Page 6 of Bloody Knuckles

A laugh escapes me. "Such vulgarity from the Gallagher heiress. What would Daddy say? Did you kiss your dead mommy with that mouth?"

Her nostrils flare. Every reaction reveals another layer—fierce, unbroken despite the terror she fights to conceal. The purple mark forming on her jaw sends rage through my veins. My orders were explicit: deliver her untouched.

"Your accommodations aren't ready," I tell her, taking a sip. "So, we have time to discuss our arrangement."

"There's nothing to discuss." Her voice remains steady. "You kidnapped me to provoke my father. How original. Hardly an arrangement, just predictable thug behavior."

I lean back, taking her in. The gold pendant at her throat catches firelight—a Celtic knot, ancient and intricate. She touches it unconsciously, revealing her attachment to it.

"Your brother destroyed property worth a quarter million," I say. "Debts must be paid."

"And I'm the payment?" She laughs bitterly. "Typical man, targeting a woman instead of facing Liam directly. Cowardly move."

Her taunt misses its mark. My reputation stands on direct confrontation, unlike her brother who cowers behind minions and schemes.

"You're insurance," I correct her. "A reminder that the Donovan’s can reach anyone, anytime. Even Patrick Gallagher's precious daughter."

I rise from my chair and approach. She tenses but remains motionless—admirable, if foolish. Her scent hits me—vanilla and whiskey with an undercurrent of fear. My body responds with unexpected hunger. Power and desire tangling together in my blood.

"My father will hunt you down," she whispers. "He'll butcher everyone you care about."

"Looking forward to it." I take her cuffed wrists in my hand. The metal has left angry marks on her skin. Another failure from my men.

I produce a key, unlocking the restraints. "These won't be necessary inside. My security won't let you leave without permission."

She rubs her wrists, never breaking eye contact. Then, unexpectedly, her attention drops to my hands. Something shifts in her demeanor—a flicker beyond hatred.

"Your knuckles," she says quietly.

I examine them. Yesterday's fight left fresh bruises alongside older scars. White lines cross my skin in patterns no boxing match could create. They tell stories of bottles broken against bone, signet rings splitting flesh, cigarettes extinguished on tender skin. My father's lessons, permanently carved into me.

When she looks up, understanding dawns. For an instant, the antagonism between us transforms into an understanding far more complex.

I pull back. "Occupational hazard."

"Those aren't from fighting," she says, perception cutting too deep. "Not all of them."

"Enough." I turn away, discomforted by her insight. "Time to go."

I press the intercom. "Bring the car around."

While waiting, Aoife wanders toward the bookshelf, inspecting titles with false nonchalance. She's searching for weapons, exits, anything to gain advantage. Her resourcefulness ignites a reluctant admiration in me.

"Fan of Russian literature?" she asks, trailing her hand along the spine ofCrime and Punishment.

"Dostoevsky understood moral ambiguity better than most."

Her mouth quirks. "A philosophical gangster. How unexpected."

"We all contain multitudes, Miss Gallagher." I move closer, forcing her retreat. "You'll discover that during your stay. I am not just a fighter—I have other talents."

A knock interrupts us. Declan enters, keys in hand. "Car's ready."

"Escort Miss Gallagher downstairs." I retrieve my coat. "I'll join you momentarily."

After they leave, I open my desk drawer, removing her file. Twenty-six years old. Master's degree in Celtic Studies from Trinity College. Fluent in Gaelic and French. Relationships with several diplomats' sons, none lasting longer than three months. Having met her, I now know why. Allergic to penicillin. Blood type A negative.

I know facts, but the woman in my study contains contradictions no dossier has captured—vulnerability beneath bravado, perception behind beauty. Something unexpected stirs in me—a hunger not just to possess her body, but to unravel her mind. Unravel her completely.

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