Page 114 of Brutal Heir
She obeys, tiptoeing toward me as if walking across broken glass.
After I fucked her on the couch, I took her again in my bed and that time was softer, sweeter, more pleasure than punishment. But still, the air between us is charged, like the atmosphere before a thunderstorm.
She settles into my lap, curling into a ball before she tips her chin to stare up at me. “Are we okay?”
Inhaling a steadying breath, I murmur, “We will be. Eventually.”
“Good.” She buries her nose into the crook of my neck, her soft breaths tickling my skin. “Because I meant what I said yesterday, Ale. I love you, and I’m not going anywhere. So you better figure out what I need to do for you to forgive me so I can get started on it.”
As if I have any other choice.
Walking away from her isn’t an option anymore. I’m not sure it ever was.
Her words settle into me like a brand, burning through every wall I’ve tried to rebuild overnight.
I drag a hand through her hair, fingers tangling in the wild auburn mess that somehow started to feel like home. “You want a list?” I mutter. “You think this is something you can fix like a flat tire or a broken pipe?”
She lifts her head, eyes fierce now despite the soft tremble of her bottom lip. “Anything can be fixed, Ale.”
Fuck.
How do I stay angry when she’s looking at me like that—like she’s not just sorry, but ready to bleed to make it right? The woman lied to me, but she also stayed. When she had every reason to bolt, she dug in her heels and fought for me.
I lean in and press my forehead to hers. “I don’t need you to fix anything. I just need the truth. No more lies. No more half-truths. If I’m going to fight for us, I need to know you’re in this with me for real.”
“I am.” There’s no hesitation, her voice steady and resolute. “Every lie I told was to get away from the life I never wanted. But you…” Her eyes search mine, raw and vulnerable. “You’re the first real thing I’ve had in a long time. I didn’t mean to fall for you, Ale. I just did.”
I clutch her tighter. “I’m still pissed. Still hurt. But I’d rather be ruined beside you than whole without you.”
She lets out a shaky breath, her shoulders sagging in relief. “So… we’re not over?” The fact that she feels the necessity to ask again cracks through the remaining frost around my heart.
I grip her jaw and kiss her, not hard or desperate, a promise. “We’re not fucking over, Red. Not even close.”
The storm between us hasn’t passed, but maybe I can learn how to survive it. With her.
I consider telling her my suspicions about Conall and the shooting, but until I have proof, I don’t want to spook her. I can’t imagine what that man must have put her through. And I need to know.
“Tell me about Brigid O’Shea.”
She nods, her bottom lip quivering. Then she draws in a shaky breath, like she’s preparing to bleed out every secret she’s buried.
“Brigid O’Shea died the night I ran,” she whispers. “I buried her along with the blade in Conall’s thigh on our wedding day and a suitcase of lies.”
I stay quiet, giving her space. Letting her words come when they’re ready.
“My da promised me to Conall when I was fifteen, a few years after Mam died. He said it would keep the Quinlans and the O’Sheas aligned. He said it was an honor. Said Conall would protect me.” Her voice warps around the word protect, like it physically hurts to say.
My hands tighten around hers, but I don’t interrupt.
“By eighteen, I knew what he really was. Controlling. Vicious. The kind of man who got off on fear. He kept me in a cage of luxury, wore a mask of charm around the family, but behind closed doors…” Her throat bobs as she swallows. “He never left bruises where they’d show, and the worst ones don’t show up on skin anyway.”
My jaw clenches, rage churning just beneath the surface. But I force it down, because this moment isn’t about me. It’s about her surviving it.
“I tried to leave once,” she continues, voice barely a whisper now. “He found me before I got more than a few blocks. Told me next time, it wouldn’t be just me who paid for it. He made sure I knew how easily he could hurt my brothers, Blaine and Bran. So I stayed. For two more years.”
Her eyes meet mine, shimmering but unbroken. “The day I escaped was our wedding day. I’d had it all planned out for months. My best friend Maeve helped. I knew I was putting my brothers, hell, my whole family at risk, but if they didn’t care enough to protect me from Conall then I didn’t give a feck about them either.”
I can’t breathe for a second. The weight of her truth presses down on my chest like a stone.
