Page 2 of Mine
Because I will do—one day.
The front door slams loudly from above us.
I freeze, frowning at Ciaran.
Who the fuck is that?
No one in their right mind would willingly walk through Dom’s doors in broad daylight. The locals know it’s a front for things they don’t want to be associated with. And the tourists don’t usually stray this far out of the city. The northside isn’t exactly picturesque. It’s steeped in history, but most of it is pretty gruesome.
‘Deal with him.’ My gaze drifts to our friend in the chair. ‘And I’ll go deal with whoever that is.’ I reach for the pistol in my pocket as I creep silently up the concrete staircase and into the bar’s main lounge. Dim light spills from lantern shaped wall lamps, illuminating scuffed leather booth seating and scratched mahogany tables. It’s eerily quiet. Hard to believe that in another eight hours, this place willbe packed with men—my men—drinking and discussing business.
I inch further inside, scanning the room. My jaw drops at the sight in front of me.
A woman charges through my bar, barefoot, holding up a huge white wedding dress a foot from the floor. Her golden hair cascades across her shoulders in huge bouncing curls. She’s staring back over her shoulder like she’s being chased by Chuckie. Ragged pants spill from her lips as she struggles to catch her breath. Her chest rises and falls with the exertion—and what a chest it is. Generous, voluptuous breasts threaten to burst out over the top of the silk at any second.
I stop in my tracks, take my hand from the weapon in my pocket, and pick my jaw up from the floor. If she doesn’t face forward in the next four seconds, she’s going to run smack bang into me.
Three.
Two.
One.
Bang.
Those big, beautiful tits collide against my torso, and I can honestly say, given the lifeless bleeding body in the cellar, and the news that Kavanagh is clearly trying to antagonise me into starting a war, this is the best thing that’s happened to me all day.
She startles at the impact.
Her head snaps up, and our eyes lock.
Fuck. Me.
She’s a fucking knockout.
Huge oceanic eyes swim with a confusion that quickly morphs into full-blown fear. Those full, pouty lips popopen. A gasp whooshes from her crimson painted lips as she bounces off my torso.
I automatically reach out and grab her wrist to steady her, feeling her blood racing through her veins in an erratic rhythm. Instinctively, I sweep a thumb over her pulse point in an attempt to soothe her hammering heart rate. The contact is innocent enough, yet a strange awareness crackles over my skin like electricity. An awareness that I haven’t felt for a very long time—outside the sex club I frequent, that is.
‘Well, well, what do we have here?’ I keep my voice playful so as not to terrify her. She’s already running scared.
Her tongue darts out to wet her lips; my eyes track the movement.
‘I’m in the wrong place.’ She attempts to wriggle her wrist free. It’s futile, I might add. I’m an expert at restraining women. I’ve had plenty of practice, but always for pleasure, never for pain.
‘I didn’t know this was your bar.’ Fear radiates from her every pore.
Aha. So she knows who I am.
What I’m capable of.
‘I’m meant to be somewhere…’ she continues, her wide eyes bouncing around the room wildly searching for something—or someone.
A way to escape maybe?
Tut tut.
Where are her manners?
