by Monica James
The release is so euphoric, it brings tears to my eyes. But as Punky continues driving into me, I know things have just begun.
“That was the first and only time I show ya mercy,” he warns with dangerous intent. “Now y’ll see who I really am.”
My orgasm is slowing, but Punky doesn’t let me bask in the afterglow. He pulls out and flips me over, coaxing me to rest on all fours. Winding my long hair around his fist, he holds on tight as he slams back into me.
My neck is arched back, and I desperately want him to move, but he doesn’t. He simply allows me to feel every pulsating inch of him.
“Punky,” I beg, wiggling my ass, hinting I want more.
And more I get when he slaps my ass cheek—hard.
I jolt forward with the force, but Punky doesn’t let me fall as he grips my waist. I’m held prisoner as he begins to move. He holds me in place, fucking me senseless, and I love every depraved second of it.
His movements are filled with control and punishment because even though I’ve defied him, he still wants me. He could punish me harshly, forcing me to talk, but he won’t, he can’t, and that’s because he cares about me when we both know that he shouldn’t.
I’m not noble. I’ve lied, cheated, and stolen. And I’ll do so again if it means getting what I want.
Letting go of my hair, he grips my throat and squeezes softly. “Yer heart is beatin’ so fast, and that’s ’cause ye know I could kill ye right now.”
“Do it,” I challenge, swallowing deeply.
A growl gets caught in his throat as he brutalizes me in the most delicious of ways. “Naw, that’ll be too easy. And where’s the fun in that?”
His threat isn’t empty. Now that I’ve unintentionally let a small part of me slip, he won’t stop until he gathers all the pieces of the puzzle. But I’m hoping what I overheard will help cushion the blow.
After the Kellys’ party, I went to see them and told them the Kellys had been tipped off. They were fuming, but they had a plan—a plan which I eavesdropped on.
They said someone named Mike was going to be their fall guy. I don’t know what he’s going to take the fall for, but it seemed to take the heat off Punky. Mike is the key to their devious plans, which means Punky is safe—for now.
Whoever Mike is, I feel sorry for him because they made clear he won’t be getting out of this alive. I wonder what he did to be involved with them. But if his sacrifice saves Punky, then it’s each man for himself.
He tightens his hold around my neck as he fucks me unapologetically. “I will not stop until I find out who ye are.”
As I gasp for air, the knot of pleasure begins to build once again.
This isn’t lovemaking; this is raw, carnal, depraved sex, and I’ve never felt safer or more desired in my entire life.
Punky knows I can ruin him, but he continues to devour my body because we can’t stop this. We’re powerless. We are each other’s enemy, and in no way do we trust one another, but that doesn’t seem to matter because good sense is thrown to the wind and given way to…this.
As I’m on the cusp of blacking out, Punky releases his grip and holds my waist with both hands, sinking into me raucously. I can’t take in air fast enough, and the urgency has me whimpering because I think I’m going to come—again.
Punky reaches around my hip and commences playing with my clit. I shudder, as it’s all too much. My breasts are swinging, my nipples grazing the sheets with Punky’s brutal strokes. He’s everywhere, and I know I’ll never get enough.
I can’t handle his carnality any longer, so I collapse, but Punky won’t allow the reprieve. He props himself up on one knee while placing his other foot on the floor. He then grips my arm and secures it behind me as he fucks me hard.
I’m half slouched onto the bed, turned onto my side as Punky anchors onto my wrist and hip, controlling and dominating me so I have no other choice but to bend to his demands. I’m floppy, my body Jell-O, but Punky won’t stop.
“Had enough?”
“No,” I stubbornly cry with my cheek pressed into the mattress.
“I fuck ye like I should hate ye,” he breathlessly states, moaning when I rock back on his shaft.
“You should hate me because this means nothing to me,” I arrogantly lie. “You’re a good lay. That’s all.”
“Is that right?” He chuckles, not believing my dishonesty. “This has come as a huge relief, ya can imagine, ’cause I wouldn’t want ya gettin’ attached.”
“That won’t happen.”
“Glad we’re on the same page,” he says, the slapping of our flesh so erotic, I bite my cheek to stop my pleasured moans. “But I know that yer lyin’. Ye may want to hate me, but yer body is tellin’ me otherwise. This warm, wild body which fits around my cock perfectly.”
I can’t handle it.
Punky’s actions and words send me over the edge, and I chase my release, unable to hold back my screams because I’m so fucking close. He’s won. He knows he can hurt me, which means I’m in so much trouble. We both are.
“Yer a parful wee liar, Babydoll. I own ye. Whether ye want me to or not. Say it,” he orders, then suddenly stops as I desperately rock back, begging he put me out of my misery.
“That’ll never happen,” I pant, reaching around, pleading he continues to move. But he does the complete opposite. He pulls out.
I sag forward, crying out in frustration. “No!”
“Say it,” he commands calmly while my winded breaths betray me.
Stubbornly, I begin rubbing over myself because if he won’t bring me to climax, I’ll do it by my own hand. But he slaps my hand away and flips me onto my back. I fruitlessly fight him, but he pins me with his weight as he draws my arms above my head.
“I’ll not ask ya again,” he cautions hoarsely.
His erection presses between us. I whimper when he rubs it against my needy center. I don’t want to give him the satisfaction of giving in, but eventually, I concede because there is no point in fighting the inevitable.
“I’m a parful wee liar,” I angrily cry.
“And?”
“And you fucking own me!”
“Aye, Baby, that I do.”
He hums in satisfaction, knowing that he’s won, knowing that this changes everything. He can hurt me. And I can hurt him. We’re at a crossroads where no one wins, but losing has never felt more like winning than it does right now.
On a sated exhale, he sinks into me, both of us moaning because this depravity hurts so good. He bends down, kissing me languidly. Changing the pace of our coupling, he confuses me with his kindness. His lip ring brushes against me, and I reach up, running my finger over the barbell in his nipple.
I can’t stop wanting him.
He increases the tempo, stroking me in just the right way where I don’t stand a chance and come loudly, finally letting go. My moans are unrestrained, but I don’t care. I cling onto him, his skin slick and warm. It’s nothing short of perfect.
The moment the last cries leave me, he pulls out and spills his seed over my stomach with a guttural growl. The moonlight allows me to see his silhouette, neck arched, back bowed—he is a vision. And I know I own him as much as he owns me.
His breathless pants echo in the room as he gets off the bed, and before I can ask what he’s doing, he uses his shirt to wipe me clean. The gesture just confirms what I knew the moment we met—we’re so fucking screwed.
Liam is late, and I know that’s no coincidence. I also know they’ve found Aidan’s body.
I was expecting this call, seeing as I was technically the last person to see him alive. They’ve called bullshit on his story, which means they’re looking for answers. And they’re thinking those answers sit with me.
He’s testing me, as this pub is full of Doyle spies. If I look nervous, then he’ll assume I know more than I’m letting on, which is why I calmly sip my pint, pretending to be engrossed by a game on my mobile phone.
How my life has changed. I�
��m living a double life, but then again, it seems everyone is—Connor, Uncle Sean, and Babydoll.
I can still taste her, and it’s been three days. But I’ll never be able to rid myself of the taste.
She scares me more than the Doyles, and that’s ’cause she can hurt me. Even though I know she’s a liar and a thief, I can’t stay away. Her being an American is merely the tip of the iceberg, and when I uncover who she really is and why she’s here, I know I’ll have to deal with it.
But hurting her, I don’t think I can.
What we shared wasn’t just sex; it was something else entirely. I’m in way over my head, and I’m fearful for what’s to come. This is why I haven’t thought about it. My life is complicated enough.
When Liam finally makes an appearance, I quit thinking on this nonsense and become the character he thinks I am.
“Bout ye?” he asks, taking a seat at the table. It’s hard to believe this bastard could be my half-brother.
His tone is far from friendly, but I look up from my phone and smile. “Hey. What’s up?”
“We’ve got a fierce situation, Mike. My uncle Aidan is dead.”
No foreplay, it seems.
I knew this was coming, so I slip on my surprised face. “What? You’re fucking with me?”
“No, I wish that I was. But we found his mutilated corpse not too far from his house. Whoever did this wanted us to find his body.”
“Fucking hell, man. I’m sorry.”
Liam nods, watching for any signs of deceit. He won’t see any. “I need ya to tell me everythin’ that happened that night.”
Peering around, pretending to scope out our surroundings, I lean in close and say, “I took care of your problem until he was barely breathing, and then left. Aidan said he’d handle the rest.”
“He did not say what he was doin’ with our problem?”
We’re speaking so flippantly about a human life because that problem is Ronan. It sickens me. But I shake my head.
“No. He said once he was done, he was seeing a lady friend. That’s all.”
Liam mulls over my admission. “Ye see, the funny thing is we’ve found Uncle Aidan’s body, but not that of Ronan.”
“You don’t think…”
I leave the question open, but what I’m hinting at is that Ronan was the one responsible for Aidan’s death. Ronan is long gone by now, so the Doyles won’t find him. He’s the scapegoat. That’s what he gets for being a fucking traitor.
“I don’t know,” he confesses, leaning back in his seat with a sigh. “The usual place Uncle Aidan would dispose of our problems is undisturbed. That leaves you and that pile o’ shite the last people to see my uncle alive.
“He called me afterward and said I could trust ya. Says him to me that he was with some floozy. But when I called his mots, they said they haven’t seen him.”
Nodding, I remain calm because Liam has nothing on me. He’s searching for any signs of betrayal in my mannerisms.
“I don’t know what to tell you. Anything you need help with, I’ve got your back.”
Liam isn’t convinced, but he doubts I have the bollocks to go up against his uncle and win, which gives me the advantage. He’s underestimated me, and that’s what’ll allow me to take the Doyles down.
His phone rings, and when he sees who it is, something comes over him. I listen to the conversation discreetly, and when I find out who he’s speaking to, I understand his strange response. “It’s under control, Dad.”
But it seems Brody Doyle doesn’t trust his son.
Liam offers me his phone. “My da wants to talk with ya.”
And just like that, my chance to speak to the devil has come.
I remain calm because Mike has no idea he’s about to talk to the kingpin of Dublin. But Punky does, and he doesn’t know how he’s going to refrain from telling him his days are numbered.
I don’t know what to expect. Aye, I’ve googled him, but the Doyles, just like the Kellys, are very private people, so I couldn’t find anything of use. We’re put in the public eye when we want to be, which means it benefits us somehow.
Anything else is just ammo for the enemy. And we can’t be having that. We rarely have our pictures taken as this allows our foes to know what we look like.
I knew killing Aidan and leaving his body where we did was bait the Doyles couldn’t ignore. It worked a charm. This is it, the moment I’ve been waiting for.
“Hey, what’s up?” I coolly greet him.
“I thought ya could tell me that.” Brody’s voice is deep and firm. No one would doubt the power he holds. “Liam’s told ye what’s happened?”
“Yes, Liam told me. I’m really sorry about Aidan. I told Liam when I left him, he was alive and well. He said he was going to take care of everything.”
Brody processes what I’ve just shared. “Aye, lad, I believe ya. Mi daughter, Erin, seems to think yer trustworthy. So did mi brother,” he says, which pleases me. Having Erin in my corner has worked in my favor. “That arsehole is to blame. Or at least, the family he works for.”
He means us. He’s assuming Connor had a hand in his brother’s death.
“That’s what I get for trustin’ a Protestant. My brother will be avenged. And we need yer help.”
And that’s the real reason Brody wanted to speak to me.
“I don’t expect ye to understand this, but my family is at war with another. They’re from Northern Ireland. I want what is theirs and I’m close to gettin’ that. Ronan worked for them, but he came to us when he realized the Kellys’ days are numbered.”
In and out, I remind myself to breathe.
“There is a shipment of yokes and sneachta that I want. The lorry is due for arrival in Belfast next Tuesday. We plan to be there when it does.”
I know exactly what he’s talking about as this is Uncle Sean’s deal. He has organized a shipment of cocaine to come in from Central America. The street value of this haul is £200,000. The yokes are ecstasy tablets coming in from the Netherlands.
This is a huge deal for us, and if it doesn’t go to plan, it’ll be a brutal loss.
“You’re going to intercept the lorry?” I ask casually.
Brody laughs. “No, we’re goin’ into Belfast. It’s time we make ourselves known. As I see it, Connor Kelly took my brother, so I’ll take his.”
The blood drains from my face, but I keep it together.
“Which is where ya come in. We need a face they won’t recognize. Ye see, our fellow Catholics won’t take too kindly to us dealin’ with them Protestants. We need to be discreet, but there is no way Connor is getting away with this.
“My brother was painted up like some muppet. Ach, this was personal.”
Yes, it was, and I wanted the Doyles to know I was coming for them, but not like this. Uncle Sean’s life is now at risk.
“I took his wife. Nothing more personal than that,” he boasts like I’m supposed to be impressed.
Clenching my fists under the table, Brody has just confirmed what I already knew. He and Aidan took my ma’s life. If what he says is truth, does that mean he’s my da? Did he kill my ma, knowing I was his son?
My hatred for this cunt continues to grow. Dad or not, I’m going to do unto him what I did to his brother. What he did to my ma.
This is a test. The Doyles know if I say no, then my story is rubbish. But if I do this, then their trust in me will strengthen. I’ll be able to infiltrate their operations even more than I already have. I’ll be able to save Uncle Sean.
“What’s in it for me?” I question because that’s the only reason any stranger would agree to this.
“How about twenty-five thousand American dollars?”
For that amount of money, this isn’t as simple as Brody makes it out to be. There’s a reason they want me there. And I plan on finding out what that reason is.
With a smirk, I say, “You’ve got yourself a deal.”
“Good, lad,” Brody replies, his excitement suffoc
ating me. “Liam will letcha know the details closer to the day.”
Of course, he will. They wouldn’t want me to get cold feet and chicken out. Or worse yet, dob them into the peelers.
“No problem.”
Our conversation is done. “I’ll be seein’ ya soon.”
And he hangs up.
“If y’ll excuse me.” Liam doesn’t give me a chance to reply as he gets up, leaving me alone.
I don’t care why he’s pissed off. I got what I wanted—to gain access to the Doyles and make them pay accordingly. But for that to happen, I need to do one thing…and that’s come clean to Uncle Sean. I need to tell him everything, and I need to do that now.
There is no easy way to do this because I know Uncle Sean is going to be ragin’ either way. Aye, I’m coming to him with information which will give us the upper hand, but how I got that information is going to leave Uncle Sean wired to the moon.
He’s in his office, which is in the opposite wing to Connor’s, so I know he’ll be alone. Knocking on his door, I prepare for anything because for the first time in my life, I don’t know if Uncle Sean will side with me on this.
He opens the door, and when he sees me, he arches a brow. “Whatta ye knockin’ for? Yer always welcome.”
“I’m not too sure y’ll think that once I tell ye what I did.”
He doesn’t say a word. Instead, he opens the door wider, permitting me entry as he walks to the table in the corner of the room that has his bottle of scotch. He pours two glasses as I close the door.
“What did ya do now?” he asks, offering me a glass.
Accepting, I throw it back before revealing it all. “I was in Dublin tonight. Meetin’ up with Liam Doyle.”
Uncle Sean pauses mid sip of his scotch.
“I’ve been undercover, I guess ya could call it. They think I’m Mike from America. They trust me. I killed Aidan Doyle.”
Uncle Sean doesn’t speak. He slumps into his leather chair, gutted.
“I found an address in Connor’s drawer when I broke into his office. The address was for a pub in Dublin. The Doyles’ pub.”