Page 186 of Three Irish Kings
“Reese is occupied. Maybe having a laugh with that bonny girl of yours. She doesn’t like him much after he roughed her up a bit.”
I freeze, rage rushing through me, making my heart beat too hard against my chest plate.
Reese is as mean as he is big and doesn’t follow any moral code. If he’s with Isla...
I want to jump over the desk and kill Cormac with my bare hands for letting Reese anywhere near her.
All I can hope is that he didn’t break her.
“After all these years, you and your men are still reckless.”
“Reckless?” Cormac tilts his head but keeps the gun trained on me.
“Aye. Reckless. You can’t just do what you want, especially with women and children.”
“I’ve never harmed a child.”
“What about your daughter?”
Cormac’s jaw tightens. “Don’t fucking talk about my daughter.”
“Thought you didn’t care. Thought you were ashamed of her.”
“I am, but that doesn’t mean I want her harmed.”
“Instead, you just emotionally abuse her. Probably verbally, too, aye? Tell her she’s ugly and stupid, that she’ll never find anything outside this mansion.”
“My daughter is none of your business!” Cormac’s voice raises, and he leans forward over the desk.
Good. The closer he gets, the easier it’ll be to potentially disarm him.
“This isn’t about my daughter,” he continues. “This is about Ronan, and what he did to me. I can’t get to him, not with all the men in the Hayes clan.”
“So, killing his son is your next best thing?”
“Aye. I just hope he’s coherent enough to feel it when you die.” He cocks his gun, and I know this is it. It’s over.
Cormac’s done talking, despite my attempts to stall. He knows what I’m trying to do. He knows what we’re planning.
Everything’s cocked up, and it’s all my fault.
I never thought this plan was foolproof, but I didn’t know it would end so quickly.
Squeezing my eyes shut, all I see is Isla’s hazel eyes with the green flecks around her pupils. Her under me, arching her back, her reading a book I recommended, flipping the pages with her delicate fingers. Her laughing at Dare’s antics, sitting next to Cillian with her head on his shoulder while he sings her an Irish ditty.
I imagine the future that will never be, Isla’s belly swollen with child, Isla in a wedding dress, Isla holding a newborn baby.
All those milestones, the baby taking their first steps, the baby saying their first words. Everything I’ll never get to experience.
Isla, I love you. I’m sorry.
Chapter Forty-Nine
CILLIAN
“Mo chuisle.”As I’m doing my best to stay conscious, I smile at Isla, a vision of vengeance at the top of those stairs.
She bursts into tears, running toward me.
