Page 55 of Heated Rivals
James parked in almost the exact same spot he had five days ago, and turned the Beemer off. “We’re going to talk about it.” He still didn’t know what the hell was going on to put the bone-deep fear into Carrigan, but he fully planned on finding out. She said no one had touched her, and he believed it. But he also knew far too well how to hurt someone without ever laying a finger on them.
She’d agreed to come to the beach house. It was a start.
He got out and opened her door for her. A car pulled up behind them, a dark sedan with a man in the driver’s seat. She glanced over. “It’s Liam. I promised.”
As much as he didn’t like the idea of O’Malley’s man knowing that this place existed—let alone where it was—he nodded. It was the price of getting her here, and he would gladly pay it. “Come on.” He guided her across the street with a hand on the small of her back. That little touch grounded him.She’s here. We willfigure this out. He knew better, but he couldn’t kill the hope in the back of his mind.
After locking the door and closing the shades, he turned to her. “Lovely, I—”
“Not tonight.” She stepped into his arms, and he automatically put them around her. He couldn’t get over howrightthis was—how rightCarriganwas. She made him feel ten feet tall, like he could do whatever it took to make things right—like nothing was impossible.
“I want to know what’s got you so worked up.”
“And I don’t want to talk about it. Please, James.” She looked up, her red lips kissably close. “Please just give me tonight. The only time I really feel safe is when I’m with you.”
The words were a balm to his soul, chasing away the shadows that he thought had taken up permanent residence. It would be easy, so fucking easy, to give her exactly what she wanted and soak up this feeling. But it was a Band-Aid. He’d gone through the same motions enough times to recognize it for what it was. So he framed her face with his hands and kissed her forehead. There had to be some way to balance this. “We don’t have to talk about what spooked you tonight. But we are going to talk.”
Tension worked its way into her body, and he resented its presence. She twisted the hem of his shirt between nervous fingers. “Talk about what?”
“Whatever you want.” As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he fought against the instinctive urge to take them back. There were things he’d done—things he’d seen—that he never wanted to drag out of the darkness where he’d put them. But he wouldfor Carrigan.
He knew the second her expression went tight where she’d go—straight for the heart. “Your scars.”
Fuck. He took a step back, needing some distance between them and a strong fucking drink. “Drink?”
“Sure.” She sat on the couch and crossed her long legs, watching him. It struck him that she expected to get what she wanted. She knew damn well that he’d rather walk barefoot over burning coals than bring up these ugly memories, and she was betting on him letting her have her way tonight instead of getting into those memories.Well, tough shit.
If it were anyone else, they’d be right. But this wasn’t anyone else. This woman made him feel things he’d thought were long dead and gone, and he wasn’t going to shy away from an ugly experience if it meant he was hurdling over the last of her barriers. She trusted him. She’d come to him time and again when she was in trouble or upset. He’d told her about his mother—something he talked about even less than he talked about his scars. He could tell her this, too.
James found whiskey in the upper cabinet and poured himself a healthy dose in a cup. Then he grabbed the gin and vermouth from the lower cabinet and put together her martini. Once it was done, there was nothing left to stall with, but he felt as centered as he was going to be for this conversation. He set her drink on the coffee table and took the other side of the couch. “Fine, lovely. I’ll bare my soul for you—but these things go both ways.”
She tensed. “I don’t know.” He waited while she took a nervous sip of her drink, and waited some more while she looked everywhere but at him. Carrigan wasa direct sort and, sure enough, it didn’t take her long to gather up her courage and meet his gaze. “You’re on.”
“Perfect.” He drained half his whiskey and set the glass down, doing his damnedest to ignore the shaking in his hands. “You know my father is a monster. All of Boston does. He’s got a reputation for being an artist when it comes to torture.”
“I’ve heard the rumors.” She nodded, a small line appearing between her brows. “And I looked into it more after what happened over the summer. People don’t like talking about it, but I still managed to learn more than I wanted to know.”
Of course she’d looked into it. It was completely natural for her to want to know what would have been in store for her if she and Callista hadn’t escaped that night. It made him sick to think about. He pushed to his feet, filled with too much agitation to just sit here and calmly talk about her being tortured and murdered. She might have made her peace with it. He hadn’t.
He stalked to the window and twitched back the curtain to stare into the night. “My old man wasn’t a good person when my mother was alive. He still did the same unforgivable shit that he’s been doing the last fifteen years. He was still at least half as vindictive as he is now. But when she was alive, he never touched us. It was like this one last bastion of goodness that he had going for him. He might be a monster and a shitty father, but he wasn’tthatmuch of a monster. I heard her say that one night while she was praying for his immortal soul.” He felt his lips quirk into a smile, but there was no joy behind it. “And then she died and everything changed.”
He paused, trying to get control of hisbreathing. If he dwelled on it too long, he could feel the whip against his back, the tip tearing through flesh. It had been a long time ago, but there weren’t enough years to completely banish the memories. His skin tightened, his whole body tense in fear of another blow.He’s gone. It’s not happening anymore.It won’t happen again. Cold comfort. “It was like the last glimmer of light in his soul died with her. He took it into his head that we’d been coddled and were pussies, and to my old man, there was only one way to fix it.”
She didn’t say anything, and he couldn’t bring himself to look at her and see pity on her face. He’d survived. He hadn’t been broken, not completely. James took a deep breath. “So one day he drags us down to the basement where he interrogates Halloran enemies, and he tells us…” He could still see the mad gleam in Victor’s eyes, hear the rasp of his voice. James’s skin broke out in goose bumps. “He tells us that any sons of his have to prove that they won’t break. And then he took us, one by one, and told us to pick—the whip or the canes. Brendan chose the canes, and he had to be carried out of the room afterward. So I chose the whip.”
Her soft gasp reached him, but he still didn’t turn around. “It wasn’t the last time it happened, but it was the worst. After that, we knew if we stepped out of line, that was the fate that waited for us.”
Her tentative touch made him face her. He braced himself for the pity, but that wasn’t what he saw when he finally turned. No, there was pure and unadulterated rage. Her green eyes practically glowed with it. She took his hands. “Say the fucking word and I’ll see it taken care of.”
Shock left his mouth hanging open. “What?”
“Some things aren’t done, James. Somelines aren’t crossed. Family might be the weight that pulls you under, but they protect their own. These…” She ran a finger over his shirt, directly across one of the deepest scars. “He tortured his own flesh and blood, hischildren. You protect your children at all costs. To hurt them on purpose?” She shook her head, the fire in her eyes only growing. “The punishment is death.”
“You’d kill my father for me.” He was still trying to catch up with the unexpected reaction. She was so fierce, so furious, so ready to do violence on his behalf. And she wasn’t backing down.She’d do it. She’d find a way to get to my old man in prison and see justice done, and she wouldn’t blink or feel bad while she was doing it. He framed her face with his hands, his entire body shuddering with the strength of his realization. “I love you, Carrigan O’Malley.”
He kissed her before she could say anything else. He wouldn’t let her kill Victor. She carried enough. He wouldn’t be the reason she added to that burden. But that she’d offered and meant every word… it was a priceless gift that he could never repay. No one had ever gone to bat for him. Brendan might have stepped up more often than not to direct their old man’s rage away from his younger brothers, but this was different. Carrigan wasn’t family. She didn’t have a damn thing to gain by this. The only reason she’d be driven to demand Victor’s blood was because she felt just as deeply for him as he did for her. It didn’t matter if she said the actual words aloud. Her actions made that shit more than clear.
Her arms snaked around her neck, and she drew back enough to say, “This conversation isn’t over.”
