Page 14 of Bloody Knuckles

"Not like this." I slide a file across the desk. "I want to know who he meets with, especially anyone connected to our operation. Focus on Sean Murphy and David Karney."

Connor raises an eyebrow. "You suspect one of them?"

"I suspect everyone." The pen snaps between my fingers. "Three shipments hit in exactly the right place at exactly the right time isn't coincidence."

"Karney's been with us fifteen years. Murphy's your second cousin."

"Family ties haven't stopped betrayals before." The memory of my father's lessons burns fresh after the nightmare. "Set it up. Discreetly."

"And the girl? Patrick gets our demands today."

My jaw tightens at the mention of Aoife. "No one enters the penthouse without my authorization. Actually no one enters, no one but me."

"And if Patrick refuses our terms?"

"He won't." I stand, moving toward the window. "But if he doesn’t, I want options."

After Connor leaves, I take out my phone. The security feed from Aoife's penthouse shows her pacing, still wearing the clothes from her escape attempt. She hasn't slept either.

My cock stiffens immediately at the sight of her. The kiss in the alley wasn't enough. It merely stoked a fire that now threatens to consume me.

Taking her as collateral was business. Wanting her is dangerous.

I pocket the phone and grab my coat. The message to Patrick Gallagher leaves in an hour—demands accompanied by proof of life. A photograph of Aoife holding today's newspaper, unharmed but clearly in my possession.

Before that, I need to see her again. Test this hunger. Control it before it controls me.

The drive into Dublin gives me time to fortify my resolve. This attraction is merely physical—a challenge to be conquered. Once Patrick meets my demands, she returns to her family. Business concluded. Problem solved.

Unless he refuses.

The thought brings unexpected satisfaction. More time with Aoife. More opportunities to break through that defiance. To claim what responded so sweetly to my touch in that alley.

The penthouse security team stands at attention as I arrive. "Any incidents?"

"None, sir. She's been quiet since you left."

I dismiss them to the hallway and unlock the door. Inside, Aoife stands by the window, copper hair catching morning light. She turns at the sound of my entrance, chin lifting in that now-familiar gesture of defiance.

A purple mark darkens her neck where my mouth claimed her hours ago. The sight sends possessive satisfaction through me, along with a fresh surge of lust.

"Come to gloat about my failed escape?" she asks, voice steady despite the shadows underneath her lashes.

"Come to ensure you're prepared for your photo shoot." I toss a newspaper onto the coffee table. "Your father needs proof you're alive and well."

She makes no move toward it. "And if I refuse to cooperate?"

I close the distance between us, backing her against the window. "Then the photo shows you considerably less comfortable."

Her pulse jumps at her throat. "You wouldn't damage your precious collateral."

"Try me." I trail my fingers along the mark on her neck. "Though it seems I already have."

Color floods her cheeks. Anger or arousal—perhaps both. "That meant nothing."

"Your body disagreed." I lean closer, my lips nearly brushing her ear. "You responded to me, Aoife. Like you were made for my touch."

She shoves against my chest. "I'd rather die than let you touch me again."

---