Page 66 of Make You Mine

The master bedroom.

He steps tentatively inside, probably assuming I’d never be so bold. And for a few seconds, he must think he’s right.

It looks empty like the others. But I’m already lurking. I’m waiting just for him.

The moment he’s a couple feet inside, I step out from behind the door and swing the large brass lamp with both hands. The heavy base arcs through the air and connects with a sickening crack against the side of his skull. The sound is awful and grotesque but also intimate in a way, like bone splitting open due to the sheer weight of betrayal.

He collapses before I fully register what I’ve done. One moment he’s upright, blinking in surprise. The next he’s crumpled to the floor in a twisted heap, his limbs slack and blood trickling down the side of his face.

The lamp slips from my hands and clatters on the floor beside him.

I stand there trembling, my breath catching in uneven little gasps. The sound of children’s laughter floats faintly up from the kitchen, serving as a disturbing contrast to the violence that’s occurred upstairs.

My fingers twitch at my sides as I blink down at him and the shock gradually fades.

“They always make it so bloody difficult,” I murmur under my breath.

It takes me ages to get him situated the way he needs to be, what with the size of him and the fact he’s floppier than a sack of wet laundry.

Declan Keating is no dainty thing—six foot four inches of pure dead weight—and I’m not the strongest. He’s completely out of it, thank god, but that almost makes it harder. He’s got no tension in his limbs, no cooperation in his muscles. Just a hulking, unconscious man sprawled on the floor like a fallen tree.

I squat low, knees cracking, and loop my arms beneath his. The moment I start dragging, my back protests with an aching spasm. Each inch is agony, my breaths sputtering out of me, palms sweaty against the fabric of his shirt.

We make it a few feet before my legs give way entirely and I go down hard, landing flat on my arse with a wheeze that rattles my ribs.

I sit there for a second, staring at him. At the man I love. The man who has made it clear he’ll never choose me—not unless Imakehim.

Then I push myself up again with a sort of manic determination, gritting my teeth so hard my jaw aches. I hook his arms and heave once more, dragging his upper half onto the mattress with a grunt that sounds more animal than human. Then I brace my feet against the edge of the dresser and shove until the rest of him rolls onto the bed.

The moment he’s flat on his back, I stagger back a step, chest heaving and sweat beading along my brow and dripping down my spine. My arms are trembling and my whole body feels like it’s been wrung out, but I smile anyway.

I wipe the back of my hand across my forehead and blow out a breath, half-relieved and half-furious.

“Thank fuck for that,” I mutter under my breath. “That was exhausting. I’d say I need a minute, but knowing my sodding luck, he’ll wake up if I so much as blink.”

Fortunately, I’ve already brought up the ropes from the shed in the garden. Something told me I’d need them, and my intuition was correct.

I set Declan up in an impossible web of tight knots, securing his wrists and ankles to the bedposts. I test them, checking to ensure that even a brawny man like him can’t break free.

“And for the finishing touch,” I mutter giddily. I crawl over his unconscious body and stuff a pair of knickers in his mouth.

My knickers, freshly worn.

It’s so naughty that I can’t contain the girlish giggle that bursts out of me.

The gag does the trick.

He jerks awake with a violent start, emerald eyes snapping wide as he realizes something's terribly wrong. His instincts are immediate—pure brute force, all snarling rage and twisted muscle. He wrenches against the ropes with a guttural growl, the bed frame creaking under his strength. For a second, I’m genuinely startled by his level of rage, shrinking back.

I admit, I didn’t expect him to be this… angry.

I suppose the romantic in me was hoping he would be a bit more…repentant.

He’s the one who’s betrayed me! He’s the one who’s been ungrateful and selfish every step along the way, overlooking what I’ve done for him and his children. How could he take me for granted when all I’ve done is love him?

Doesn’t he realize I’m the woman he should be with?

My sense of righteousness returns. I steel myself, remembering why I’ve done what I’ve done.

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