Page 4 of Mine
‘His men?’ Curiosity rises in my chest like a riptide. ‘Who exactly is your fiancé?’
It hits me then like a sledgehammer.
Rory fucking Kavanagh.
And it would appear his fiancée abandoned him at the altar, then ran straight into my bar, and straight into my arms.
It’s poetic, really.
I was right—it’s fate. It has to be.
Trafficking women was one of his many attempts to provoke me into breaking our families’ treaty. He—and the rest of Dublin—know The Syndicate won’t tolerate trading women like cattle. He’s been attempting to rile me into war for years.
And every single one of my instincts screams at me that I’m looking at the leverage I need to make him strike first.
2
AOIFE
‘Rory Kavanagh.’ We both blurt at the same time, me with disdain, him with some sort of twisted sense of humour.
He shakes his head in what looks like disbelief, then lifts his glass and clinks it against mine. ‘Cheers, sweetheart. You just made the best decision of your life. The man is a walking red flag.’
My eyebrows shoot skyward. ‘He’sa walking red flag?’
Oh fuck.
Did I say that out loud? My mouth has a habit of moving before I can stop it, and there’s so much cortisol coursing through me, I can’t think straight. I’m shaking to my core, and it’s only a matter of minutes before I completely unravel.
From the whispered rumours on Greenhills, the shitty estate I’m from—Dominic Kincaid isn’t a red flag—he’s the entire red sea, crashing over the city, wreaking chaos and destruction, before taking whatever the fuck he desires when he finally ebbs away. He’s the leader of The Syndicate, the biggest criminal organisation in the country. His reputationis legendary and violent. And he’s also the man responsible for my brother’s death—indirectly, perhaps, but his organisation supplies the city with drugs, which makes him as guilty as the dealers pushing poison on the streets.
The man is a killer.
I’m certain of it.
Every second month some gangbanger turns up dead on the streets of Dublin. It’s all over the news for a day or two, then the story mysteriously disappears until the next body appears.
‘Whatever you’ve heard about me, sweetheart, I don’t hurt people who don’t deserve it.’ He stares at me thoughtfully, stroking a thumb over his chin. ‘I definitely don’t hurt women and children. And I certainly don’t sell them.’
Sell them?
Is that what Rory does?
Fuck.
Dominic continues, ‘He’s a flash fucker, but trust me, your mother would’ve grown to hate him. Your father would’ve feared him. And he would revel in making your entire life a living hell.’ His ebony eyes drift to my lips again, and for some stupid, irrational reason, my stomach clenches.
However bad Rory is, Dominic Kincaid is the most dangerous man in Dublin—which is why I should get the hell out of here. ASAP.
But where am I meant to go?
‘But you knew that, didn’t you?’ He continues, and his ink coloured eyes bore into mine with an intensity that makes my legs tremble. ‘That’s why you ran.’
I exhale heavily, tapping my index finger nervously against my glass. Maybe I should drink it—for medicinal purposes. ‘My father is one of Rory’s men.’ I omit that mymother is dead. And my brother too—thanks to him. It’s not like he’d care anyway. ‘He traded me like a show pony. And yes, I gathered exactly what marriage to that monster would’ve entailed, which is why I bolted like a racehorse, and somehow ended up here.’
His forehead furrows as he inches closer, hunkering lower across the bar counter. The scent of his rich cologne, combined with the raw masculinity that’s radiating from him, steals into my nose and sets a shiver rippling over my spine. ‘You’re telling me youaccidentallyended up here? You didn’t come seeking my protection?’
‘No offense, Mr Kincaid,’ it’s the first time I’ve used his name, and it feels weird as it rolls off my tongue, ‘but have you ever heard the expression “out of the frying pan, into the fire”? Trust me when I say, I didn’t seek you out.’
