Page 5 of Bloody Knuckles

"Your father," Cormac interrupts, "crossed a line." He stops mere inches away, close enough that his scent—expensive cologne mingled with whiskey and something darker—invades my senses. "Actions carry consequences, Miss Gallagher."

I stare up at him, defiance masking fear. "Do your worst."

His gaze travels down my body with insulting slowness before returning to my face. He reaches out, fingers brushing the gold pendant at my throat. The casual possessiveness of the gesture sends an unwelcome spark through my body.

"Be careful what you wish for," he murmurs, voice dropping to a rumble that vibrates against my skin.

His proximity triggers something primal—a mixture of fear and unwanted awareness. His thumb traces my jawline where a bruise forms from his thug's handiwork.

"My men marked what's mine," he says, disapproval evident. "That won't happen again."

"I'm not yours," I spit back, hating how my body betrays me with a shiver.

Cormac leans closer, his breath warm against my ear. "Everything in this house belongs to me. Including you. You’re in my house, you are very much,mine."

I shove against his chest, a futile gesture against solid muscle. "I'd rather die than be your possession."

He captures my wrists in one large hand, pressing them above my head against the bookshelf. His body cages mine completely, an overwhelming wall of masculinity.

"Death isn't what I have planned for you, Aoife Gallagher," he says, my name rolling off his tongue like a dark promise. His free hand traces the curve of my waist, a touch that burns through fabric. "Your brother stole from me. Now I'm taking something precious from him."

"Liam doesn't care what happens to me," I lie, trying to ignore how my pulse jumps beneath his fingers.

"Your family will tear Dublin apart looking for you," Cormac continues, satisfaction coloring his tone. "And when they're desperate enough, they'll agree to my terms."

"Which are?"

His hand moves up to cup my throat, thumb pressing against my racing pulse point. Not enough to hurt, just enough to show me he is in control.

"Territory. Compensation.Respect." His fingers tighten fractionally. "And maybe, if you behave, I'll let you go back to them.Eventually."

In this moment, looking into those merciless blue depths, I realize I've become caught between monsters in a game of power. But Cormac Donovan will learn—I'm nobody's toy. I can’t be possessed.

With calculated precision, I bring my knee up between us, aiming for his groin. He anticipates the move, twisting to avoid impact, but it creates enough space for me to break free.

His laugh fills the study—a sound of genuine amusement that chills me more than anger would. "I hoped you'd fight. Breaking you will be so much more satisfying this way."

"You'll never break me," I promise, backing toward the doors even knowing escape is impossible.

Cormac watches me with the patience of a predator who knows his prey is cornered. "We'll see, princess. We have all the time in the world."

CHAPTER3

CORMAC

COLLATERAL & CONFLICT

She stands across the study, wild and untamed. Ferral with fear, and anger. Aoife Gallagher—the crown jewel of my enemy's empire—now in my house, under my control. The taste of victory fills my mouth.

"Sit down," I command, motioning to the leather chair.

"I prefer to stand." Her chin lifts in defiance.

I circle her, savoring each moment. The whispers about Patrick Gallagher's daughter failed to capture her essence. Her beauty carries an edge—sharp cheekbones, full lips pressed into a hard line, hatred radiating from her. Not some fragile socialite, but a woman forged in the same hell-fire as me.

"As you wish." I return to my desk, pouring two measures of Redbreast. "Drink?"

"Go fuck yourself."

---