The McCarthy Family Legacy Series by Jane Henry – Read Books Online Free Ebooks good best novels to read http://www.books2020.com Wed, 13 May 2026 18:57:22 +0000 en-US hourly 1 https://wordpress.org/?v=6.9.4 http://www.books2020.com/wp-content/uploads/2020/09/favicon.png The McCarthy Family Legacy Series by Jane Henry – Read Books Online Free Ebooks good best novels to read http://www.books2020.com 32 32 Wicked Sanctuary (The McCarthy Family Legacy #2) Read Online Jane Henry http://www.books2020.com/wicked-sanctuary-the-mccarthy-family-legacy-2-read-online-jane-henry Wed, 13 May 2026 18:57:22 +0000 https://www.books2020.com/wicked-sanctuary-the-mccarthy-family-legacy-2-read-online-jane-henry Categories Genre: Alpha Male, Angst, BDSM, Dark, Erotic, Mafia Tags Authors: Series: The McCarthy Family Legacy Series by Jane Henry
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Total pages in book: 109
Estimated words: 103878 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 519(@200wpm)___ 416(@250wpm)___ 346(@300wpm)
<<<<1231121>109
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I’ve been watching her for six years.
Bianca White is sunshine and innocence.
I’m the monster they whisper about in the dark.
And she hates me, for good reason.
I told myself I’d stay away. That I’d keep my distance and just make sure she was safe. But on the night of her college graduation, I have no choice.
So I take her.
I cage my little bird in the woods where no one can touch her. Where no one can take her from me.
Yet she doesn’t take it easy. She fights me and begs to go back to the man who will kill her.
She’ll learn, though, that some cages are gilded for a reason, and that anyone who wants to harm her will have to come through me first.
Bianca didn’t know it, but she was always mine. Now everyone else will too.

*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************

Chapter One

Six Years Earlier…

Ashland

I love the taste of blood in my mouth during a fight. Proof I’m alive, that I’m winning. It tastes like victory.

I spit it on the floor of the ring, and red splatters across gray. The echo of cheering is like distant thunder, the smell of sweat and Guinness flooding my senses. The abandoned warehouse is officially a gym, but the underground knows that beneath the official exterior is where the real action takes place. This is where men like me come to fight, and I fucking love it.

Lawless. Violent. Cathartic.

My ribs ache where the Cork bastard caught me early, a hit I'll feel tomorrow. But when he comes in with a right hook, confident, thinking he's got me figured out, I duck. I drive my fist into his kidney. Once. Twice. Three times in rapid succession, each hit precise and targeted. I feel something give under my knuckles.

And I love this. God help me, I love this.

He grunts and tries to pivot away, but I'm too fast for him. He swings wild, desperate now, and clips my jaw. Blood floods my mouth, the familiar metallic taste sweet and satisfying. My opponent’s desperation is my first taste of victory.

Beautiful.

He grins, breathing hard, and his guard drops.

“Come on, then,” I say, my voice rough. I tap my jaw where he hit me. “That's all you’ve got?”

He charges.

I sidestep and drive my elbow into the base of his skull. Not hard enough to do permanent damage—I'm not trying to kill the fucker—but hard enough.

He staggers, and his knees buckle.

I'm on him before he can recover. Left jab to the temple, right cross to the cheekbone. I feel the satisfying crack under my knuckles. Another shot to his fucked-up ribs, and this time, something cracks.

“Finish him, Ash!” Tiernan shouts from somewhere behind me, and it's all the encouragement I need.

I drive my knee into his stomach. The air leaves his lungs in a sick whoosh.

He drops face-first on the canvas. The ref's beside him instantly, checking him, and I step back. My chest heaves. My hands throb. There's blood on my knuckles, and I can't tell if it's his or mine.

His crew screams for him to get up, but he won't, not after what I did to his ribs. Wouldn't be wise, would it?

“Time.” The ref's voice echoes through the warehouse, and the crowd erupts.

I don't hear them when I'm playing, don't hear them when I'm fighting, but I do after I win a damn fight.

“McCarthy! McCarthy! McCarthy!”

The McCarthy family's name is one of their favorite cheers, and I fucking love it. I love being part of something bigger, knowing I stand in solidarity with my brother and cousins.

Today, I don't move or raise my arms, don't celebrate. I just stand there, knuckles split and bleeding, waiting for the roar to fade. It doesn't, really.

I've found that violence just sits in my chest like a living thing, coiling tighter and tighter until the next fight. I've come to welcome it.

“Ash.” Tiernan's voice cuts through the roar of the crowd. “Get out of the damn ring, lad, will you?”

I turn and find him at the ropes. Tiernan's been in my corner since before I was tall enough to throw a proper punch. My mother's brother, near enough my age to feel like a brother himself. He has a family of his own now, but he's always been my mentor.

“Y'alright, lad?” he asks as I duck through the ropes. He tries to dab blood off my face with a rolled-up rag, but I swat his hand away and reach for the bottle of water—swig it, swish it in my mouth, and spit out blood. He reaches for my hands instead and starts unwinding the tape.

“Aye. Grand.”

“That wasn't grand, Ash,” he says, giving me the look of pride mixed with worry I've come to recognize. “That was fuckin' brutal.” He leans closer, and I can see the gray mixed with ginger in his hair, the lines around his eyes, and the way his brow creases. I remember when I thought he was invincible—the day I saw him in this ring and decided it would be me one day. Tiernan’s a legend here in Ballyhock.


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Wicked Altar (The McCarthy Family Legacy #1) Read Online Jane Henry http://www.books2020.com/wicked-altar-the-mccarthy-family-legacy-1-read-online-jane-henry-2 Wed, 13 May 2026 18:55:07 +0000 https://www.books2020.com/wicked-altar-the-mccarthy-family-legacy-1-read-online-jane-henry-2 Categories Genre: Alpha Male, BDSM, Dark, Erotic, Mafia Tags Authors: Series: The McCarthy Family Legacy Series by Jane Henry
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Total pages in book: 120
Estimated words: 120241 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 601(@200wpm)___ 481(@250wpm)___ 401(@300wpm)
<<<<1231121>120
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I've hated Cavin McCarthy since the day he made me cry in a school closet.

He was my tormentor. My nightmare. The cruel boy who turned my name into a punchline and my life into hell.

Now? He's my fiancé.

An arranged marriage neither of us wanted, brokered by families who deal in blood and power. I'd refuse if I could. But my sister is dying, and the McCarthy's hold the key to saving her life.

So I'll walk down the aisle. I'll say the vows. I'll become Mrs. Cavin McCarthy.

But I'll never forgive him.

Except... the monster I remember isn't the man standing before me now. The boy who destroyed me has become someone who fights for me. Protects me. Touches me like I'm something precious instead of broken.

And when his hands are on my throat, his voice rough in my ear, I'm not thinking about revenge anymore.

I'm only thinking about surrender

*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************

Chapter One

Cavin

I stand with my hands folded in front of me, the bitter cold of a Ballyhock winter seeping through my wool coat as I stare down at what’s left of Malachy.

“No one can know about this, lad.” Malachy’s last words. The envelope in my pocket weighs more than the coffin we carried. After the prayers, I’ll deliver it. One last secret for a man buried in them.

In my peripheral vision, my brother Seamus, the eldest, stands beside our father and mother. Da looks distinguished and broken. Malachy was a second father to him.

Mam looks poised as always, her expression gentle despite the frown creasing her brow. Her hands rest on Da's forearm, folded and still—but I know better. She's always alert. My sisters stand on either side of her, dressed in formal charcoal gray—Kyla on guard and frowning, Bronwyn, the baby of the family, quietly sniffing and wiping at her eyes with a balled-up tissue.

My cousin Declan whispers something in Bronwyn's ear that makes her smile and elbow him. Garrett, a family friend, his trademark red hair stark against the cold blue sky, snorts. I shoot them all a sharp look—this isn't the fucking time—and they straighten up quick enough.

It’s a huge turnout. I swear half of Ballyhock’s come to pay their respects, which makes sense when I think about the man Malachy was, and the way our father always made sure the McCarthy men stayed within the good graces of the residents of Ballyhock. Even the best of them will overlook our… transgressions… when we toss half a million quid in the Holy Family coffers.

“Ashes to ashes,” Father Gregory says in a monotone, his hand steady as he makes the sign of the cross over the coffin. My mother makes the sign of the cross and whispers what must be a prayer under her breath.

I rub my hand across my eyes. Haven’t slept more than a few hours straight since prison, and it’s showing.

“Mad, isn’t it? Only death or marriage gets us all in the same place anymore,” my cousin Daire mutters to me. He’s not wrong.

I stare at the coffin. It was lighter to carry than I expected. Malachy lost weight at the end, before he lost his battle to illness and old age, and I guess the lads and I are stronger than we once were.

Movement catches my eye—someone shifting near the far edge of the graveyard, half hidden behind a weathered angel statue.

A woman—blonde hair whipping in the wind and black coat buttoned to her throat.

She’s not with the main gathering but is separate, alone, kneeling at a grave with white roses clutched in her gloved hands.

And she’s staring right at me.

My breath catches. Is that…? It can’t be.

Erin fucking Kavanagh. Perfect little Erin.

What the bloody hell is she doing here?

She’s fifty yards away, maybe more, but I’d recognize her anywhere. That sharp little face. Those eyes that always looked at me like I was something she’d scraped off her shoe. The way she holds herself—stiff, controlled, like she’s afraid she’ll fly apart if she loosens her grip.

Only she’s not the scrawny little bitch from St. Albert’s anymore. She’s filled out—tits, hips, the lot. Even in that shapeless coat, I can see the curve of her. My mouth goes dry. I want to look away, but I can’t.

Christ, I’m a bastard for noticing her arse at a funeral.

She ducks her head when she realizes I’ve clocked her. Pretends to fuss with the flowers, but her hands are shaking now.

Good.

The Kavanaghs sent flowers yesterday, including a card with her father’s signature, not hers. So why the fuck is Padraic Kavanagh’s daughter kneeling at a grave in McCarthy territory during our funeral?

My hand moves to my side, where my gun sits under my coat. Instinct. Even from this distance, I could drop her before she screams.

The thought shouldn’t make my cock twitch… but it does.

My eyes narrow. Is she spying for her da? Or did she just want to watch me squirm? That'd be just like her—Little Miss Perfect, always so fucking eager to see me brought low. Again.


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Wicked Altar (The McCarthy Family Legacy #1) Read Online Jane Henry http://www.books2020.com/wicked-altar-the-mccarthy-family-legacy-1-read-online-jane-henry Thu, 26 Feb 2026 08:20:46 +0000 http://www.books2020.com/wicked-altar-the-mccarthy-family-legacy-1-read-online-jane-henry Categories Genre: Alpha Male, BDSM, Crime, Dark, Erotic, Mafia, Suspense Tags Authors: Series: The McCarthy Family Legacy Series by Jane Henry
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Total pages in book: 120
Estimated words: 120241 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 601(@200wpm)___ 481(@250wpm)___ 401(@300wpm)
<<<<1231121>120
Advertisement

I've hated Cavin McCarthy since the day he made me cry in a school closet.

He was my tormentor. My nightmare. The cruel boy who turned my name into a punchline and my life into hell.

Now? He's my fiancé.

An arranged marriage neither of us wanted, brokered by families who deal in blood and power. I'd refuse if I could. But my sister is dying, and the McCarthy's hold the key to saving her life.

So I'll walk down the aisle. I'll say the vows. I'll become Mrs. Cavin McCarthy.

But I'll never forgive him.

Except... the monster I remember isn't the man standing before me now. The boy who destroyed me has become someone who fights for me. Protects me. Touches me like I'm something precious instead of broken.

And when his hands are on my throat, his voice rough in my ear, I'm not thinking about revenge anymore.

I'm only thinking about surrender

*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************

Chapter One

Cavin

I stand with my hands folded in front of me, the bitter cold of a Ballyhock winter seeping through my wool coat as I stare down at what’s left of Malachy.

“No one can know about this, lad.” Malachy’s last words. The envelope in my pocket weighs more than the coffin we carried. After the prayers, I’ll deliver it. One last secret for a man buried in them.

In my peripheral vision, my brother Seamus, the eldest, stands beside our father and mother. Da looks distinguished and broken. Malachy was a second father to him.

Mam looks poised as always, her expression gentle despite the frown creasing her brow. Her hands rest on Da's forearm, folded and still—but I know better. She's always alert. My sisters stand on either side of her, dressed in formal charcoal gray—Kyla on guard and frowning, Bronwyn, the baby of the family, quietly sniffing and wiping at her eyes with a balled-up tissue.

My cousin Declan whispers something in Bronwyn's ear that makes her smile and elbow him. Garrett, a family friend, his trademark red hair stark against the cold blue sky, snorts. I shoot them all a sharp look—this isn't the fucking time—and they straighten up quick enough.

It’s a huge turnout. I swear half of Ballyhock’s come to pay their respects, which makes sense when I think about the man Malachy was, and the way our father always made sure the McCarthy men stayed within the good graces of the residents of Ballyhock. Even the best of them will overlook our… transgressions… when we toss half a million quid in the Holy Family coffers.

“Ashes to ashes,” Father Gregory says in a monotone, his hand steady as he makes the sign of the cross over the coffin. My mother makes the sign of the cross and whispers what must be a prayer under her breath.

I rub my hand across my eyes. Haven’t slept more than a few hours straight since prison, and it’s showing.

“Mad, isn’t it? Only death or marriage gets us all in the same place anymore,” my cousin Daire mutters to me. He’s not wrong.

I stare at the coffin. It was lighter to carry than I expected. Malachy lost weight at the end, before he lost his battle to illness and old age, and I guess the lads and I are stronger than we once were.

Movement catches my eye—someone shifting near the far edge of the graveyard, half hidden behind a weathered angel statue.

A woman—blonde hair whipping in the wind and black coat buttoned to her throat.

She’s not with the main gathering but is separate, alone, kneeling at a grave with white roses clutched in her gloved hands.

And she’s staring right at me.

My breath catches. Is that…? It can’t be.

Erin fucking Kavanagh. Perfect little Erin.

What the bloody hell is she doing here?

She’s fifty yards away, maybe more, but I’d recognize her anywhere. That sharp little face. Those eyes that always looked at me like I was something she’d scraped off her shoe. The way she holds herself—stiff, controlled, like she’s afraid she’ll fly apart if she loosens her grip.

Only she’s not the scrawny little bitch from St. Albert’s anymore. She’s filled out—tits, hips, the lot. Even in that shapeless coat, I can see the curve of her. My mouth goes dry. I want to look away, but I can’t.

Christ, I’m a bastard for noticing her arse at a funeral.

She ducks her head when she realizes I’ve clocked her. Pretends to fuss with the flowers, but her hands are shaking now.

Good.

The Kavanaghs sent flowers yesterday, including a card with her father’s signature, not hers. So why the fuck is Padraic Kavanagh’s daughter kneeling at a grave in McCarthy territory during our funeral?

My hand moves to my side, where my gun sits under my coat. Instinct. Even from this distance, I could drop her before she screams.

The thought shouldn’t make my cock twitch… but it does.

My eyes narrow. Is she spying for her da? Or did she just want to watch me squirm? That'd be just like her—Little Miss Perfect, always so fucking eager to see me brought low. Again.


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