Page 61 of Three Irish Kings

And yet, all the same, I can’t say that I hate it. I can’t say that I didn’t absolutely love every minute of last night.

Surely, it’s a one-time thing, right? All of them, like that?

It makes me kind of sad I didn’t enjoy it more.

God, and then Cillian... he was so...passionate. Unlike I imagined. I thought he’d be the roughest one, but really, that’s Liam.

And Liam made me come so hard I saw stars, so I can’t complain about that, either.

I was always a one-man woman, never cheated, never wanted flings or one-night stands. I was always into the deeprelationships, even if they were few. But after last night, I have to wonder…

Am I sluttier than I thought I was?

Because three men is way more than I can handle, and when the three take me as one, I should want to run away and hide. But deep down, I really hope it wasn’t a fluke. Deep down, I hope we can all be together again.

God, Iama slut. But only for these three men who drive me up the wall.

I slowly stand up, feeling sore all over, and put on a pair of high-waisted shorts and a t-shirt I find in the dresser. I still have no idea whose clothes I’m wearing, but I guess I’ll find out in due time.

I have no idea if Liam was serious about killing me, but not only don’t I want to risk it, I also want to see where this goes.

They’ll have to let me go, eventually, and until then, I can work on gathering information for my article.

The scoop I was thinking about with the billionaires is nothing compared to busting the Irish mob in the area wide open. Imagine the headlines.

I walk—well, limp–into the living room to see Dare lying on the couch, snoring like a bear. I guess after I fell asleep, Cillian and Liam either left or took the other bedroom.

I’m a little sad I didn’t wake up with Cillian, but I try to push it away.

It’s not like I have feelings for any of them. It’s not like I’m going to fall for any of them. They kidnapped me. They’ve kept me prisoner here for days. And sure, they are attractive, like way too attractive, but I can’t be the person who falls for her captors.

I have goals in life, I have self-worth, I have a life waiting for me out there.

My eyes fly to the door. Closed but unlocked. Then to the sleeping man on the couch.

I could leave. I could go right now, escape. But my legs won’t move.

I tell myself my journalistic ambitions are stronger than my survival instincts. Than my will to repeat last night at least once more before I have to say goodbye to these men forever and go into hiding.

A picture of my mother, the two black eyes my father had given her, flashes through my mind.

Da was on the life. He had always doted on me, never laid a hand on me, but Ma? She was his punching bag, where he took out all the daily frustrations.

She warned me from the moment I could understand her to run from this life. From the people in it. From the prison, the shackles that come with being tied to someone from the mob.

Looking at her battered face and body, I listened, I nodded, I promised her. And for the longest time, I kept my word.

But fate pulled my leg and delivered me at the devil’s door.

And stupid, stupid me, instead of taking this chance to run far and fast, wants to stay. Because I’m horny. Because they give the best orgasms. Because I want to know where this goes. At least until I can write my article and let the world know the truth.

Maybe it’s time to stand up and take a stand—not just against the men who kidnapped me, but against my father. Against men who believe the women they claim to love are nothing but property they can use and abuse without consequence.

And the three men who took me are just as bad.

Right?

Right!