Page 38 of Bloody Knuckles

She's become more than leverage, more than a convenient body in my bed. The realization should terrify me. Instead, as she leads me toward my bedroom, I follow willingly into whatever fire she's kindled.

Some men fear burning. Others, like me, have already walked through flames and emerged transformed.

Let her try to make me beg. Let her believe she holds the power. By morning, she'll remember exactly who commands this dance between us.

As she turns in the doorway, copper hair catching moonlight, my certainty wavers. For the first time in my life, victory feels secondary to the battle. Perhaps we'll both burn before this ends.

CHAPTER10

AOIFE

BLOOD & BIRTHRIGHT

Morning light streams through the massive windows of Cormac's bedroom, casting patterns across tangled sheets. My body aches pleasantly, proof of last night's activities after the Kilmainham gathering. True to my word, I'd pushed Cormac to the edge of control, though the bastard never quite begged—just demanded, groaned, and finally shouted my name as he came undone beneath me.

Small victories.

The space beside me is empty, sheets cool to the touch. A note rests on his pillow, elegant handwriting a contradiction of the man's brutal nature:

Business downtown. Back by noon. Security knows you're not to leave the property. -C

Of course. My gilded cage merely expanded from penthouse to estate. The pretense of freedom without any actual freedom.

I stretch, wincing as my body protests. Three weeks captive, and the last few days have transformed from prisoner to... what, exactly? Lover seems too tender a word for what happens between us. Enemy too simple for the complex web we've woven.

The bathroom mirror reveals evidence of our night, fingerprint bruises on my hips, a lovebite at the junction of my neck and shoulder, another on the inside of my thigh. Cormac marks what he claims as his—a habit I should find revolting rather than thrilling.

After showering, I dress in clothes he's left out for me—designer jeans that fit suspiciously well and a cashmere sweater in Donovan green. Another claiming. Another reminder of my place.

Downstairs, Connor sits at the kitchen counter, scrolling through his phone.

"Morning, princess," he greets without looking up. "Sleep well?"

"Well enough." I move to the coffee machine, pressing buttons at random until it hisses to life. "Where's Declan?"

"Perimeter check."

Interesting. Security protocols dictate they should never leave me with just one guard. Cormac's rules.

"Connor," I say casually, "did Liam ever contact you? After I was taken?"

His fingers still on the phone screen. "Why would your brother contact me?"

"Professional courtesy. He has moles in every organization." I pour coffee into a mug, adding cream. "Like Finn did with Murphy."

Connor sets the phone down, tension radiating from his posture. "Miss Gallagher, I serve one man. Always have."

"As does everyone. Until they don't." I sip my coffee, sensing his discomfort. "Liam can be very persuasive. Very generous too."

"What are you implying?" The edge in his voice betrays nervousness, not anger.

"Just making conversation." I move toward the massive windows overlooking the gardens. "Beautiful property. Those woods extend to the neighboring estate?"

"There's no neighboring estate for two kilometers." Connor stands, suddenly alert. "Why?"

"Professional curiosity." The coffee tastes bitter suddenly. "How many men does Cormac have on site right now?"

Connor stares at me, suspicion dawning. "Why?"

---