dragged her here against her will?

I’m an idiot, but I’m not completely clueless.

“Away…”

The half whisper, half sob attacks my heart even more.

“What?” I soften my voice, the way I do when I speak to my mom.

“I have no idea where I was going, okay?” She shoves her palms over her eyes. “Just away . Away from you . All of you! Away from the Kings and you before you can lock me up again and use me just like the De Lucas.”

The unexpected punch in her words nails me right in the chest.

Away from the Kings and you before you can lock me up again and use me just like the De Lucas…

The way she said that cuts like the blade hidden in my combat boots.

Away from me . The monster.

That’s more than enough for her to flee.

Kiara’s right to try and get away from me. She’s right about everything. We might not be planning to make money off her the way the De Lucas did, but we are using her to obtain information about our enemies.

I could dress it up and act like the De Lucas are worse.

But that would be pointless.

Especially since what I’m most pissed about isn’t losing out on intel, but the realization that her escape would have ended our time together.

If she’d gotten away, all that back-and-forth we shared earlier? That would have been over.

No goodbye. No nothing.

Just gone.

“Tell me about it.” I cast my eyes to the slowly darkening sky. “About your life there. With the De Lucas, I mean. How did you get tangled up with them in the first place?”

“I was born ,” she sobs, swiping at her eyes. Before I can ask her what the hell that means, Kiara begins to talk. “You were close before when you said art forger but not one-hundred-percent accurate.” Her chest rises and falls. “I’m not a fake Libertas. I’m a real one.”

Of all the things I thought she might say, this was never even a contender. Who knew all I had to do to get Kiara to share her life story was chase her around the estate? “I’m sorry, could you repeat that?”

“I’m a Libertas.” She sniffs hard, pulling her knees up to her chest again. “They’ve been making money off my paintings since I was fifteen.”

How she can balance in that position on a tiny cement bench is beyond me.

A moment later, her words sink in.

“Fifteen?” My brain does some math and comes up with a missing integer. “How old are you now?”

“Twenty-four.”

I can’t stop myself from looking at her then. “The De Lucas have been selling your paintings for almost ten years?”

She nods.

My mother has been enamored with the work of Libertas since I was a kid. If Kiara is Libertas, how is it possible that Libertas’s work was around before she was born?

I rewind our conversation. She said she was a Libertas, not the Libertas.

A lightbulb shines in the back of my mind.

“You’re not the first Libertas, are you?”

“No.” Kiara avoids eye contact.

“Who was the first?”

Her chin dips lower. “My mom.”

“Your mother…” Not for the first time today, I’m left wondering about Kiara’s identity. I thought she was an art slave, but she’s more than that. She’s also the daughter of an art slave. She has to be.

Her mother was already in captivity, and when Kiara came along, the De Lucas decided to keep them both . Groom the daughter to follow in the mother’s footsteps.

Those sick bastards…

Kiara’s voice gets farther away. “My mom was the original Libertas, and she…she trained me.”

“Because the De Lucas forced her to?”

She shakes her head. “Not at first. My mom taught me about painting because she loved it. Or she did, before she became the De Lucas’ personal on-call Monet.”

“Does anyone outside the De Luca mafia know about the two of you? You and your mom. Does anyone else know about your work?”

“No one.” Kiara chews the inside of her cheek. “We never got the chance to make our work our own. First, my mother’s paintings, and then later, mine…they were just taken. By Enzo. And then by Leo. They seized the pieces and sold them.”

To the De Luca men, everything has a price tag.

They don’t have any qualms about what they do or how they do it, as long as they get paid the way they want to.

“And so you learned to imitate your mother’s style,” I gather, my own voice trailing off.

Kiara nods again. “Any subtle change in the style was explained away as a ‘ developing and changing artist. ’” She scoffs.

“But nothing was mine. Not my art. Not my life. Nothing but my journals and my memories. So…yeah. The night of the auction, I was running. Away from everyone who wants to control and use me. What of it ?”

When Kiara serves me with a sharp, arctic glare, I hold my hands up in submission. “You’ve made your point.”

She blows out a breath and releases my gaze from the intensity of her own. She drops her legs back down to the ground, frustration coloring her features.

“But I failed. I tried to get away, and I didn’t succeed. Which means…game over.” Her shoulders collapse again. “I’ll never get to live a real life.”

She stabs me straight through the heart with that one.

That’s all Kiara’s ever wanted, isn’t it? The freedom to live a real life.

For just a second, I wish I could be the one to offer her what she desires.

I wish I could give her something that’s literally impossible for me to give.

“I even had a bucket list.” Kiara’s countenance falls, like she’s remembering at the same moment she’s telling me about it.

“Oh, yeah?” Somehow, the semidarkness all around us softens my voice even more. “What was on it?”

“A trip to Paris in the spring.” Her tone brightens.

“Shopping at one of those markets in Marrakesh where all the vendors shout out prices. Walking the city at night in the rain. Finding the perfect cupcake. Tasting the strangest donuts. Road-tripping across America, seeing every single state—” Kiara’s voice cuts off as the string lights woven throughout the labyrinth come on for the evening, replacing our dimly lit courtyard with a warm glow.

I expect Kiara to keep speaking after the surprise and beauty of the lights wears off, but when I look over at her face, she’s still frozen, eyes cast ahead of her.

Then, she abruptly pulls those knees back up to her chest, burying her head on top. Fuck. We’ve regressed.

“What?” I lean closer to her. “What is it?”

“I forgot, okay?” When she lifts her head, I find her tears have returned in full force.

“Forgot what?”

“That I wanted this too!” She throws her hands up, as if to imply she’s always wanted a labyrinth of her own.

I feel bad, but I’m totally lost. “Wanted what , Kiara?”

Unexpectedly, she shoots to her feet, spinning in a small circle.

“I wanted string lights. I wanted to fall in love for once in my sad, pathetic life, and to dance with that person under string lights like in one of those stupid rom-coms, okay?”

Her sorrowful expression and heartfelt words affect me in ways I’m completely unprepared for.

I knew her life with the De Lucas would be sad, just not… this tragic? By the sound of it, those fuckers kept her in a cage for most of her life and deprived her of the ability to do even simple things like test out different bakeries or take a walk on a stormy night.

What. The. Fuck.

She snorts. “Forget love . I’d settle for having sex with someone I’m attracted to.

And I was finally going to have the opportunity to do some of those things.

I was running away from Leo into the big, wide world…

and managed to crash right into my next jailer.

I’ll probably die without ever tasting weird donuts or comparing cupcakes or even having sex. ”

The reality of Kiara’s life hits me like a steam train.

I’m beyond taken aback by the decibel of Kiara’s distress, and I’ve fully descended into guilt territory. I can’t believe this is happening. I’m in the middle of a mission, and my target is managing to fill me with remorse for causing her pain and fear.

For the love of god, don’t let any of my friends show up right now.

How would I face them like this, when I’m acting like a damn amateur?

When I look at Kiara, I see all the damage I’ve done, and regret flares again. The cut on her forehead, the scrapes on her hands and wrists…

Unable to stand it any longer, I bolt to my feet.

“Come with me.”

She holds her elbows, crossing her arms over her chest. “…Where?”

I feel like shit, and I sure as hell don’t want anyone to notice the way I’m softening around her, so…

A moment later, the plan is still only half formed in my mind.

Tilting my head in the direction of the medical unit, I nod at her. “Let’s get you patched up.”