by Henry, Jane
The driver’s tall and muscular, with a shock of dark brown hair, scruffy beard, and eyes as green as the Irish Sea, he looks ruggedly handsome. The other’s attractive, too, but this one… if he weren’t as evil as he is—any other time and place—that one would win my heart. His voice is deep and velvety, like thick hot cocoa, and he even smells… I don’t know how to describe it. But the way he smells lingers in my nose and makes me feel oddly feminine.
But they’re bad men. Evil. They’re no heroes come to rescue me or… I don’t know, whatever it is that men do with women. What do evil men like them do with girls like me? I don’t know where they’re taking me or what they’ll do to me when we arrive, and my nerves are fraught with anticipation. Why me?
The two men are talking softly to themselves, not paying any attention to me. Within a few minutes, we’re driving up a steep incline. My pulse races when I see an enormous house in front of us, large enough it could be a castle of sorts. I’m reminded of the fictional Palace of Justice of Notre Dame or a more gothic version of Camelot, the castles I’ve spent countless hours visiting in the pages of my books.
Keenan has something in his hand I can’t quite see, and he waves it at a black rectangle on a post to the left. There’s a beep, a tiny flash of red, and the gates slowly swing open. I gasp. It’s like magic.
How’d he do that?
If I didn’t have this gag, I’d ask him.
I feel my eyes widen in wonder as we drive toward the garage attached to the house. The estate’s surrounded by the most beautiful garden. Thick willow trees bow as if on bended knee before royalty. Stone benches and archways lend an ancient air, beckoning fairies and sprites to come and play. Lilies and violets line the garden, and I’m enamored with the various shades of purple and yellow. Behind an archway graced with ivy, a fountain murmurs its secrets. All things I’ve only ever seen in books. It’s overwhelming and wonderful.
I want to sit on a bed of moss by the fountain and breathe in the scent of flowers and trees. Though I know I’m in danger, a tiny flicker of hope blooms within me. I don’t know what they have planned for me or what will happen next, but I’ll make this place home.
I shake my head and focus back on the present. Has my isolation from others affected my logic and reason? Starved and lonely, am I still of sound mind? I have to keep my wits about me, no matter the circumstances.
But this… This place is enchanted, and I want to weave myself into its tapestry.
I suspected my father had a feeble hold on reason. Did I learn this as well?
We pull into a covered garage, and just that quickly, the brightness of a sunny day vanishes, as if to remind me not to get lost in my imagination.
I chant my internal monologue, repeating what I need to remember.
These men are not good men.
I’m in grave danger.
I make a vow to myself to observe anything and everything I can. I won’t fight them, not now, not like I did when they captured me. We’re on their land now, and I’ve no doubt I’m outnumbered. My suspicions are confirmed when several uniformed men approach the car.
Keenan and Cormac exit. Keenan hands one of the men a set of keys, and the possessions he stole from the shed. I don’t even know what the items are, but they were my fathers, and it seems wrong that this man just marches in and takes them like a great big bully.
He’s issuing orders left and right, and men are promptly moving to obey. “Alert my father that we need to speak to him promptly. He turns to Cormac. “Bring in Nolan and Boner.”
They need more men to deal with me? I’m unarmed and ignorant. Why such a reaction?
What did my father do?
Cormac nods. Though Cormac’s bigger, Keenan’s in charge, then. But when Keenan opens my door and yanks me out, I’m reminded he isn’t exactly little himself. Though I’m tall, I’m weakened from hunger and no match for this muscled, fierce man. He pulls me out of the car as if I’m a little doll, gripping my arm so painfully, I pull away instinctively in self-preservation. I can’t speak because of the gag, but if I could, I’d have plenty to say. I kick my foot at his shin. It worked once before. He easily deflects my kicks and gives me a fierce shake.
“Don’t you dare,” he growls. “Unless you’d like to be properly punished before we’ve even entered.” I shiver in fear. I’m outnumbered and in danger. It’s a reminder of my decision to not fight, not this time, at least.
I walk quickly to keep up with his large strides, observing everything I can on my way. The garage houses rows of expensive-looking cars, well-cared for and in pristine condition. A small staircase leads up to a large door, and when we step into the house, there’s a door to the left. I look quickly and surmise it’s the kitchen, though of course I’ve never seen anything quite like it. My little kitchen at home could fit into the corner of that room and be swallowed whole. There are people bustling around in there, and several look curiously our way, but I’m quickly whisked away to the right.
We walk down a large, brightly lit hallway. I’ve read of places like this, with rooms upon rooms. How I’d love to explore this place without the watchful, angry eye of these men on me. It smells clean and welcoming, mild notes of cinnamon and nutmeg in the air. At the end of the hallway, we step through a doorway that opens to a large, airy entryway. A massive, intricately-carved doorway stands slightly ajar. Everything here is whites and ivory, blinding and beautiful. I look up, the ceiling so high I couldn’t touch it if I stood on the topmost rung of a ladder.
I take this all in in seconds, as Keenan drags me to a doorway in the hall, and before I know what’s going on, we’re descending a flight of stairs. I stumble, weak from hunger and dazed from the sudden turn of events, but he quickly turns, lifts me in his arms, and carries me down the rest of the stairs. For one split second, my hands encircle his neck instinctively, and I gasp from the nearness and raw, masculine power that radiates off him in waves. I swallow hard, but before I can even form a cohesive thought, he tosses me back to my feet and continues his rapid march to wherever his destination is.
I hear voices before I see them, and when he drags me into a room, I nearly black out from the fear that hits me in the chest.
We aren’t alone. There are men here. Lots of them. Scary, muscled, terrifying men, and their eyes are on me.
This room is nothing like upstairs. It’s windowless and dark, the only light cast from overhead lighting. I look around wildly, panic gripping my chest. The stark barrenness of this room incites even more fear. It isn’t just what I see. It’s what I don’t. There’s no natural light, no fresh air. No sounds echo beyond the walls of this room. Whereas upstairs smells homey and welcoming, this room smells sterile and cold, like fear and desperation. I don’t need them to tell me they do wicked, evil things in this room.
The men watch me, their gazes predatory and calculating, and I shiver when I realize my predicament. I’m one helpless female in a sea of dangerous, evil men. This room is a makeshift prison, and I wonder if it harkens back to a medieval dungeon of sorts. The rest of the house looks modern and sleek, but they’ve left this room untouched.
One man, easily the oldest of them all, with gray in his hair and beard, sits at a plain black table, his eyes fixed on me unblinkingly.
“I see you found what Father Finn referenced?”
The men around him chuckle nervously, as if trying to placate him and unsure of what he’ll do next.
“Seems like it,” Keenan says with a mirthless smile. He yanks a straight-backed wooden chair from the table where the older man sits and pushes me to sitting. I bow my head and stare at my hands, because I don’t want to see them looking at me. I hate it here. I hate these men. I don’t want to give them the satisfaction of eye contact.
“Tell me, son,” the older man says. I look up quickly, my plan to look away forgotten that quickly. The older man is Keenan’s father. Are the others his brothers?
“We went to the lighthouse as we discussed, though
nothing there clued us in,” he begins. I clench my palms. Who do they think they are, trespassing on my property without my permission? And what do they mean, nothing clued them in?
“Saw signs there was more than one person living there, though,” he says. “I noted that the vantage point of the lighthouse gives full visibility to the ports and harbor.”
What does that matter?
The older man nods wordlessly, and Keenan continues.
They recount what happened, and I watch, still gagged and humiliated, as they relay what they did while on my property. Tears well in my eyes I can’t wipe away, for these men have been cruel. They trespassed on my property, violated my privacy, and took me against my will. What will they do next?
“Well done, Cormac,” the man says, without taking his eyes off Keenan. Cormac doesn’t respond, and Keenan continues.
“When we got outside, we heard a little noise in the garden shed. We investigated and found the girl hidden in the shed. When we opened the door, she attacked us, so we had no choice but to restrain her.”
“Define attacked,” the man says.
“She tried to hit me with a trowel and kneed Cormac in the bollox,” Keenan says. The two men on either side of the older man, the leader of this group, snicker, but one stern look from their leader, and they quickly sober.
“Did you punish her?”
My pulse races, and I feel my entire body grow cold and still. I try to swallow but my throat won’t work. Punish me? For what?
Keenan shakes his head. “Not yet, sir.”
My heart taps a crazy, erratic beat in my chest. Not yet?
The older man grows impossibly sterner, his brows drawn tightly together, his lips curving downward. I shudder. He’s terrifying. “Not yet? Explain yourself.”
He’s expected to have already done so? Why?
“What we found her in possession of required immediate attention, sir.” His jaw tightens, gaze unwavering. “But I won’t neglect her punishment.”
He plans on punishing me, then?
“Good,” his father says. “You don’t need me to remind you how essential it is you establish immediate respect. The girl will learn her place, and swiftly. No one raises a hand to the heir to the throne. No one.”
Heir to the throne?
“Absolutely.”
“You’ll give her her first lesson before the sun sets, or you’ll answer to me.”
Keenan’s gaze doesn’t waver. “Yes, sir. You have my word, sir.”
“Now show me what you found.”
They lay the items they took of my father’s on the table in front of them. I’m so angry at them for taking his things, for violating him and me this way. I try to protest, I try to grab them, but my protests are muffled behind the gag, the bonds holding fast. Tears of frustration and anger trail down my cheeks. My nose tingles, and the lump in my throat wells while I cry in silent misery. The weight of grief I feel from my father’s death seems heavier to bear because of what they’ve done.
How could he have left me like this? Defenseless, and in possession of something as volatile as these things appear to be?
“What are they?” the older man asks Keenan.
“Every fucking transaction we’ve made since last year. Names of who we’ve hired, payouts made and received, every single one of our arms contacts.”
The small group of men curses. One mutters, “She’s a motherfucking spy?”
“Obviously, ya wanker,” one says, and then the older man holds up a hand for silence. He turns his impenetrable gaze to mine.
“Remove her gag. Give her a chance to explain herself.”
I wonder even now if I should tell them the truth, but it seems disrespectful to the memory of my father to tell them anything. They’ve already taken me here and have no qualms about hurting me. Why would they believe me?
Keenan stalks to me, his face set in granite, and yanks a sharp blade from his boot. I blink and try to back away as he approaches me, but I can’t. Is he going to cut me? Right now, right here, in front of all of them? The bounds keep me tightly secured, and the men surround me.
The bullies. The cowards. As if a girl like me, unarmed, could do a thing to defend herself?
When Keenan reaches me, he yanks me over to him, tugs my head and pulls my face against his shoulder. I’m frozen in fear, cringing in anticipation of sharp pain, when I feel the cold metal of the blade grace my scalp. The gag falls free.
I exhale in relief, stumbling when he releases me, but a firm grip on my elbow steadies me. Keenan holds me in front of the men.
“What have you to say for yourself?” he asks.
I open my mouth to respond but can’t speak. I’m frozen in terror, and I don’t know what I want to say. I swallow hard, and shake my head, but he won’t tolerate that response. He reaches for my hair, wraps it around his hand, and before I know what’s happening, tugs my head back so hard, I scream out loud, my scalp throbbing in pain.
“Answer. Me.”
“I don’t know,” I wail. I’ve never told a lie in my life, but he leaves me no choice. I won’t betray my father, I won’t defile his name or the memory of him to these men, but I can’t give them any information, either.
“You lie,” Keenan says, his eyes narrowing on me. “You’re lying.”
“I don’t know what they are,” I protest, tears of frustration and anger falling down my cheeks. “I don’t know where they came from.”
“Then why did we find you in possession of them?”
“I don’t know, you brute. Let me go!” I wriggle and writhe, trying to get away.
The older man crosses the room in one swift stride, and raises his hand to strike me, when Keenan moves so fast, I stumble to the floor. I hear a smack of flesh-on-flesh, and I look up just in time to see Keenan’s hand on the man’s wrist, the two of them eyeing one another in a silent battle of wills. Keenan’s eyes flash, and the older man looks at him with widened eyes, as if he’s surprised by Keenan’s reaction. The room goes completely still.
“I will interrogate her,” Keenan says with quiet but steely determination. “My way. And privately. You have my word.”
The other man doesn’t speak at first. No one does. It occurs to me this might be the first time Keenan’s ever engaged in a power struggle with his father. They stare for long minutes. I’m holding my breath, watching this silent battle of wills. Finally, the older man nods, and I swear I see his shoulders drop a tiny bit.
“Do it,” he says. “Or I will see it done properly.” But his words have lost a bit of the edge they held before, as if this final promise is his last hold-out.
Keenan’s grip doesn’t loosen, and when he speaks, it’s through clenched teeth. “That won’t be necessary.”
The older man swallows, though his eyes are narrowed and stern. “I’ll trust you, son. I’ll expect answers this evening.”
Keenan finally nods, and it seems both are making a concession. I’m confused yet enthralled at the same time. Keenan finally releases the older man, and immediately turns to me.
He lifts me roughly under the armpits and drags me to my feet.
Keenan turns to the room, and his words take on a note of authority. “No one interrupts me. No one calls me. I want no contact until you hear from me first.”
Chapter Five
Keenan
No one defies Seamus McCarthy.
No one raises a hand to Seamus McCarthy.
I just did both, and I fucking won. The realization brings both relief and a sort of weary sadness. My father’s going to eventually concede the throne to me, and I know what happened in the interrogation room was his first concession.
His first ever?
But hell, when I saw him raise his hand to strike the girl, I reacted so quickly I didn’t think before I did. I knew if he struck her, I’d kill him. I’d fucking kill him. And I can’t let that happen.
Still, I leave the room with my head held high. Soon, so soon it feels as if
it could be tomorrow, I’ll assume the leadership role in The Clan. And I need the men in rank below me to respect me. Today, I won the battle of wills with my father. One brief moment in time, but it was a defining moment no less.
I love my father. Though stern and immovable, he’s loyal to his very core, always fair, and the bravest man I know. I learned to respect both him and my mam from a very young age, and I was brought up with firm expectations, rules, and consequences. I knew when I fucked up, I’d earn certain and severe punishment. I learned quickly not to fuck up. Still, my father was a fair man and still is.
But no one in The Clan defies Seamus McCarthy.
And I just did.
But now that I’ve taken a stand, there’s no question I need to prove my worth. I can’t falter now. He’s given me a job, and by damn I’m going to do it properly.
My father devotes himself to his family with everything in him. Mam worships the ground he walks on, and he’s good to her. The only time his stern demeanor softens is when he’s in her presence. The two can read each other so well, as a lad I vowed one day when I married, I’d cultivate a relationship like theirs.
They’re a unified front, so entwined it’s hard to see where one begins and the other ends. I can still hear her gentle voice admonishing me, “Obey your father, son.” She’s always upheld his authority, demanding obedience from me, my brothers, and every member of The Clan. My Clan brothers see her as their mother, and all treat her with the utmost respect.
I’ll need her help with the girl I’ve taken as mine.
I take the girl by the arm and march her along with me in silence. We have much to discuss, but I have no interest in doing so until I have complete privacy. We’re a good distance away from my room on the second floor, but I don’t want to speak to anyone right now, so we walk with purposeful steps. She walks beside me in silence, and at one point, she stumbles. I slow my steps, frowning at her. I want to know why she’s shown signs of weakness. Is it fear? Or something else?