Page 136 of Brutal Heir
“So, what’ll it be, Brig?” He ticks his head toward the glass window. “Next time, it’ll be Blaine’s throat. Or your father’s. Or Bran’s. Or maybe I’ll fly to Manhattan and carve up the other half of that pretty Italian face into something truly unrecognizable.”
A sob breaks from my throat. “Stop…”
“Then say yes.”
He gestures to the window again, fingers constricting so the edges of my vision begin to blur. “You see your brother over there? He enjoys breathing. Just like Maeve did. You want Blaine to join my traitorous sister?”
“Of course not,” I spit, barely keeping the tremor at bay.
“Then your choice should be simple. Marry me and he continues to breathe. Or don’t…”
I shake my head. “Please…”
He leans in, voice venomous. “Say. Yes.”
Another groan of pain echoes from the next room. My heart fractures.
I draw in a ragged breath, and the steel grip around my neck only tightens.
And then Alessandro’s face flickers through my mind—his touch, his voice, his love. The way he held me like I was worth saving. Like I was worth everything.
His last text message flashes across my vision.
I love you, Rory.
God, I’ve never loved anyone more. I want to hold on. I want to fight. But I’ve already lost too many people. And I can’t lose anyone else.
I turn back to Conall, the fire in my chest replaced with ice. “Yes,” I choke out.
His grin is slow. Triumphant. But at least he releases me. “I knew you’d come to your senses, Brig.”
I sag against the glass wall, gulping in blessed oxygen. I don’t look at Blaine again. I can’t. Because if I do, I’ll fall apart.
And right now, I need to survive. Long enough to find a way out of this hell.
I curl my fingers around the butterfly pendant beneath my collarbone. Alessandro. It's the only part of me that still feels real.
Clutching it with every ounce of dwindling strength, I vow to find a way out of this and make it back to him.
CHAPTER 52
MARRYING A MONSTER
Rory
What if I jump?
I peel back the thick hunter green curtain and stare out into the miles of endless gray beyond the Quinlan estate.
Would I die or only be hopelessly broken and ten times worse off than I am now?
On the positive side, maybe Conall would be disgusted by a wife with fractured limbs and a shattered spine, and he’d finally leave me alone. Or he could enjoy my suffering and only prolong it.
Heaving out a breath, I draw the curtain back across the picture window and turn toward the cold breakfast set out on a table beside the bed. One of the maids had brought it in this morning as I pretended to sleep.
A tiny, foolish part of me thought maybe I’d have a chance to escape. But with nothing but miles of empty farmlands, where would I go? Stealing a car would be my best option, but that would require me to find a key. I only recognized Conall’s car, afancy Bentley completely out of place in the rolling hills of the Belfast countryside. That would mean having to get close enough to him to get my hand into his pants’ pocket where he always kept it.
And that certainly wasn’t happening.
