Page 64 of Iron Cross

“Will you hurt me?” I asked, taking a sip of the coffee and wondering what cruelties this man had in store for me.

They said he had turned into his father after his death. That he’d exceeded him in cruelty in every possible way.

I felt his rough finger on my chin, as he tilted my face up.

“Do you want me to?” he asked, with a tilt of his head. “Will that make you feel better?”

His black eyes bored into mine, and I felt the familiar warmth pooling between my thighs. He must have worn contacts, and for the life of me, I could not remember what color they had been when he’d pretended to be Aaron Jackson. But they weren’t that intense onyx color, deeper than the abyss.

I could feel so much just from a look - the sense that he worshipped me with a devotion I didn’t deserve. Why? Why would I feel that, when I knew what he’d become? What he always was?

“I’m sorry about your father,” I whispered, hoping to win myself some points. Any sort of rapport might help keep him from stealing my son from me.

“Thank you,” he said, pulling his hand away. “Though I think you know that there was no real tragedy there.”

I had watched his father try to maim him. I had saved his hand. If he could remember…

“Aoibheann killed him.”

I almost dropped the cup on the table.

“Wh-what?”

“I don’t know how, still. He fell down the stairs. I’m wondering if she placed a curse on him. He was perfectly healthy and in the span of a week, became too weak and insane to manage a simple staircase he’d navigated for the past thirty years.” He shook his head, as he took the pan from the stove, and started to wash it in the sink. “The witch has moved on though, if you’re searching for allies, she’s quite a powerful one to have now.”

“What do you mean?”

“Haven’t you heard?” he said, casually, as if we were talking about some distant family member. I suppose, to him, it was. “She married Jericho Vasiliev, head of the Bratva.”

I had heard. Of course I had, their marriage was in the papers, and even worse, they’d been in my intelligence briefs from Blink. When he mentioned Jericho Vasiliev, Blink had had a look in his eye like he was keeping something from me.

That wasn’t unusual, of course, because Blink kept a lot of things from me. Things that were “need to know”. The best way to keep a secret was to never tell it, after all.

Eoghan gave Cillian a donut. Green with white shamrocks. The boy wentmmmmwith satisfaction before smashing his face into the frosting, licking it off the dough.

“He’s going to get a sugar high from this,” I shook my head, almost annoyed that this breakfast would turn my son into a bit of a monster.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Eoghan said, looking at me with those onyx eyes, “for next time.”

Next time.

Because he was taking me back home. That was the point.

Back to that insane mansion, where everything first went wrong for us. Where everything was always wrong with him. Or maybe he’d take me back to his penthouse in New York City instead? I’d prefer that… if I was allowed a choice.

“Did… did Aoibheann want to get married?” I asked.

“Not at first,” he said, picking up his own donut, before glaring at mine. A silent command to keep eating. I obeyed, and he continued, “But before the wedding, they came to some kind of agreement. Now, they love each other. Clear as day now. Expecting a baby, too.”

“She is?” I squirmed, remembering how she had wanted to avoid that at all costs. But if she was having one… maybe that meant she wanted it?

“Aye,” Eoghan said, taking my coffee cup and having a drink of his own. “So Cillian will have some playmates as he grows up.”

I froze again.

“Eoghan…” I whispered, staring into my coffee cup.

“Not now,” he growled. My eyes snapped up, and his face had darkened, as though a storm cloud was brewing over his head. “Do not test what good will I have, Mrs. Green. Be grateful that I am here to protect my family, not to exact revenge.”

---