“If we can find it, you mean?” My grin came slow.
He looked me in the eye. “Already know the direction, darlin’. You’ll just have to direct me on some of the turns.”
We sped through Derry, the murals depicting political unrest still standing out even at night, and not for the first time, Ronan Kelly came to mind. I hadn’t connected the dots until we were on the bridge.
When I’d gotten back to New York and the news of the vegetable trucks being blown up was scattered on every television and printed in every newspaper, some of the information stated that the explosives used reminded the authorities of a bomb that had been used years ago in political warfare overseas. Authorities overseas still didn’t know who’d done it, but they blamed it on radicals.
I got the feeling if Cash’s twin showed up with their mother the next day, Ronan Kelly’s life, his real one, was going to be front page news, for the first time, to his son.
Derry faded with the night, and Kelly told me to open the map. He pointed out our destination and told me to direct him.
“What is this?” I lifted the map. “And how do I read it?” I was joking, but only a little. If we needed a map, that meant that cellphone service was probably going to be shitty, and that meant only one thing: We were headed into rough terrain.
He grinned. “It’s called a map, darlin’, and if you don’t know how to use one, you best start now. Sink or swim. One wrong turn and there’s no tellin’ where we’ll end up.”
I helped him along the way, and in between my directions, we talked. It was the first time I’d ever had him this way, all to myself, for a stretch of time. It mirrored the night we were at Sullivan’s, when I’d offered the truce. I wanted this night to end differently.
As we approached a place called Poisoned Glen, he described it. I couldn’t see it in the darkness, so I had to trust that what he told me about the beauty of the place come morning would be true.
He said there was a rumor that instead of the place being called “Heavenly Glen,” like intended, something got lost in translation from Irish to English, and it was called “Poisoned Glen” instead.
“The Irish word for heaven is ‘neamh,’ and the word for poison is ‘neimhe,’” he said.
“Heaven and hell,” I said. “Separated by two simple vowels.”
“It doesn’t even take two. One misstep can lead you to one place or the other.”
“Give me the story about this place,” I said, staring at his face in the darkness.
“There might not be one.”
I smiled. “They always have one.”
His laugh was low. “Balor, the King of Tory, had a gorgeous daughter who he locked up in a tower so no man could see her. Legend has it that she had fiery red hair, blue eyes the color of heaven, five freckles over her nose, and the wickedest tongue in the land.”
“Sounds familiar,” I said, smiling even wider.
“She was a wild ting,” he said, emphasizing “thing.” “And as wild things go, her beauty couldn’t be caged, so news of it spread throughout the land. She was kidnapped—”
I put a hand to my heart, acting a fool. “Stolen? Who would do such a thing?”
“A marauding bastard,” he said. “Someone like myself.”
“Definitely someone like yourself,” I said. “Continue.”
He glanced at me. “Yes, boss.” Then he cleared his throat. “So she was kidnapped and brought to Magheroarty, but her father was on her scent from the start. Balor killed the marauder with a giant stone. One giant stone still stands at the entrance of Poisoned Glen, and it’s said that it’s the poisonous eye of the King of Tory.”
“That’s it? The marauder was defeated by a stone?”
“A giant stone.”
“Where’s the action? I mean, where’s the story? Did the kidnapper love this woman? How did she feel about all of this? Did she fall for the kidnapper? Did she want to stay with him instead of going with her Da?”
“Not a fairytale type of woman, wasn’t that what you said?” He gave me a pointed look.
“What?” I said, narrowing my eyes.
“I’m not the hero,” he said. “I’m the villain in this story. Since all of a sudden we’re into fairytales.”
“Who said I’m attracted to heroes?” I lifted my brow at him. “The villain, I find, is sexy as hell. Apparently.”
“You wanted me to come after you,” he said. “After you left for Italy.”
I twisted my hair up into a messy bun, letting some of my curls fall around my face. “I did. I thought you would—I hoped you would.”
“When I didn’t?”
“It hurt,” I said, being honest. “But I really don’t want the fairytale, Kelly.”
“Tell me what you want then.”
I opened and closed my hands. “I guess what most women desire deep down. To be wanted. To be needed. To be protected.”
He didn’t say anything, but his eyes turned more serious and he became quiet. The drive stayed that way as we bumped over rough terrain, going through an area so dark that not even shapes were visible to the eye alone. The lights from the car moved up and down, exposing glimpses of an old village, rundown cottages included.
I looked down at the map, and then back at Kelly. “Are we lost?”
His eyes were narrowed on the road and it took him a moment to answer. “You don’t get lost in Ireland,” he said. “You discover.”
“Have we discovered then? Because—”
At the last minute, he took a hard right on a rudimentary lane made of rocks. The Land Rover ate them up, the stones cracking against the teeth of the tires, as we continued along what seemed like a lost road.
It wasn’t even on the fucking map.
A jagged electric line forked across the sky before another one shocked it and everything around us. From the momentary brightness of the lightning, I caught a wide glimpse of the land. Water stretched to the horizon on the left. On the right, a great expanse of patchwork land that would probably be shades of unreal green come morning, cottages placed here and there. A few bigger places were set in between. Maybe farmhouses. But all of the houses were acres away from each other. An inlet created from the water sat behind the village, separating it from another stretch of land.
After a minute or so, Kelly turned on to a driveway made from dirt and followed it all the way to the front of a farmhouse.
“Is this where you grew up?” I leaned forward, trying to get a good look at it in the glow of the headlights. It was rundown but in a this is Ireland’s charm way.
“I was born in Derry,” he said. “After my—after she died, we were brought here to live with my old man’s parents.”
“I thought they owned the house in Derry?”
“True, but this is where they took us.”
I didn’t say anything, but if I needed a place to hide, or a place to hide people, this was prime real estate. I doubted anyone who didn’t know about this place would be able to find it. I would’ve turned back over forty-five minutes ago.
Kelly sat for a minute, staring at the place, his eyes hard.
“Have you been back since you left?” I whispered.
“Once. Right before my old man died.”
“Do you feel lost or discovered here?” I felt discovered, completely found, because he sat next to me.
“Lost.” He cleared this throat. “I was. So fucking lost. Until I found you.” Then his eyes collided with mine.
The breath I’d just taken lodged in my throat. My heart started to beat quicker and my stomach plummeted.
His eyes refused to leave mine as his hand came across and grabbed me by the neck, pulling my face to his. The stream of breath from his mouth caressed my lips, and I breathed in deep, wanting to take him into my lungs.
“I’m in love with you, Cashel Fallon Kelly,” I said, my eyes as unwavering as his. “So in love. With you.”
The grip he had on my neck became tighter, and I could feel the tremor in his bon
es. “Say what you mean and mean what you fucking say,” he said, his voice hard.
“I’ll never take those words back,” I said, moving my nose against his, my lips against his skin. “I can’t. Those words were inside of my heart when you stole it.”
“I’ll bleed to set those words in stone,” he said, speaking in riddles, right before his lips came over mine in a kiss that stole my breath.
Each of my hands were fisted in his shirt, refusing to let him go, but did when he pulled away to step out of the car. As he did, another strike of lightning lit up the sky. A second later, a droplet of rain hit the windshield, and then another, until I couldn’t see the farmhouse from the car.
Kelly tore open my door, rain dripping down from his cap. He turned me around to face him, his touch rough, the look in his eyes as heated as a flame.
Every breath I took was for him.
Every beat of my heart was his.
Every day of my life. For the rest of my life.
I was his and he was mine.
My hands were back to his chest, my fists full of his shirt, and I was yanking him to me as he was pulling me out of the car. Our lips met in the rain, the taste of it sweet between our tongues, and I was barely aware that we were moving, until my back slammed against the stone.
His mouth moved lower, to my neck, his kiss warm against my skin, the complete opposite of the storm raging around us. “You’ve become the most dangerous thing on this earth to me,” he whispered in my ear.
His hand slipped underneath my shirt, his fingers trailing a straight line between my breasts, until he stopped over my heart. “It’s about to come straight out of your chest,” he said. “Right into my hand, my darlin’.”
“Easy steal, Marauder,” I said, breathless. Rain collected on my lashes and his. His were raven black, making his green eyes seem even greener. They almost glowed in the darkness, highlighted by the lights from the car. And I demanded to lose myself in the chaos they caused, because he made me feel alive. Perfectly alive in a life that was mine. “Because I let it go—freely now.”
“So fucking dangerous,” he murmured before he lifted my shirt over my arms, licking the rain from my bare skin. The heat from his body and the cool winds from the storm made a hard shiver pass over me, and my hair stood on end.
Especially after his eyes took in the bodysuit I’d worn under my clothes. It was sheer, with black velvet trimming.
He picked me up, and I wrapped my legs around his waist, kissing him as he carried me to the door. He must’ve opened it after he’d gotten out of the car, because he turned the handle and walked right in. He set me down on a long wooden table in the kitchen.
He lit a match and a few different sized candles on the counter from it. An old fireplace, dirty from years of use, was in front of the table. He lit that, too.
His clothes dripped water all over the floor, droplets running down his face, and when he came to stand between my legs, one of them landed on my chest, shimmering like a diamond in the glow of the soft flames. My neck burned—my heart on fire—from the desire in my veins.
He ran a finger up my arm, over my shoulder, along my neck, and then down between my breasts, before he circled my nipples, watching the entire time. “You burn for me everywhere I touch you,” he whispered.
I reached out for him, lifting the soaked shirt over his arms, over his cap, and then flung it to the floor. He kicked his boots off and unbuttoned his pants. Using my feet, I shoved them down his legs, watching as he stood before me in nothing but the cap.
“Fuck me,” I pleaded. “Please.”
“First.” He reached out and slipped the pants from my legs. His bicep bunched and his back muscles rippled as he turned to throw my pants into the pile with his shirt. “Dinner.”
“I’m not fucking hungry,” I snapped. Not for food. His shoulders were wide, strong, and I wanted to sink my teeth deep into his skin.
“I’m fucking starving,” he said, and with a hand to my chest, pushed me back onto the table.
His fingers trailed up my left leg, and I moved a little for him so he could unfasten the bodysuit. Before he did, he ran his fingers back and forth, back and forth, teasing me. My entire body felt tense, ready to go off, and I almost did when I heard the sound of a snap releasing and felt a breath of fresh air between my legs.
“Soaked,” he said, his voice low and rough. His fingers moved, a caressing brush, and then slid between my folds. My breaths came faster, the trembling coming harder. My legs parted even wider as a finger slid inside and his mouth came against me. My back arched off the table, my ass sliding down even further, wanting to be as close to his tongue as possible.
He devoured me like a man who hadn’t eaten dinner in a long time, and I came like a woman who hadn’t felt his touch in forever.
“Cash!” I screamed out, my thighs snapping shut when my orgasm tore through me, even wilder than the storm outside.
Wind howled and rain battered. Every so often the house would be lit with a shock of lightning, and I could see the pure desire in my tiger’s eyes. When a roar of thunder would rattle the walls, it seemed to echo the sound of his pounding heart, as if he were on the hunt.
Forget what he looked like. That’s what he felt like to me—a dangerous animal.
I was still riding the high when he entered me in a thrust so brutal that my eyes sprang open, a hiss escaped my lips, and my claws came out, sinking deep into his back.
“There she is,” he said, looking down on me with hooded eyes. “Mark me even deeper.”
I tore into his skin as I lifted myself up, meeting him thrust for thrust, the size of him stretching my walls until pleasure clashed with pain. “Oh fuck!” I screamed out. “Oh fuck! Yes!”
I wrapped my arms around his neck, and he lifted me up, our bodies moving together as he carried us toward another room. His back hit a wall first, though, and then he turned us, so that the face of the cold stone touched my skin. The wall was jagged, and as he pumped into me, faster, harder, it left lines of fire down my back.
He was fucking me so hard that my breasts spilled out of the bodysuit from impact and jiggled every time he made the full connection.
Then we were moving again, and after he shoved open a door on the lower floor, he set me down on the bed in the room. He felt around until he hit something solid. I heard a drawer open, a matchstick catch, and then a tiny flame came out of the darkness, lighting up his face. He lit a long taper candle and then blew out the matchstick.
His eyes journeyed over my body as the flame brought me to life. His eyes lowered to almost closed when he found my eyes. He looked higher than he had the night out on the fire escape. “My tigress,” he said. “All mine.” With a growl that seemed to come from the deepest part of his throat, he ripped the bodysuit from my body before he entered me again.
He flipped us over on the bed a second later. My palms were solid against his chest, my hair dripping water down his skin, and I stared into his eyes as I slowly moved up his shaft. I moved even slower when I worked myself back down.
His hands came to my ass, digging into my skin, and then to my hips. I could feel his urge, his desire, like it was my own. He wanted me to tear into him, to ride him hard and fast, to make this about fucking.
Time and place.
I wanted a redo of our wedding night. I demanded to go deeper than skin. I’d coast in his bloodstream, getting him high off my kisses. I’d make his heart thunder in his chest from my touch. I’d make him feel lightning in his balls when he came inside of me.
I’d cause nothing but utter chaos on his body, so he could feel peace down to his soul once I reached it. All of that pent-up want—it was going to be released from its cage and set free with mine.
My hands slid up his chest, to his neck, over the tattoo, where his pulse slammed against my fingers. My tongue slipped up his chin, savoring the taste of salt from his skin, until my mouth met his.
I kissed him slow, my hips moving at the
same pace, and a noise I’d never heard before escaped from his lips. It was a deep groan of satisfaction. When I sat up, taking him in even deeper, I couldn’t stop the echo of the same noise that left my mouth.
I’d never experienced anything like this before. Him. The connection. It was as deep as he was inside of me.
“Ah!” I screamed out when he rocked his hips up so hard that I lost my breath. He flipped me over so fast that I had no chance to stop it. He lifted my leg, positioning himself in a way that I knew he was about to go deeper.
He was going to tear me apart again, fuck me like the animal he felt he was, because he didn’t know how to let the man rule this.
A tear slipped down my cheek that I damned to hell. But I let him see. I lifted my chin as it rolled down my cheek until it met the pillow. His chest heaved and his fingers dug into my leg. His muscles strained. His erection was about to tear through his skin.
I closed my eyes when he moved, expecting the brutality of his fucking, but instead of slamming into me, he licked the trail of the tear from my cheek to the corner of my eye. Then he started to move at the same pace I’d set—slow, but with such a contained power that I felt it bone deep.
An animal was always an animal by instinct, but instead of trying to ravage my heart, my will, my stubborn nature, he was accepting me as is, because I was no longer fighting to keep what was his away from him.
We both came in a moment that seemed to rock the house harder than the thunder rattling the panes. My eyes were shut tight, but after a minute, I could feel him watching me. I opened my eyes slowly to meet his, and after studying my face for another minute, he pulled out of me and came to sit beside me on the bed.
The sudden loss of heat, of him, made me shiver, and I curled into myself. He sighed, and the sound of it made me tremble even harder. He moved slowly on the bed, getting a little closer, until finally, he wrapped his arm around me, kissing me behind the ear. Reaching out with his empty hand, he pulled the quilt from the bed over us, and settled in with his head close to mine. We were pressed skin to skin.
“When did it start to storm?” His voice was raw.
I started laughing, real quiet, shaking in his arms.
Marauder (Gangsters of New York Book 2) Page 27