“Shit, you clamp so hard on my dick when you come,” I breathe. My rhythm faltering as my pending release grows closer, and it isn’t long before I bury my cock deep inside her and let the waves of euphoria sweep over me.
Fuck, this is indeed heaven.
forty-six
It’s early when I wake. The sun barely peeks over the tops of the buildings. Matthias is already gone, his side of the bed still warm. It’s expected, though. He had an early morning appointment with one of the suppliers on the East Coast. Some of the shipments have been hijacked enroute, and it isn’t looking good.
I shower quickly and get dressed, not wasting time on washing my hair. A bun will do just fine, and since I’m spending most of the day at the bar, I opt for a pair of black jeans and a gray off-the-shoulder sweater with simple black flats.
Since it’s only around five in the morning, I take the elevator down to the bar instead of the family floor. The kitchen staff will be prepping for lunch, and a hot carafe of coffee will already be made. Maybe I can convince the chef to whip me up some eggs, too.
Stepping off the elevator, I stride into the main dining area and toward the bar. The stench of copper fills the air, and it’s unusually quiet. Where is everyone? Normally, you can hear theclanking of pots and pans through the service door and the chef yelling obscenities like an Irish Gordon Ramsey knockoff.
“I’d stop right there if I were you.” A voice drifts through the empty bar as I approach the kitchen doors. Then there’s the click of a gun. Fuck, the bitch can’t let me have my coffee first?
“Marianne,” I drawl her name in a bored tone as she steps out from behind the service doors and the bar, her gun level with my face. “You look like shit.”
Her strawberry-blond hair is slicked back in a ponytail, and her eyes are tear-stained and puffy. She’s collected quite a few bruises since I last saw her. They snake up her arms, and the ones on her throat have begun to turn a sickly yellow.
Whoever did that to her isn’t a happy person.
“Shut up,” she snaps. Her grip tightens on the small revolver in her hand—a .38 lady. Nothing special, but it would suck if I got shot with it. “You ruined everything,” she hisses at me. “Everything. Just like your whore of a mother.”
Shrugging my shoulders, I yawn, already bored with where this conversation is heading. She’s spewing the same old shit.
“Is that what you told my mother the night you killed her?” I ask, knowing full well it won’t be long before my father or one of the twins comes downstairs for their own cup of morning coffee. Marianne sneers at me. “Oh, come on. Just between us girls. You can tell me anything, I promise.”
Her lips are shut tighter than Fort Knox.
“Why don’t you tell me about how you screamed at her that Liam was yours,” I taunt. “That she took everything from you. How you were never her friend and whispered your secrets in her ear before you left her to die.”
Marianne lets out a sharp, mocking laugh. “What are you trying to do, little girl?” she asks, her lips splitting into a demented smile, showcasing her pearly white teeth. “Get me to confess to something I never did to make your story moreplausible? I never hurt your mother. I was her best friend. You are the one who orchestrated all of this. You are the puppeteer. So jealous of what we had here that you had to go and try to tear it apart.”
Huh? “What are you talking about?”
“Don’t be stupid, little girl,” she spits venomously. “You want your father all to yourself. Admit it. Want to take everything you didn’t have. What doesn’t belong to you. Don’t play stupid.”
My god, the bitch is unhinged.
Which, of course, naturally means I’m going to poke her with a stick.
“I think someone is projecting, don’t you?” I hold my hands up in front of me and shrug. “I mean, you did take everything that was meant for my mother, after all.”
“This is my family,” she screams. Yep, that ought to wake the neighbors. “Mine. Not yours. Not your mothers. Mine. Your great-grandmother took everything from me.” She brandishes the gun at me, taking a few steps closer. “Everything, you hear me? She deserved what she got just like your…”
“Mom?” Seamus steps into the bar, his green eyes on his mother, brow creased with concern. Or maybe suspicion. It’s hard to tell. Meanwhile, Kiernan, who’s a few short steps behind him, looks downright hostile with his cold, dark eyes glaring daggers at the woman who gave birth to him.
Kiernan is naturally suspicious. Unlike Seamus, who’s open and trusting, he saw Marianne’s treachery early on in his childhood. It isn’t that he is blind to their mother’s actions, but I think, in a lot of ways, he’s like I was with Elias. Hoping that one day she’ll show him the parental love he’s always wanted from her.
I snort internally at the thought. Fat chance of that. The woman is a pure narcissistic sociopath.
“Seamus,” she breathes.
“What are you doing?” He frowns at the gun in her hand. Marianne’s face falls as she looks at her son.
“What do you mean?” she asks innocently. “Your sister has been manipulating you. Poisoning your mind against me.”
Rolling my eyes, I blow out my cheeks. Yep, that’s exactly what I’ve been doing. Caught me. Criminal mastermind of my own making.