Page 13 of The Warrior's Salvation

I hardly see myself being this worked up to have sex with Elvin once I'm married. I could be wrong. He could be incredible in bed too, but something tells me his laid-back demeanor indicates a very passive man. He probably doesn't even know where to touch me to make me squirm, but Lochlan does that with his eyes.

I know it's wrong. I know how horrible he is, the things he's probably guilty of. His family is notorious in this city, and fucking with him is probably a very bad idea, but the fire he ignites inside me is unmistakable. And holy fuck, the way his mouth felt roaming over my nether region.

Yes, I will definitely be doing that again if he wants it. I just have to be careful to guard my reputation—and probably use protection next time so we don't have a whoopsie. Elvin will never agree to marry me if I'm knocked up with another man's baby.

Which is exactly what I start dwelling on as my mind drifts off to a peaceful sleep. I dream a few steamy sex dreams where I sit on Lochlan's face, fuck him while he's driving his car, and one where Da interrupts us and throws him out. And right before waking up, I dream I am pregnant with his baby and Elvin kills him, which makes my heart beat wildly out of control. It's enough to propel me to the shower where I wash the sex off me and prepare for work.

My morning routine is normal—shower, breakfast, hair and makeup, dress, and grab a coffee on the way to the office. But arriving at work is anything but average. I see Darren's car before I even get mine parked, and for a second, I consider not stopping, just driving back out of the parking lot and heading straight to the picket lines where Da and Jasper are probably helping set up for the day.

Then I think of Lochlan, how he ordered me to bring my A-game, and I wonder if this is what I'm like. I get myself into situations where I am supposed to be bold and tough, and then I cower and fold like a cheap suit. Darren Connelly might think he can push me around, but I'm not a pushover.

When I pursued my business degree, my parents abhorred the idea. They fought me tooth and nail, but as an adult, I legally had the right to do as I pleased. Eventually, they gave in when I told Da I planned to work for him using my degree. Mum was resistant, but we compromised. As long as I promised to wed Elvin when it was time, they would accept that I wanted more from my life than to be a stay-at-home mom raising Elvin's wealthy, spoiled children.

That backbone is what drives me to park my car and head toward the building without fearing what Connelly wants. He is here to intimidate me more. I’m sure of it. But I'm not going to let him get to me. I'm going to square my shoulders and pour every ounce of boldness into this moment that I can.

But when he cuts me off, standing between me and the door, holding his phone out in my direction, anxiety starts to fuck with me.

"What do you want?" I snip, trying to walk around him, but I recognize the voice on the video in front of me. It makes me pause and look down at his phone.

"Just watch, sweetheart." Connelly has some nerve showing up here again. I've ignored his calls and texts. I should've thrown the damn phone out when he swore Da is a money launderer, but I kept it. Some sick morbid curiosity I have.

My eyes fall to the video even though I don't want to, and I notice it's TD Scott, and he's saying something about my father. I narrow my eyes and listen.

"Mr. O'Leary promised me the favor of two million in exchange for my silence. I am saying this of my own free will, and I admit that I have made mistakes…"

The video pauses and he smirks at me as he says, "Paying off the deputy of the Dáil is a very severe offense, Ms. O'Leary…" Connelly's eyes focus on me as he slides his phone into his pocket and steps closer. "Believe me now? TD Scott is on record confessing to accepting a bribe from your father, which will land both of them in prison. Now." He sucks in a breath and looks around the parking lot, then back to me. "You either give me what I want, or your Da goes to prison for a very long time. Who will run his precious union when he's locked up?"

"Feck you," I hiss, walking around him. My breakfast is knocking at the door, attempting to loose itself, and I rush to the side door of the building, but Darren catches my arm and spins me around. He has a knife, which catches the hem of my blouse and slices through it. Then he presses it against my throat as he curls his arm around me, pinning me backward against his chest.

"That's no way to speak to me, sweetheart. Daddy dearest won't be so happy to hear his little girl is willing to let him rot in jail." The knife blade is sharp but it hasn't drawn blood yet. I swallow against the pressure and try to keep myself calm.

"What do you want?" The only way I'm getting out of this is to comply, give him what he's asking for. Then he'll go away, and I can go back to my normal life.

"I want you to ship a few crates for me. I need to know when you can send them from here to Antwerp, and then on to Brussels." His knife doesn't falter. His hand is steady. But my ragged breathing scares me. If he doesn't press down, I'll be fine, so long as I don't pass out and fall on the fucking blade.

"I don't know that information," I lie. I can look it up any time I want.

"Well, find out. The crate will be here in three hours and if it's not on the next ship, I send this video to the director of public prosecution." Darren gives me a shove, and I stumble toward the door, not even looking back as I yank it open and dive in.

My hands tremble as I stagger to the elevator and push the button. My first thought is to go straight to Lochlan and tell him everything, to let him know what's going on because I don’t think my A-game is good enough for this mess. But he's not in Da's office, and a few of my coworkers stare at me like I'm a child because tears stream down my cheeks.

I feel panicked and hysterical, especially when I get a text message with a warning not to say a word to anyone or he will turn the recording over for that offense too. And now I'm petrified. If Da really is guilty of what Darren said, I can't let him go to prison. I wonder what a man like Lochlan would do in this instance, how he would handle it? They commit crimes all the time and don't get caught, so how can I allow my da to go down for this? I have to do what he's asking. And I have to keep it a secret too. Otherwise, I'll lose my father forever. I can't let that happen.

10

LOCHLAN

As I pull into the parking lot, I see a strange man. His figure moves across the lot, walking with an odd urgency that immediately catches my eye. He’s wearing a heavy, dark jacket that looks out of place for the weather—it’s not cold enough for something that thick. It’s too… obvious. His posture is tense, shoulders slightly hunched, like he’s trying to make himself smaller, but at the same time, he’s glancing over his shoulder every few seconds, as if expecting someone to be following him.

There’s something about the way he moves that sets off a warning bell in the back of my head. He’s either in a hurry or trying to make himself invisible—both of which I don’t trust. And since Draco is away and this is my turf to defend, I immediately feel protective.

I watch him for a few beats, my grip on the steering wheel tightening slightly. He doesn’t glance at me as he slides into a car and it pulls out of the lot, tires screeching slightly as they speed off. He has a driver, so he's affluent enough for that sort of thing, but it's not a ritzy car, so perhaps not as well-off as he could be. My suspicions are raised and my mind chews on this information.

I can’t shake the feeling that I’ve just witnessed something… off. I haven’t seen him around before, and that only deepens my suspicion. This isn’t the kind of person you just ignore. I consider following, but my duty is here. Whoever he is, he’s definitely up to something. But what? The lack of answers gnaws at me as I push the thought to the back of my mind for now.

The moment my boots hit the second floor, I’m greeted by the hum of the office around me. The sound of chatter, the quiet clinking of coffee mugs, and the steady buzz of the air conditioning give the place a false sense of calm. It’s almost too normal. But then my phone rings, jolting me out of my thoughts. I stand in the entryway next to the restroom entrance to answer it.

I glance at the screen. There is no caller ID, which typically means someone I don’t know or someone who is trying to mask their identity. I'm already on edge, but this makes it worse.

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