Nolan: A Dark Irish Mafia Romance (Dangerous Doms)

by Jane Henry

  Her eyes widen slightly and it might be my imagination, but I swear she finally looks a little nervous.

  He grunts. “Fine art, my arse. You brought her here for questions, and I expect—”

  “Calm your titties,” I tell him. Christ, I need a smoke.

  “Nolan,” he says warningly. As my older brother and Clan Chief, I do owe him respect, but for Christ’s sake, does he think me a magician?

  Still, I want to prove myself to him. For years, I know he thought me worthless and spoiled, and fuck, maybe I was. But not now. I’ve shown my loyalty to The Clan time and time again, he just has to give me time.

  “I will, brother. Trust me, Keenan. I’ll get answers in time.”

  Right about now would be a good time to smoke a cigar and sit on the balcony that overlooks the sea. Let the salt breeze unwind my nerves and calm me. But not when I have a job to do.

  There’s a pause on the other end of the line, then I can almost hear him nodding when he says, “Absolutely. Of course I trust you. Do what you think’s best, and let me know when you have something for us to go on. If you need answers, call Carson. He’s ready and willing to investigate.”

  “On it.”

  We disconnect the call. She’s watching me with those wide, beautiful eyes of hers. She notices everything. It’s her job to note every detail. I slide my phone back into my pocket and go back to her.

  “Your brother,” she says. “Keenan?”

  I nod. “You know who my brothers are,” I say. “Don’t pretend you don’t.”

  “I’m not,” she says. “But I’m trying to get them straight in my head. He wants you to get answers from me. Why?”

  “Why? You’re a smart girl. Of course you know.”

  Her look grows cold and detached, her jaw clenched and her eyes icy.

  “I just wondered if there was any new reason for you to get all up in arms about my investigation is all. I don’t know everything. Suppose you think you do.”

  I lift the crop and hold it, crossing my arms on my chest. Warning. She swallows again and gives me a placating smile.

  “New article that came out recently,” I tell her. “The locals are angry at the McCarthy Clan. We’ve been on amiable terms with the locals for decades, and you’re ruining that. You’re the informant, you’re the one causing trouble. What do you have to say for yourself?”

  She holds my gaze. “Isn’t it obvious?”

  “Much is obvious, Sheena. But I asked you a question.”

  For some reason, she looks away when she answers me.

  Why?

  “You’re mafia,” she says. “You might fancy yourselves some sort of benevolent do-gooders with their own code of ethics or whatever, but you’re still organized crime. You flaunt the law. You don’t bring security to Ballyhock but misery and devastation, and it’s time the villagers knew the truth.”

  She’s lying. There’s more to it than that.

  “Ahhh,” I say, circling the bed. I tap the crop on my hand and she flinches when it makes a snap sound. “So you’re the one in charge of policing us, then. Did you sign on with the police force, then? Did I miss your badge somewhere?”

  “Oh fuck off,” she snaps, clearly forgetting she’s bound and at my mercy. She cringes when I raise the crop and snap it on her thigh.

  “Watch that smart mouth, doll,” I warn. “I’ll not have you speaking to me that way.”

  She grits her teeth and doesn’t answer.

  “So who put you in charge, then?” I ask. “The villagers here, the local church and police, all know what we do. We’ve gotten along just fine until you came along.”

  Her lips thin, and she looks away. I take the crop and place it on her cheek, guiding her eyes back to mine. She grits her teeth but looks my way.

  “So answer me, Sheena. Why us? Why now? There are other mobs in Ireland you could just as easily trail.”

  She looks away from me again, and her lack of response is telling. I’ve hit something here. Her vendetta against us is personal, as we’ve suspected.

  She doesn't answer me. This isn't something she'll joke about. There's no smart retort, no wise crack. I've struck a nerve then. If this is something personal, I’ll have to dig deep to find out what the truth is. I pretend like I don't know, that she hasn't given anything away.

  “So let me ask you a question, then,” I say. Standing in front of her again, I’m reminded why she’s here. I may have enjoyed dominating this woman, wielding my crop and belt and tasting those full, beautiful lips. I may enjoy the sight before me even now, while she’s restrained and at my mercy, bearing the marks I’ve inflicted on her.

  But this isn’t about a quick, hard lay or a night of fucking.

  This isn’t about picking up a girl at The Craic, or even about normal interrogation.

  This woman has betrayed us. She’s dragged us through the mud and by Clan code, deserves death. My mission to extract the truth from her both vindicates The Clan and saves her from certain execution.

  My phone rings again, and I go to answer it without taking my eyes off her. But when I lift my phone, no one’s calling. It rings again. Takes me a minute to realize it’s her phone that’s ringing, not mine.

  She’s not getting this phone from me.

  “Huh,” I mutter. “Same ringtone. That’s odd, isn’t it?”

  Every mask that she wears falls when she realizes it’s her phone that’s ringing.

  “Give it to me. Please, Nolan. Please let me answer my phone.”

  Nolan? She’s supplicating with as much as she can muster, and it throws me off a bit. Why is she so desperate to answer the phone? Doesn’t she know anything she wants that badly is the very thing I won’t give her?

  I look at the name on the caller I.D.

  Tiernan.

  Heated jealousy rips through me.

  Her fucking boyfriend? She thinks I’ll let her talk to her fucking boyfriend?

  I’m half tempted to whip her phone across the room and smash it. I go so far as to wind up to throw it, but she screams.

  “No! Don’t. Please don’t!”

  What kind of a woman with a boyfriend seduces a man with a blow job? I shut it off, shove it in my pocket, and stalk out of the room. I kick the door open, march to the large framed print above the sofa, and tear it aside. I flick open my safe, slide her phone in, then relock it. I place the painting back, toss the crop to the couch, and go to leave.

  She can think about who she is, what she’s done, and what she’s yet to do for a good long while. I’m having my smoke and letting her fester.

  Chapter 6

  Sheena

  Oh, God. Oh God.

  Panic causes my breaths to come in ragged, shallow gasps. I’m drowning, unable to catch a breath. I made my way through the club, tried to seduce one of the most dangerous criminals in all of Ireland, got kidnapped and brought to their house, fucking punished and restrained and interrogated and nothing has made me panic until now.

  Tiernan never calls me, but that ringtone’s specifically his. I have my phone set on silent unless he calls me, and he only ever rings in an emergency.

  Oh God.

  If he’s calling me, something terrible’s happened. I have to answer. It’s only been a matter of hours since I’ve seen him, and he wouldn’t call unless this was an emergency, I know he wouldn’t.

  “Nolan!” I yell. If he hears me, he doesn’t answer.

  “Nolan!”

  Christ, even if I did get his attention, what would I say? Oh, hey, I know I’m your prisoner, but do me a favor and let me answer my phone?

  I try to take another breath, but my chest feels as if someone’s sitting on it. With my wrists restrained and my legs spread apart like this, I can’t do a damn thing to move from this position, to draw a deeper breath, to quell the rising panic.

  A sob rises in my chest and I scream a second time. “Nolan!”

  I close my eyes when panic darkens my vision.

  I can’t b
reathe. I can’t draw in breath. My lungs are constricted, my need to breathe instant and terrifying.

  I’m a little girl again, trapped in a closet while my mother fucks her boyfriend. She’s punishing me for being stupid, in this dark and dank room. I can hear the baby crying in the other room, a sick cacophony that clashes with the grunts and moans on the other side of this door.

  I can’t open the door. I can’t get the baby. She’s kept me in here to silence me, but I will not be silent. One day I will escape from here and I will never be silent again.

  I’m sobbing, tears falling freely down my cheeks, so caught in my misery and panic that I don’t even hear him entering the room until I feel strong arms on my wrists.

  “Easy, lass,” he says. “For Christ’s sake, you’ve worked yourself into a feckin’ frenzy. Take a deep breath and relax.”

  I try but the air’s too thick or my mouth won’t open, I don’t know, but I can’t. He removes my restraints, and for one brief moment, I remember. Back at The Craic, the night I was abducted and he and the others saved me. How he wrapped me in a blanket and took me to safety. It was the one and only time I’ve ever seen tenderness from Nolan McCarthy, and I’ve not forgotten it.

  “I—I can’t,” I gasp, trying to catch a breath.

  After my wrists are free, he goes to my ankles next and unfastens those. When I’m finally free, I don’t flee. I curl up in a ball, gasping for breath. He climbs up in bed beside me.

  “Shh, now.” He’s holding me, naked and trembling, to his chest.

  “Sheena. Easy, doll. What the hell happened? I was only out of the room for a minute.”

  But I still can’t breathe.

  He spins me over to look at him, his strong hand cupping my face to hold my gaze.

  “Are you having an asthma attack?”

  I shake my head.

  “Do I need to call the doctor?”

  I shake my head harder. “No,” I gasp. “No doctor. Panic.”

  Understanding dawns quickly, and he nods.

  “Okay, Sheena. Look at my eyes.” His voice grows stern and commanding, and I instinctively obey. “Now. Do what I do.”

  He draws in a deep, steadying breath, then lets it out. I can’t breathe on my own, but when he does this, I can imitate him. I hold his gaze and draw in a deep breath. Cool air fills my lungs and the haze of panic begins to ebb away.

  “Good girl,” he says softly. “Just like that. Again, now.” He draws in a huge breath again, his shoulders rising, and again, I imitate him.

  I do it again and again, until I’m breathing freely.

  “There, now,” he says. “Better.”

  My hair’s plastered to my forehead, my whole body dotted in a fine sheen of perspiration.

  I try to put my wall up, to defend myself against the rush of emotion and relief. I don’t need to see the tender side of Nolan McCarthy again, goddammit.

  If I do, I might lose control.

  All this work, all this effort to get here, to follow my script and find my answers, vanishes when I devolve into a sobbing fucking mess. I’m so angry with myself I could scream.

  Once I’m breathing freely, he holds me at arm’s length and gives me a serious look, his eyes probing and sober.

  “Y’alright?”

  I look away. I don’t want him to see the devastation I can’t hide, how stupid and foolish I am for showing weakness.

  I take in one breath, let it out, then take in another, steadying my nerves.

  I nod. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

  He’s still guarded, on edge, as if he’s waiting to see if I’m fooling him. Hell, I don’t blame him. I’ve feigned panic attacks before to get something I needed, and I’d do it again. Big, strong men like him enjoy being the protector, and I know how to play that.

  I’m not playing now, though, and a part of me wonders if I’m the girl who cried wolf. If I keep manipulating him, will he ever really trust me?

  Do I want him to?

  He sits up in bed and releases me, watching how I react. I reach for the duvet, grab the corner, and pull it over myself. I feel so wildly exposed, and I don’t like it. Minutes ago I was restrained and naked and it didn’t bother me like being bared to him does now.

  He didn’t just see my body. My body’s a vessel. I’ve learned to detach as a matter of survival.

  But just now, he saw so much more than that, and I hate that he did. He’s seen my fears. He saw me lose my mind, and I want to take cover.

  I can’t, though. Too little, too late.

  “Why’d you panic so?” he says, and the sharpened tone of his voice makes me look at him. That quickly, the kindness he showed me evaporates. He’s on edge again, the hunter watching the moves of his prey. His voice hardens to granite. “Your boyfriend calling you?”

  I hold the blanket tighter. I’m no fucking wilting violet, and I won’t let him intimidate me, but still, I can’t help but cringe a little.

  What the hell is he talking about?

  “My boyfriend?”

  He rolls his eyes and swings his legs over the side of the bed.

  “Your fucking boyfriend,” he says. “I saw the phone. I saw the name come up. Tiernan wants a word, does he? Afraid he’ll dump your pretty arse when he finds out who you really are?”

  I can’t stop the sudden fury he inspires in me. It isn’t fair how easily the fucker can make me snap. I won’t tell him I don’t have a boyfriend. He doesn’t deserve to know it’s my brother that calls me, that they depend on me. It’s too close to the vest, and he doesn’t deserve to know anything that personal.

  “Fuck off.”

  A muscle ticks in his jaw and he crosses his arms on his chest, shaking his head.

  “You really haven’t learned, have you?”

  I blink, unable to respond. My fucking gob. Gets me in fucking trouble, every time.

  “Probably not,” I say, still seething. “But I suppose you’re willing and able to teach me.”

  He holds my gaze, his eyes narrowed and his jaw tight. I wonder if he regrets holding me just now, soothing me. “Ah, lass,” he says so softly I can hardly hear him. “You have no fucking idea. Now tell me, or we’ll have another session of ask and tell. Was it your boyfriend calling you?”

  My plan not to tell him something’s crap. If Tiernan called, there’s an emergency. And if he called, I need to find out why.

  “No,” I tell him. If I give him enough truth, maybe he’ll buy it. “Not my boyfriend. Tiernan’s a friend of mine, and he only ever calls if there’s a very serious emergency.”

  He blinks, absorbing this, then nods slowly. “Right,” he says. “So if I call Tiernan back, then, I won’t find a pissy boyfriend on the other line?”

  Is he testing me? I swallow and hold his gaze. I can’t let him intimidate me, not this time.

  “You will not.”

  A knock comes at the door, and he curses under his breath. “I’ll be right back. You stay right fucking there, or that spanking you got earlier will look like a joke.”

  He waits until I respond. All I manage is a curt nod. I won’t move. Not yet.

  He goes to the door, and I hear him talking to someone. Their voices rise and fall, and then the door slams shut. I wait for him to come back to the room, but he doesn’t at first. I get out of the bed and stand, half tempted to go in the other room to see what he’s doing, but I’m not sure it’s worth provoking him again. I don’t hear his footsteps because of the carpeting. A moment later, he’s darkening the doorway to the bedroom and my phone rests in his hand.

  “Password protected,” he says wryly, crossing the room to me. “And when I say stay right there, I fucking mean it.” He places the phone in his pocket, grabs the duvet, and yanks me back over to the bed, forcing me into a sitting position.

  “Who was at the door?”

  I’ve learned to be the pain in the arse. You get a lot more answers that way, even if it pisses people off. I’ve grown used to that part.

 
But he’s good at this. He doesn’t even bother to respond, and hands me my phone. “Unlock it, then hand it back to me.”

  I don’t want him to know my secrets, but my need to find out if they’re okay trumps my need for this tiny bit of privacy. I take the phone he hands me and punch in my passcode.

  “Good. Now disable the privacy settings.”

  I pause when he gives that instruction. If I disable my passcode, he’ll have total access to my phone, and I don’t like that at all. I’ve hidden most of the important files, though, and he’s not giving me a choice. So I do what he says and disable the passcode. I’ll get it later. I’ll wipe it. Right now, I need to call Tiernan.

  “Good,” he repeats. “Now call Tiernan back on speakerphone. Find out why he called.”

  “I don’t want to call him in front of you,” I protest, but a narrowing of his eyes warns me. I’m not sure what choice I have. I have to find out why he called. I grit my teeth and do what he says.

  I swipe the speaker on and dial.

  The phone rings, and Tiernan answers on the second ring. His voice is descending, but he still sounds like a child. Nolan will know this is no man.

  “Sheena?”

  Relief floods through me at hearing his voice. He’s okay.

  I bow my head and look away from Nolan so he doesn’t see my face.

  “Is everything okay?”

  I hate that we’re having this conversation in front of him.

  “No,” Tiernan says. There’s a fist around my belly, squeezing. I take in a deep breath and let it out again.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “She left tonight with some man. Came back drunk off her arse, forgot her key and wanted in. The baby was crying, Fiona came out dazed, was half asleep, and told them to leave. The man lost his mind, broke the door down. They started throwing things. Hit Fiona’s wrist, damn near hurt the baby. Came at me.”

  I’m on my feet. “Oh, God, are you okay?”

  “I made them leave, kicked them out. Gave her all the cash I had as bribery. I thought of calling someone, but I—I’m afraid they’ll separate us. Not sure who else to call.”

  Christ.

  Nolan snaps his fingers. My eyes fly open. I almost forgot he was there.