Total pages in book: 109
Estimated words: 103878 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 519(@200wpm)___ 416(@250wpm)___ 346(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 103878 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 519(@200wpm)___ 416(@250wpm)___ 346(@300wpm)
“No, you're not.” His hand slides up my thigh, and I bite back a moan.
“Okay, maybe not right this second.”
When he lays me back on the bed, his body covering mine, there's nothing gentle about the way he takes me. It's claiming and desperate, exactly what we both need.
Afterward, when we're tangled together and my heart is still racing, he presses his forehead to mine.
“Two days,” he says quietly. “Then this is over, and you're safe.”
I want to believe him. Why does something tell me it won’t be that simple?
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Ashland
The posts start the next day.
I fucking hate it, but I have to let it go. Aunt Caitlin uploads a photo first—Bianca and Erin in the kitchen, flour dusting their cheeks, laughing over something. The caption reads: “Teaching the new girl how not to burn soda bread. She's a quick learner.”
Then Bronwyn shares a story—Bianca curled up in the library with Erin, both of them reading. “Book club recruits acquired,” with a stack of books emoji.
I didn't know the plan was to post Bianca. It feels like we're publicly waving her in front of Crowning's nose, but it seems the safest way to toss out the line. Better than letting her do anything in person.
Then Lorcan posts a video of Bianca attempting to explain the difference between Lancelot and Galahad to Tiernan, who's pretending to be confused just to watch her get more animated. The old man's grinning like a bastard at the end. That one amuses me even as my nerves are churning.
I watch each one from my phone, my jaw tight, gripping it so hard my knuckles whiten. They're claiming her publicly, probably making her part of the family narrative before anyone outside these walls can question it. Throwing the fucking gauntlet to Crowning because it will get back to him.
And if I know him, and I reckon I fucking do by now, he won't be able to stand it. Not another goddamn second.
Then Kyla posts one that makes my screen feel too small.
Bianca and me… in the garden, her hand on my arm, both of us smiling. Her head is bowed toward me, leaning into my arm. I'm looking down at her, my expression soft in a way that's downright foreign to me.
I want to take this picture, blow it up, and frame it because it's so right, so beautiful, seeing her lean on me like that.
“You'll see how it works,” Kyla says when I corner her about it later. “Algorithms and all that. Everybody loves a bit of gossip, don't they?”
“Aye, tell me about it,” I mutter.
When Seamus finally shows me the one he's posting tonight, it's me. Only I look somehow like a… fucking superhero. The photo is black and white, and I'm standing in the ring, victorious, as the ref raises my arm.
The caption is simple: “He's back in the ring Friday. About time.”
And when he posts it, the comments explode.
McCarthy's enforcer returns. Fuck yes.
Been too long. We've missed him.
Money's on McCarthy. Money's always on McCarthy.
Who's he fighting?
Always bet on the McCarthy Monster.
I lock my phone and shove it in my pocket, needing to move, needing to think. It's been weeks since I took her, since I made it clear she wasn't going back to Marcus Crowning.
The fucking prick always had to be the biggest man in the room.
Now he's gone silent. That's not right.
I check my phone again at the top of the stairs, away from where Bianca might see me obsessing.
Crowning hasn't said anything about Bianca. No missing person posts. No demands. No threats. No reach-out to the family. It’s suspicious as fuck.
Her mother's the same. We've been watching her—Declan's got eyes on her movements. She's gone to the salon. Gone to brunch with her friends, like her daughter didn't just vanish off the face of the earth and claim the McCarthys as her new family.
I lower the phone and stare at the wall of my room, my chest tight with tension I can't shake.
They're planning something. They fucking have to be. No one like Crowning goes down like this, unanswered. And her mother wouldn't just shrug and move on.
I can't see the shape of it yet. Can't figure out what they're waiting for. And the not knowing's fucking killing me.
“You alright?” Bianca asks. “You seem distracted.”
Of course I am. I brush a strand of hair out of her eyes and tuck it behind her ear. “Aye, I'm distracted. Want this over with. I know Crowning's planning his attack, isn't he?”
She nods slowly. “I know it too. He has to be.” She swallows hard, her throat moving. “You ready for the fight tomorrow?”
“Aye,” I tell her. “I am.” I pause, meeting her eyes, and my voice drops. “You ready to stay home?”
She rolls her eyes and crosses her arms over her chest. “Sure.”