KEENAN: A DARK IRISH MAFIA ROMANCE: Dangerous Doms

by Henry, Jane

  “Is it safe out there?”

  “They’ll see that it is. It’s our best bet, since the wedding must be on record and witnesses present. We’ve got all our men prepared, Caitlin.”

  Still, foreboding gathers in my stomach, and I try to dismiss it. Is it because I’m about to take permanent vows to a man like Keenan? Or because my intuition is alerted to something else? I can’t tell. But I have no choice. With the guard flanking me on all sides, I leave the mansion.

  My heart twangs like the long-forgotten strings of a violin when I see, far beyond the mansion, the burnt remains of the lighthouse. They put out the fire, but little could be saved. I’m pleased, though, somehow, even as I ache for the home I knew. It signifies the end of an era, and the beginning of a new one.

  The start of family.

  Mine, where I’m to be the mother and Keenan the head. Hope blooms in my heart, and I’m filled with a sense of awe and wonder. Down by the garden, where the archways blossom, lay miles of white flowers. They’ve done magic overnight, it seems. There’s a flower-lined trellis, and every man of The Clan’s dressed in black suits. Beneath the trellis stands the priest, and—is that him? My future husband. He’s dressed in black, his hair slicked back, as large as life standing before his uncle. He turns and freezes when he sees me.

  It’s as if someone’s waved a wand and frozen that moment in time, when his eyes meet mine. I smile, lift a finger off my bouquet, and give him a little wave. He grins in return. A sparrow twitters overhead, the clouds break free, and sun beams down on the small gathering. I see Seamus and Cormac, Boner and Tully, Carson and Lachlan. The rest of the men as well line like soldiers bedecked for a banquet. I ignore the drawn weapons and the guard that escorts me toward the trellis.

  I take in a deep breath and remember what Maeve said.

  All I have to do is say, “I do.”

  But as I walk toward Keenan, the foreboding I felt earlier returns. I look to my left and to my right. I’m surrounded by armed, stern soldiers, ready to protect me, ready to lay down their lives if necessary. Then why do I feel a sense of dread in my stomach? I force myself to look at Keenan. He stands under the trellis, the early morning sun casting its light before him, and I’m reminded of the time I thought him a fallen angel. Do fallen angels get a chance at redemption? Even recovering from his injuries, he’s so handsome waiting for me. Sebastian’s doctored him up well.

  I’m paces away from him, nearing the men who stand by Keenan: Cormac and Lachlan and Seamus. Everything’s quiet, everything’s still, when Lachlan suddenly starts. He jerks his head up and stares beyond. Lachlan suddenly tackles me, shoving me into Keenan. I scream.

  “Sniper!” Lachlan shouts.

  It all happens so fast, it’s a blur of screams and confusion. I’m thrown to the ground, the damp grass in front of me saturating the lovely dress. Keenan’s full body’s over me. Gunshots ring out. Footsteps sound, and then more. Keenan’s issuing orders, but I can hardly hear for the ringing in my ears.

  “Fucking sniper!”

  “Someone get him!”

  “The boy’s after him, fast as a shot.”

  “I don’t think I got him.”

  “Go see if there’s more!”

  There’s a tumult of voices and sounds, and then I’m dragged to my feet beside Keenan. He’s shaking me, grasping my arms. “Y’alright? Are you, lass? Christ, woman, tell me you’re alright.” Keenan is kneeling in front of me, holding me to him, his eyes roving my body for any signs of injury. “Are you?”

  “I’m fine,” I whisper, but he rubs his finger on my cheek and it comes back red.

  I raise my hand to my face, my heart pounding. Was I shot? I don’t feel anything at all. I look, and even Keenan isn’t shot. He pulls me to him as if to shield me from more bullets, to keep me from further danger, when a loud wail goes up. I look with horror to see Maeve, on her knees, holding Seamus to her. My body grows stiff, my pulse cold. His bright white shirt is stained with blood. Seamus was shot.

  Keenan stills, but he won’t let me go. He looks to his mother, and I tell him to go to her, that it’s okay, but he shakes his head.

  Sebastian’s kneeling beside her and issuing commands. “Call an ambulance,” he shouts, and Cormac pulls his phone out with trembling hands. “He’s still alive!”

  “Keenan,” Maeve says through tears, her gaze as fierce as I’ve ever seen it. “Do it. He would want you to. Do it.” She’s crying freely now. “No more bloodshed, son. Take her as your wife.”

  Keenan takes my hand and turns to Father Finn. The priest is white as a sheet, the book he holds shaking in his trembling hands, but I know. We have to do this. We have to take our vows now. We have to prevent any more injuries, any more violence.

  We utter our vows in whispers, repeating what Father says. We take our rings, and place them on our fingers, as an ambulance drives up the path. It’s surreal and painful and beautiful, the way the men stand and watch their leader taken onto a stretcher.

  “He still may live,” Sebastian says to Maeve, as she climbs into the ambulance.

  She turns to Keenan. “I’ll tell him,” she says. “You did the right thing.”

  There is no party, no celebration. Keenan holds my hand up and faces everyone. It’s then that I notice people with cameras. He’s invited reporters here. They’ve seen everything. They heard us take our vows.

  “Welcome Caitlin McCarthy,” he says, his voice loud with victory and twinged with pain. “The newest member of The Clan.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Keenan

  We pace the hospital waiting room, still dressed in our wedding garments. We make quite a sight, grass-stained and bloodied. I get as much intel as I can, from where I am.

  Lachlan’s quick eye and speed paid off. He caught our sniper, hauled him in for questioning. I’ve left Boner and Tully to deal with him, as Cormac’s with me.

  The news of our wedding made headlines. We’ve an in with the reporters, and made it abundantly clear my father being shot at the wedding was not to make the headlines. The pictures show my wife, lovely as a lark. Mrs. Keenan McCarthy.

  There’s no mention of the bloodshed, no mention of the war between The Clans. Just my beautiful bride. My wife.

  She sits beside me in the waiting room, holding my hand.

  “Shit luck for a honeymoon,” I quip, smiling at her. Christ, but I’m glad to have her. My father was shot near his heart, and he might make it through surgery.

  I have to face what may happen.

  If he doesn’t make it… I’m Clan Chief. I’ve a wife, now.

  “I don’t need a honeymoon,” Caitlin says in her quiet way. “We’ll find a way to celebrate.”

  I lean in and kiss her cheek. “I have many ideas.”

  My mother dozes in a chair beside Caitlin. I’ll never forget the way Caitlin’s handled her tonight. She’s held her when she cried, fetched her tea and food, and talked to her in her soft, soothing way.

  “Will he make it, Keenan?” Caitlin asks, her troubled eyes looking at my mother.

  “Dunno, lass,” I whisper. My throat tightens. My father’s heart is weak. I don’t know if he will.

  The doctor comes to us late in the night, exhausted. He knows who we are. Everyone in Ballyhock does. He scrubs a hand across his brow and speaks aloud for anyone to hear.

  “He’s pulled through, but he isn’t doing well. The… accident took a toll on his heart.”

  “Can I go to him?” Mam is on her feet, her eyes rimmed with black mascara. She’s had her cry and now she’s doing what she always does: facing what she needs to bravely.

  “Of course,” the doctor says.

  I join her, and the doctor puts a hand on my shoulder as mam walks by.

  “He may not wake from this, sir,” he says. I nod. I know it.

  We go to my father, and it scares me a little to see him stretched on the bed, his eyes closed shut, so white he looks like vapor. There are machines stretched out b
eside him, all around him, regulating his heartbeat and breathing. We’re not supposed to be in here, not so soon, but the doctor’s waived protocol to let us in.

  My mother stands on one side and I on the other.

  “He’d be pleased to see you wed,” she says, her eyes shining brightly at us. She reaches for my father’s hand, and squeezes. Caitlin, the brave, sweet lass that she is, reaches for my father’s second hand.

  “Mister McCarthy,” she says in her clear, pretty voice. “If you can hear me… I want to thank you. For raising this son of yours. For allowing me into your family. And for taking such very good care of me.”

  I love this woman and will spend the rest of my days seeing to her every need. She’s so brave. Unencumbered with the ways of the world, she faces everything—life and death, marriage and circumstance, the violence and loyalty that forges our brotherhood—with steadfast loyalty and honesty.

  We stay by my father’s bed until the wee hours of the morning.

  And when the sun rises on a new day, my father’s gone.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Keenan

  One week later

  We’re assembled in our meeting room. Every one of us. Caitlin’s with my mother. They’re picking out furniture for the new bedroom, and I think packing a bag. We’re going to the school at the weekend.

  My father was buried with the highest honors, and the men of nearly every clan came to pay their respects. Martin sent a letter to me, asking for permission to speak to me. He didn’t come to the funeral. He wasn’t welcome.

  Today’s the day he’s to come.

  But we have business to attend to, first.

  Lachlan, standing bravely before me, holds his hand on mine, taking his vows. We’ve followed the rules of induction, the ceremony. My father would be proud. We’ve gone over the rules of The Clan, then Sebastian slit his hand. Lachlan didn’t even flinch. I did the same, and our blood joined as one in the first initiation shake. Cormac followed suit, and when Nolan returns home next month, he will as well.

  He’ll have to undergo final training. But it won’t break him. He’ll do well. It’s because of him my bride survived.

  “Keenan?” Carson stands by the door, gesturing for me. “Mack Martin’s arrived.”

  I nod. “See him to the study, please.”

  Lachlan’s taken under Cormac’s wing. Tonight, he’ll be brought to the pub, they’ll drink to his honor, and get him a woman for the night. And tomorrow, I’ll give him his first assignment. He’ll get his Clan ink at the weekend. I’m proud of the boy and pleased that we’ve welcomed him into the fold. He’s my first inductee as Chief. He’ll serve us well.

  I steel myself for what I have to do next. Mack Martin, the man who ordered a hit on my wife, the man responsible for my father’s death. I want nothing more than to make him hurt, but he’s here to speak to me, and it’s in everyone’s best interest if I keep the peace. So I go.

  The short, fat, beady-eyed man waits in my office, flanked by his soldiers. As if I’d kill him right here.

  He nods his greeting to me, his voice oily and thick when he speaks.

  “Keenan, my condolences for your loss, and congratulations on your wedding.”

  “Thank you,” I tell him, gesturing for him to sit.

  I sit on the other side of the table.

  “I want you to know that the sniper who arrived the day of your wedding was not sanctioned by me.”

  Bollox. But I let him go on.

  “We were not trying to hurt you or any of your Clan.”

  “But he bore the ink of the Martins,” I counter.

  Martin nods. “Quite right. And I know the laws state that if one clan is responsible for the death of a Clan Chief…”

  “We go to war. Aye.”

  “…unless,” he continues. “Unless a tribute’s brought forth.”

  The son of a bitch. My marriage to Caitlin’s solidified my Clan and prevented any of them from attacking her. What fresh, insidious plan does he have now? Still, I want to know.

  “Tell me more.”

  “In exchange for peace between us, I’ll offer you a daughter of The Martin Clan. No relation to your wife.”

  I feel my eyes go wide. A Martin daughter? Christ.

  “The laws of our founders state such a tribute wipes all debt,” he says. “No more bloodshed, my boy. The future of Ballyhock lies with us.”

  I don’t know what his plan is, what he’s trying to gain by this, but it seems a fair trade.

  “How old is she?”

  “Twenty.”

  “A virgin?”

  “Aye.”

  “Show me a picture.”

  He gestures for one of his men to hand over a folder. He opens it, and shows me a picture of a beautiful lass, blonde-haired and blue-eyed. Christ, but she’s young, though.

  “When?”

  “When she graduates uni. Next year. She’s betrothed to no one, the youngest of six.”

  The son of a bitch sells them like chattel. I shudder.

  “We’ll talk more of this another time. I wish to speak to my brothers before I make this promise.”

  “Grant me temporary immunity?”

  I grunt. “Aye.”

  He leaves, but I keep the folder. My men and I will have a talk.

  I stand, looking out the window that overlooks the graveyard. It’s hard to believe the weight of responsibility’s fallen on me, that now I’ve assumed this role as clan leader. I knew it was coming. I wasn’t prepared for it coming so soon.

  I tuck the folder under my arm, weary of the day I had, and head upstairs to my wife.

  My wife.

  She’s the balm to my wounds, the salve to my soul. Caitlin McCarthy wears my ring, bears my name, and soon will bear my children.

  I take the steps two at a time, a buoyancy in my step I haven’t felt since we buried my father. I want to see her. I want to hold her. I need to.

  I open the door, and hear her laughing with my mother, before I see them.

  “Oh, hello, there, husband!” she says, grinning at me. “We were just looking at these…”

  She holds a tiny little romper thing in her hand. I feel my brows draw together.

  “Whatever for?” I ask.

  My mother looks tired, but there’s hope in her voice when she says, “For my grandchild.”

  “You’re pregnant?” I ask Caitlin, and she only laughs.

  “Not yet,” she says. “But your mother’s decided it’s time to preemptively shop.”

  The elation and fear I felt quickly leaves me, and I give Caitlin a sharp look. “How about you don’t give me a heart attack, wife?”

  Caitlin gives me a knowing look, and mam gathers up her things. “I’ll leave you two lovebirds.”

  As is tradition, we’ve moved into the larger rooms on the third floor. Mam’s pleased that Caitlin’s here now, and though she’s mourning the loss of my father, she seeks comfort in the presence of another woman.

  “That was very naughty of you,” I say, shaking my finger at her.

  “What?” Caitlin asks. “Soon, I’ll bear you children. For all I know, I could be bearing them now.”

  “Perhaps we can wait another day or two? There’ve been so many changes I’m not sure I’m ready for a child.”

  She sighs and places her hand on my chest. “I don’t know a lot of the ways of the world, but I’m fairly certain children don’t arrive overnight. And Keenan, it would please your mother very much. It’s been hard on her, losing your father.”

  It’s been hard on all of us.

  “Aye,” I say to her. “I agree. But honestly, lass, you’ve made it so much better.”

  “Now, Keenan,” she begins. “I know what you’re thinking when you get that look.”

  “Oh? Tell me what I’m thinking,” I say, reaching for my belt and unfastening it.

  “You’re either of thinking of dominating the life out of me or having your way with me.”

  “Q
uite right.” I snap off my belt and give her a teasing swat. She yelps, squeals, and tries to run away, but I’m faster. I catch her with the tail end a second time, and the silly girl seeks refuge belly down on the bed.

  I don’t want to punish her, though. No. I want more than that tonight.

  “You’re a very dirty man, you know that?” she says over her shoulder.

  “You weren’t saying that last night when you came on my tongue,” I remind her.

  She flushes. “Keenan!”

  “Nor when I clamped your nipples and ripped three orgasms from your pretty little body.”

  “Mmmm.”

  I’m tearing her clothes off, eager to have her naked beneath me. She’s so responsive, so eager, and all mine.

  “Take off your knickers,” I order. The silly, lacy things are tricky to maneuver.

  “Impatient, are we?”

  I give her a teasing slap to the ass.

  “Tonight, sweet girl, I’m taking you from behind,” I tell her. “Now.”

  Like the good lass she is, she strips what remains of her clothing and kneels, facing away from me. Tossing her hair over her shoulder, she shoots me a fetching grin.

  “I love you, even if you’re one of the Neanderthals.”

  “You love me because I’m a Neanderthal,” I quip, raking off my own clothes and positioning myself behind her. I’ve waited for this. She’s used to me now, so I don’t have to ease myself in her. I can take her the way I want to, and tonight, I’m impatient.

  I finger between her legs, pleased to see she’s ready for me. “That’s my girl. Good girl, so ready already, are you?”

  She moans in response, already gripping the headrail for support like I’ve taught her. My cock’s already hard, and I’m so eager for her I’m shaking a little. Every time she yields to me, every time she takes me, she soothes a little of the beast that rages inside me. I love this woman.

  I line myself up behind her, and anchor myself on her hips. “Good girl,” I approve. “Just like that, lass.” Without preamble, I impale her with my cock. She groans and shifts, taking all of me, welcoming my firm, unhurried thrusts.