Page 125 of Lesson In Forgiveness

“He liked the fact you still fought him when he pinned you down and mounted you. I was so fucking hard. I wanted it to be my hand on the back of your neck, my hand forcing your body to surrender. My cock drilling into that tight, ten-year-old cunt; my seed filling you up.” Arousal glowed like a demonic aura in his blue eyes, so dark they were almost black. “Damn near sprained my wrist jacking off to the sight and sound of you fighting like a hellcat.”

The knife almost slipped from her grasp; her subconscious regained control, tightening her numb fingers around the hilt before she lost it.

“He was a generous man, Dominic. When he was done with you, he just gestured in your direction and told me to enjoy myself. And oh, did I.” Donaghue licked his lips wetly, saliva gleaming in the wake of his tongue. “The first thrust was fucking heaven. You were so tight despite him opening you up for me. The fight started all over again, and I craved it. You gave me the ride of my life, and when I was done, I didn’t have a choice but to test his generosity further.”

Sweat broke out on her forehead. She needed to dig deep, escape the trap he was weaving around her, and find the anger she relied on so heavily. But every word he spoke sucked her down into the vortex of her childhood, deeper and deeper until there was no way out.

“The one and only time I heard you scream was when I rutted my cock into your ass. God as my witness, that scream lives in my dreams. I hear it when I fuck women to this day, when I torture and rape the whores who come to my bed. That scream,” he said in a vacant tone, “is the scream all others aspire to be.”

He was close now, the cloying scent of his aftershave clashing with smoke. Close enough she could carve his heart out, if only she wasn’t too hollowed out to move.

“A pity you turned out to be such a disappointment on a business level. Reneging on a contract, Ms. Fairfax? Your father would be rolling over in the grave you put him in if he knew.”

She stared at him. He was cut from Black Irish stock; his hair was true black, with a faint sheen of blue that mirrored the color of his eyes. Silver, a lot of it, ran through the locks. That and the lines scoring his face spoke of a life lived hard, with stress and power unsoftened by love.

There was no witty retort to fire at him, no sassy comeback. Never had she expected to come face to face with one of the men who’d raped her as a child, not after all these years, and the core of her soul was so horrified, she was trapped by her own demons.

“Mr. Mitchell will meet his end. I’ll take care of it myself. It’s nothing personal, but his demise is imperative to my ascension, so there’s really no way around it. You, however… you will make an excellent addition to my personal collection.” Blunt fingertips stroked down her cheek, eliciting a shudder that raked claws down her spine. “How long will I need to chain you to my wall before your loyalty belongs to me and me alone?”

A lifetime. Ten lifetimes. Eternity.

“I’ll die first,” she rasped.

“Such a waste that would be.” Tsking in disapproval, Donaghue moved away, checking his watch. Reaching into the inside pocket of his suit jacket, he pulled out a Glock 26. “How many of my men have you killed outside?”

There was no other option but snapping out of the funk, she told herself. She wasn’t going to spend the rest of her life as a leashed rottweiler. Not for any man; especially not for Donaghue.

“Four here, six at the house.”

His head spun sharply in her direction. “I beg your pardon?”

The phrase reminded her of Elias’s British expressions and, in turn, relit the fire she required to do her job. Elias was the priority. He was married and madly in love with his husband and their wife. He had a future waiting for him, one with kids and joy, maybe even a goddamn dog.

“Four here,” she repeated, trying to shake off the sickness, “six at the house.”

Lips twisting into a snarl, he yanked a phone from his pocket as he trained the Glock on her. He pressed a number on speed dial, put the phone to his ear, then cursed and hung up. Again and again, his ire visibly rising as none of his men answered his calls. “Fuck.”

“Problem?” Ah, there was her snark.

“Three of my men are unaccounted for. Who did you bring along to cover your ass?”

She spread her arm wide, showcasing the blood she wore like a badge of honor. “All by myself. Maybe your men are cowards, Donaghue, scared to be taken out by a woman.”

The air stirred at her back. The hairs on her neck and arms stood to attention, recognizing the familiar presence behind her; when Grit’s scent hit her, overriding the stink of cigarettes, she didn’t know whether to curse or cry.

“Liar.” Donaghue hissed the word, rage lighting up his eyes. He swung the Glock to the right of her, teeth bared, intention clear on his face.

There wasn’t time to think. It seemed in the last hour, there hadn’t really been time to do anything, but as Donaghue’s finger squeezed the trigger, time slowed.

Tabitha lunged forward, charging toward him with her knife at the ready. Her body still felt heavy, clumsy, weighed down by childhood memories, yet it responded as best it could, covering the distance between them quickly.

She heard the sharp retort of a gun firing as her body jerked. Fire erupted in her shoulder; she let her momentum carry her on. Another crack, and this time the fire consumed her chest. Stumbling, she crashed into Donaghue as a third gunshot rent the air in two.

They went down in a heap.

*

Grit

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