Page 15 of Sweet Deception (Irish Kings #4)

Chapter Thirteen

Motion-sensor floodlights greet us after Darren punches key codes into hidden kiosks that grant us entry through not one, but three wrought iron gates on the drive to the house.

After we make it inside the giant wall, I realize how truly impossible escape will be. There’s only one way inside and one way out and—barring my discovery of some sort of jetpack stashed around here somewhere—I won’t be going anywhere until Darren Kelly is good and ready to let me.

The “safe house,” as he calls it, is a two-story, brick fairy-tale cottage surrounded by a tall garden wall draped in ivy to disguise the bajillion cameras installed on it.

Hideous, out-of-place bars block the windows to keep intruders out and prisoners in, as if that mile-high wall can’t get the job done. Flowering shrubs line the path to the front door. The rest of the yard is comprised of short green grass and patches of wildflowers.

Basically, they brought me to the home of Snow White and the Seven Dwarves …if the dwarves were mobsters and Snow White were a vigilante tech geek in way over her head.

Inside, the house appears unexpectedly normal. Hardwood floors, spare white walls, the occasional abstract art piece. I wander around, admiring the decorative taste of the place as much as I’m futilely hunting for some kind of escape route.

Maybe there are secret tunnels somewhere?

Darren watches me pace through the foyer into the cozy dining room, where a table that seats six sits beneath a modest antique chandelier. Piro follows at my heels, excited for the chance to use his legs after that road trip.

Once I’ve done a lap around the dining table, I pass back through the foyer and walk straight past Darren into the large living room area. A plush rug dominates the center of the room, two couches stationed around the perimeter facing a flat-screen television.

I sense Darren’s eyes on my back. When I glance over, he doesn’t seem overly concerned. Likely because there’s no way out of here that doesn’t involve going through him.

I’d be smug, too, if the roles were reversed.

“We could get through this a lot faster if you just told me what you’re up to.” His voice is clear and honest as he leans against the wall near the doorway.

“Why? So you can kill me and be done?” I trail my fingers along the soft blue upholstery framing the back of the couch.

“I never said I was going to kill you if you talked. I only threatened to kill you if you didn’t.”

“Guess you’re just going to have to kill me then.” I pivot away from him.

“It will come to that, Veronika, if you keep defying me.”

Yet another warning, except this time, he’s calm and controlled. Almost detached in the same way he was at the wedding reception.

“What about you?” My heart free-falls in my chest. I’m just antagonizing him, but why does it feel like chitchat? “What are you up to?”

No reply.

Piro’s gentle mewling is the only sound.

Our eyes meet in the lamplight of this quiet room, and Darren simply stares back at me, unwilling to answer.

So this is what the silent treatment feels like. The thought that I’ve been giving him this kind of hell for the better part of the evening is a point of pride for me.

It gives me the courage to keep talking. “I’m impressed you were able to find me.” I drop one hand to my hip, settling my feet into first position, my go-to stance. “How’d you do it?”

“Oh, you know, a little grunt work.” He narrows his eyes. “One dead taxi driver, a few traumatized hotel staff. Google.”

My heart freezes to ice. Did he really kill someone to track me down?

No. Wait. He’s baiting me. Trying to get a reaction.

He belongs to one of the most affluent mafia families in the city. They can get whatever information they want. I’m sure murder isn’t how they solve every single one of their problems. Some, maybe. Not all.

“Why’d you come after me?” I exhale the question.

“Did you really think I wouldn’t?” He lifts an eyebrow. “You didn’t actually believe you could crash a Gallagher wedding, double-cross one of the family’s top enforcers, and get away clean, did you?”

I hope to God I’m not blushing.

Because, damn, I sound dumb.

He pushes himself off the wall and strides toward me, somehow sucking up all the power in the room. Internally, it’s like I’m losing my footing, my edge…

I’ve got to flip the tables on him. Otherwise, my only hope of thwarting him will be to return to abject silence.

“It’s your own fault, you know.” My words make Darren stop. Yes. “For thinking that any woman who comes up to you at a wedding wants to screw you.”

Something sparks and crackles in his glowing eyes.

Finally, I’ve surprised him right out of his cool reserve.

And then, his eyelids lower, and he becomes all languid and seductive. His rigid posture eases, not like he’s relaxing, but more like he’s settling into the power he knows he wields over me.

“I underestimated you. I can admit that.” He steps closer, and on instinct, I rear back, breaking character. Shit. “But I’m willing to bet you wanted to fuck me regardless.”

He stalks closer, invading my personal space. I refuse to let him intimidate me, so I hold my ground even when my pulse stutters.

The tension grows as we stare at each other. Despite my best attempts to stamp out the attraction, my entire body throbs in anticipation of his touch.

Even after everything that’s happened in the last several hours, this man’s sensuality still holds me in its grip. Which is horrifying on every level.

Darren could be one of the people who kidnapped Lucy, and my body wants to go for another ride on his dick? Get it together, Veronika.

His eyes stir through mine, visceral and commanding. Those blue laser beams are hot on my face. I can hardly stand the intensity, the intimacy of us standing so near each other but not touching.

I want to sprint away from him, but I’m unable to move.

“Are you hungry?” Those three words slip past his lips, and my heart nearly gives out. I heard what he said, but my brain is on a different channel altogether.

The best I can do is shake my head.

Darren shrugs and disappears from my bubble. He’s across the room in seconds. “Well, there’s no need to starve Napalm.”

He ducks out of the living room, giving me a second to breathe.

Bozhe moy . For a second, I almost thought he was about to nail me here. The honest and horrifying truth is that the idea didn’t disgust me as much as it should have.

A moment later, Darren returns with something—wait, is that a cat treat?—between his long, lithe fingers.

He kneels, and I’m astonished when Piro abandons me to go eat from Darren’s palm like they’re old friends.

Irritation burns through my veins. “His name is Piro, not Napalm.”

He doesn’t reply. Just scoops up my kitty , strides over to the couch, drops into it, and sits in silence while Piro continues to snack from his hand. I must look stupid standing over here by myself, so I glide to the couch opposite his and sit.

I can’t help but be mesmerized by the sight of him with Piro.

My precious little feline companion, somehow happy in the arms of this deadly, dangerous man…

He blows things up and NASCAR-drives expensive sports cars, but he’s also a cat dad at heart? And possibly part of a human trafficking operation?

I can’t square it. I can do a lot of math, but Darren is the kind of equation I want to tap out on. Truthfully, I don’t want to figure him out. I just want to get away from him. The more I know, the more drawn to him I may find myself. And that’s a worst-case scenario I don’t have time for.

Not when Lucy needs me.

I may be her last resort.

Piro finishes the treat and climbs out of Darren’s lap. He explores the living room for a while before climbing up my pant leg with his little claws and curling up next to me on the couch.

I continue to drink in the place. There’s a large mantel clock over the fireplace. It’s almost half past ten.

Now that the adrenaline has died down, bone-deep exhaustion is settling over me. But I refuse to rest in the presence of my kidnapper. My eyes slide back to him, which is when I notice that he does not have the same problem.

Darren is asleep, his arms folded and his eyes closed.

Slow, deep breaths lift and lower his broad, sculpted chest. He’s…literally sleeping. In front of me.

Do I really pose so little threat that he can snooze in my presence without issue? Must be nice.

But that’s when I realize this is my chance.

He has my cell phone in his pocket, and if I can retrieve it…I can use it.

Using all the ballet training stored up in my muscles, I maneuver my weight, gently rising from the couch. I tread silently across the carpet, creeping closer, until it’s time for me to extend my arm toward his right pant pocket. I’m near enough that his gentle breaths caress my face.

For a moment, I’m enthralled by his soft, open expression.

It’s so different from his visage when he’s awake.

Allured, I rake my eyes down his muscular body. Big mistake.

His hard beauty captivates me…that sense of wariness that emanates from him even while he rests so peacefully.

Enough.

I slip my phone from his pocket without touching his body or making a sound and back out of the living room, leaving Darren and Piro snoozing on opposite sofas.

Without knowing the full layout of the house, I have no idea where I’m headed as I tiptoe upstairs and find my way to the first bedroom along a long, winding hallway. Carefully and quietly, I shut the door behind me.

A lone king bed faces me, positioned between two barred windows along a curved wall. I barely notice the weird layout of the place as I bank left into an attached bathroom.

I lock the door behind me.