Page 2 of His Addiction
“I’ve worked with Harry for over thirty years, long before you were born. Yourdaddy,” he mocked, “will cut off your allowance if he hears about this. Now, give me the fucking horse.”
When the mare surged again, Bucky yanked the rope from Niall’s hands.
“Go on. Get the fuck out of here, Niall,” he snarled. “Find something useful to do that isn’t abusing prime event horses.”
Niall glared back at him as the horse bolted forward, scattering everyone in its path.
“You see what I mean?” Niall sneered, voice drippingwith superiority. “It’s not so funny when the fucker’s trying to hurt you, Bucky.”
He turned toward Shannon, his breath holding the faintest trace of liquor. His gloved finger hovered just inches from her cheek.
“If that thing kicks me again,” he muttered, “I’ll shoot it between the eyes.”
Shannon’s blood boiled. Niall didn’t just threaten; sometimes he acted first, and she’d worn the bruises to prove it.
“Real tough-guy move, Niall.” She folded her arms across her chest. “You’d shoot a defenceless horse just because it doesn’t bow to you?”
He smirked, eyes narrowing as he took a step closer, crowding her personal space.
“It’s none of your business what I do,” he said, low and cold. “We aren’t together anymore. Your opinions mean fuck-all to anyone.”
He shot Bucky one last unimpressed look before stalking past Shannon, bumping into her shoulder as though she were nothing more than a shadow in his path.
She stood still, inhaling to keep her anger in check, unwilling to let him get the better of her while Bucky struggled with the panicked horse, trying to steady it.
“Eassssssy,” he murmured, the gruffness in his tone now tempered with a gentle calmness. “I’m gonna beat the shit out of that wee prick one of these days.”
He glanced at Shannon, frustration etched into his weathered face. “Get the sedatives, Shan.”
“Yeah… Okay.”
Shannon spun toward the yard, ready to leave, when Bucky called out to her.
“Wait! You’ll need the key to the cabinet.”
She cursed under her breath, her teeth grinding together as she moved to Bucky’s side and reached for the keys hanging from his belt, the metal clinking against her fingers.
The horse was thrashing now, its glossy coat damp, its hooves scraping dangerously close to Bucky’s chest.
“Quick, Shan. Grab them,” he urged, his voice strained. “I don’t know what you ever saw in Niall.”
“Neither do I,” she muttered, unhooking the metal clasp and yanking the keys free. “He’s changed.”
She backed up and turned toward the stables again, catching a shadow at the edge of the yard as she ran.
Niall always lingered too close and appeared when no one else was around.
The awareness of his gaze never left her as she darted toward the staff room, where the emergency veterinary supplies were stored.
Her pulse thundered in her ears as she unlocked the cabinet, grabbed the sedative and shot out into the daylight again.
And there he was, staring at her with her arms folded and his t-shirt untucked.
You can tell when someone’s unhinged by the shift in their eyes, a flicker of darkness beneath the surface.
It’s in the way they move or speak, like something’s always lurking beneath the mask, waiting to be revealed.
That was Niall Ross.
