Kieran Read online

  “Where’s your boss?” He enunciated every word.

  “Big guy upstairs…has p-p-pictures. Wants money. Rica sent me to the cash register for more funds.” She squirmed in his hold.

  “Serve the customers. If you leave the bar again I will toss your ass out of here myself.” Kieran released her and spun on his heel. This was his place and some asshole thought to shake him down? Bastard must have lost his damn mind. Every-fucking-body knew Irish was owned by an O’Shea.

  The bar served two purposes. It gave his bothers a safe place for them to connect if they ever needed it, and the business was profitable enough to hide the funds from his other, not entirely legal entities. He considered it a plus that Rica was adept enough to run it. When she took it over, his money doubled in three months. Something he hadn’t expected when he met her.

  ***

  She sat at the defendants’ table, her dark brown tresses held up off the long column of her neck in some kind of pin-up hairstyle. The tense atmosphere was reflected in the pinched faces of the prosecutor and judge. Over the course of the week he’d been checking the progress of her case off and on. It had been a few days since her defense attorney had shown up. He checked his watch--he had to leave soon, and he was on the docket in another courtroom.

  The prosecutor stood. “Your honor, if the defendant wants to dismiss her defense attorney, the state has no objections.”

  That statement made him sit up and take notice. Only an idiot would try to defend themselves. Kieran shook his head and studied the pretty young woman. Her skin was the color of rich caramel. There was a pink hue to her cheeks, and her lips formed a firm line, but she didn’t move and faced the judge with her chin slightly upturned.

  The judge directed his attention to her. “Ms. Ward, you have the right to represent yourself; however, is it possible to find another defense attorney?”

  She placed fisted hands on the table. “It seems I scared the last few public defenders.” Her soft tone was matter of fact.

  What compelled him to stand up like he was on some kind of soap opera, he couldn’t tell a soul. The urge to protect her came out of left field and hit him like a kick to the nuts. He hadn’t realized he’d opened his mouth until everyone turned to face him. A quick glance at the defendant’s face--the only indication she was caught off guard was the way her mouth was slightly agape. He didn’t call the words back; instead he grabbed his briefcase and strolled up the aisle as if he hadn’t a care in the world, winked at her and asked for a continuance.

  ***

  He’d represented her in an assault with deadly intent case. If he had any doubts she was the woman for him, they were quelled during the trial when she snatched the fountain pen from his hand and jumped the table to stab the prosecutor. The scathing remarks were just theatrics on the prosecution’s side that he’d advised her to ignore. She didn’t listen, which was particularly entertaining, especially when she would mumble retorts, and she always had something to say. More than once he’d had to swallow his mirth. But the wide-eyed look of fear that etched the man’s face as she ran at him was priceless. Derrica Ward had a temper to match his own.

  Good thing he had quick reflexes and caught her before she buried the instrument in the attorney’s throat. It would have been a bitch cleaning the blood from his favorite pen. Shit went downhill after that, and additional charges were filed. She was handcuffed to her chair and threatened by the judge to be bound in a straitjacket. She’d made everything that much harder for herself and gave absolutely no fucks about it.

  Lucky girl--the case ended with her sentenced to probation and house arrest. Of course the attaché filled with unmarked fifty-dollar bills he had delivered to the judge probably helped her out. She was only allowed to leave her home for work, appointments and necessities. Before she was released, a little black GPS box was strapped to her ankle. He was waiting when she walked down the shadowed passageway and away from the building.

  His Rica had nowhere to go. Contrary to what she believed in the beginning he wasn’t waiting for her because he felt sorry for her. It was a simple case of lust. Once he saw the opportunity to claim her he took it--a little fun never killed anyone. She made life interesting, and when he got tired he would pay her off and send her on her way. Kieran snorted. Boredom was not a word that could be associated with Rica.

  He’d brought her to the bar, and she’d been living in the third-floor apartment he maintained ever since. Next to his brothers, Rica became the only other person he trusted with his life. She was well aware of the dual aspects of his life and helped him maintain the thin veneer of civility.

  She was being threatened, and there would be hell to pay. The wrought iron bannister was cool against his palm. He took the steps two at a time. Muffled voices floated along the corridor. There was one distinct, husky tone he wasn’t familiar with.

  Shadows moved across the frosted glass insert. He twisted the old brass doorknob and shoved the door open. Rica stood behind his desk with her palms planted on the blotter. Two stacks of cash sat between her hands. “You want more money--I want all the fucking files.”

  “Bitch, I’ll take your money and still use the photos to back up the article set to run. ‘The secrets of Councilman Kieran O’Shea.’ That headline has a nice ring to it.” The guy clutched a camera in one meaty hand. He waved it in front of her before letting it drop. It bounced against the paunch that formed his belly. The fucker leaned toward her and lifted his hand to touch a single braid that fell over her shoulder.

  Kieran had every intention of solving the situation through an exchange of words. But seeing those plump fingers stroking her hair--yeah, it was going be a one-sided conversation.

  Derrica didn’t flinch. “You’re going to regret being a greedy asshole. Won’t he, baby?” She turned her head to peer at Kieran.

  He held her stare for a moment. It was partially her fault that the idiot was in his damn space. Why the hell was he just now hearing about a damn article? “Who the hell is he?” Kieran paused. “Better question is why the fuck is he alone with you?”

  “Leave and shut the door behind you.” The big man spared him a glance before returning his gaze to Rica. “If you can’t come up with the funds tell your employees to give us a couple of hours. I’m open to other forms of payment.”

  “I just threw up a little in my mouth.” Kieran’s lover shook her head.

  “You called me here for this bullshit. Are you losing your touch, Pretty Girl?” Kieran stepped into the room. Like a dog he’d come running. It was ridiculous the power one woman who didn’t come to his shoulder held over him. “You know what’s coming when I take care of this fat fuck--right?”

  “Damn, you know how to make my clit throb.” A sly smile spread across her lips and she pressed them together to form a straight line. She collected the money from the desk and straightened, stepping back. “Of course I called you. I’m horny and I haven’t lost a damn thing. This—ahhh--journalist is a piss-poor excuse to get your attention, but he is better than no excuse at all.” She softened her voice and lowered her head, mumbling, “I’m just saying.”

  “What don’t you understand about giving us some time alone?” The big guy turned toward Kieran. His jowls quivering as words tumbled from between his lips. His eyes narrowed as he leaned forward. Recognition clear in his eyes. Sweat glistened on his forehead under the pale glow of the overhead lights. The camera swung like a pendulum across his chest as he shuffled back,

  “I was in a meeting, an important one with the Harbor Master.” Kieran cocked his head, and reached for the bat resting on the doorjamb. He rolled his wrist, and the bat cut through the air in a series of circular rotations. The weight of the slugger felt good in his hand.

  Fat man lifted his hands, palms showing. Kieran reached for the knot in his tie and loosened it. It had been a few months since he got his hands bloody. He’d cut his teeth on extortion and money laundering thanks to his father, Paddy O’Shea. Brutal lessons he wa
s willing to share.

  “You’re going to get dirty,” Rica whispered loudly, mirth clear in her tone.

  “It’s called dry cleaning.” Kieran exhaled and swung the bat, clipping the man across the thigh.

  His target squealed like the pig he resembled and dropped to his knees. “Let’s talk about this.” Gone was the acidic tone, replaced with a pleading one.

  From the corner of his eye he caught Rica stabbing the screen of her cell. She raised the phone to her ear and spoke quietly. He marched forward, raised the bat and brought it down again, slamming the wood into the journalist’s shoulder. The fella curled into himself and cowered against the side of the desk. Kieran struck him again then again. Grunts fell from the guy’s lips with each blow. The seams of Kieran’s coat tightened as his muscles flexed.

  Fat man shifted to his knees and crawled toward the doorway. Kieran marched along with him, tapping the end of the bat against the floor. He stomped his foot on the extortionist’s back and the guy sprawled out on the floor. Droplets of blood sprayed out from his mouth across the space in front of him. Kieran squatted to the side. He leaned over gazing into the man’s scared eyes. “If I see any pictures of me or those connected to me in any way, shape or form, I will come for you. Get up.” He dropped the bat and wrapped his palms around the collar of the fella’s cheap jacket.

  Rolls of damp flesh brushed his knuckles as he hefted the man up. The fella shuddered, and his legs went limp. He peered at Kieran through beady, bloodshot eyes.

  Kieran freed a hand and reached for the camera. The strap caught around the guy’s neck and he stumbled forward to crash into the doorjamb. His head snapped back and the strip ripped. He slumped, his obese body filling the doorway. Kieran threw the camera aside and kicked the fella into the hallway. He reached for the man and heaved the guy up, walking the bastard back to the edge of the stairwell. “Come back and I will kill you. To hell with that; do me a favor and die now.” Kieran released the man and he went tumbling down the stairs.

  “What the fuck is this? A man can’t even take a shit anymore without something popping off.” A deep tone with a slight Southern drawl drifted up to Kieran.

  Kieran leaned over the railing and stared down at the only man associated with his da’s crew that had remained from his youth. A black man, Roscoe wasn’t part of Paddy’s inner circle but as his old man’s wealth grew he did use Roscoe to do the deeds he deemed less than important. Paddy O’Shea wasn’t a wasteful fucker. He found a use for everybody. Kieran pulled the handkerchief from his pocket and wiped it down his face “Clean that up for me. I have some business to attend to.”

  “There is a bar full of customers out there. You don’t pay me enough for this bullshit.” Roscoe toed the overweight prone man sprawled across the lower steps. His salt-and-pepper afro surrounded a growing bald spot, which was apparent as he dropped his head. “I want a damn raise, Kieran.”

  “Do I look like Paddy? Don’t I always take care of you?” Kieran yelled down. “Leave the fucker outside with the trash.”

  “Actually…never mind… Dammit, just lifting fat boy will make my sciatica act up,” Roscoe mumbled. “Wait until you get arthritis and see how well you move. I should have moved somewhere warm years ago.”

  He knew what Roscoe was trying to say. Even if Kieran favored his father there was no way in hell he acted like the bastard. “Are you done now?” He resembled his mother, dammit. His final memory of her wasn’t a good one but he still had a few pictures of her when she was happy.

  “Does it matter?” Roscoe lifted his head and met Kieran’s gaze with an innocent look of his own.

  “Not really.”

  “Sometimes, you…arrogant snot…one day…you’re going to miss me when I’m gone.” Roscoe--or maybe it was the want-to-be extortionist--moaned as Roscoe moved him. Maybe the asshole wasn’t dead.

  He stalked into the room. Rica was pulling the SIM card free of the camera. “I already called Fionn. He’ll take care of trash pickup. It’s not how I would have handled the situation, but hey. To each his own.” She shrugged.

  “Take care of things without calling me then.” He picked up the bat and set it back in place. “Drop a little something extra in Roscoe’s envelope at payday.”

  “Do you have a number in mind?” She tossed the camera in the trash and sighed. “You can go now since you corrected the problem. I got a bar full of customers to run.”

  Derrica was dismissing him? “Be generous. He has a bad back.” Kieran chuckled. He tilted his head to the side and stared at her. Rica was a handful. A slow smile lifted his lips as thoughts of her arrogance and attitude filled his mind. She needed reminding of her place in his life. He dragged the tips of his fingers along the surface of the desk as he stalked her way. “I know you missed me.” A long, deep sigh passed through his lips. “After I eat that ass like a starving man with his last cracker will you be satisfied?”

  “I don’t know. It’s been a long time since you put me to sleep.” She traced her bottom lip with the tip of her tongue. “I’m not complaining.” Rica eased around the corner of the desk toward the door. “Consider this a request to open our lines of communication.”

  “Interesting, I wasn’t aware they were closed.”

  “I’ve seen more of your brothers than you this month. Neglect can be the ruin of any relationship.” She batted her eyelashes innocently.

  He planted his palms on the desk and leaned forward. “From the tips of your hair down to the soles of your feet, pretty girl, you’re mine. You will always be mine. Anybody from heaven above to hell below and everybody in between knows that. But I guess you need to be reminded why it’s not good to interrupt me when I’m busy.” He straightened and crossed his arms. “Get the silk rope and meet in our apartment upstairs. It’s time for your punishment.”

  Chapter Two

  Derrica slid her leg across the mattress and was yanked to a stop. She lifted her head from the pillow and gazed down her body. Her ankles were still tied. She sighed and sat up, reaching for her legs. Soft leather cuffs restricted her movements. Rica resisted the urge to thrash in place. Kieran should have released her before he left.

  She twisted around to gaze at the headboard. Her lover must have been a Boy Scout in a previous life. There was no way she could pry the knots free even if she could reach them. She tapped her fingers on the bed. A shiver rippled along her spine as thoughts of the night before flitted through her mind. She kicked her legs in annoyance and the cords whipped.

  “I told you this was your punishment.” Kieran entered the room. Steam billowed from the mug he carried. She stared at him. Shirtless, all his tattoos were exposed. Vibrant and realistic, they told his story. He hadn’t shaved, and a day’s growth covered his jaw and top lip. Plaid pajama bottoms hung low on slim hips. He stopped at the foot of the bed. “I took the morning off.”

  “Really now?” Naked, she leaned back on her elbows. He wanted to play--she would give as good as she got. She held his stare and spread her legs. “Are you ill?”

  His gaze quickly dipped, “I heard you loud and clear yesterday, pretty girl. You wanted time, you got it.” He pressed his lips to the cup.

  “How long do you plan on keeping me tied up?”

  “As long as I want.” Kieran stalked to the side of the bed and set his beverage down on the nightstand. He sat and turned to face her. “Can you take it?”

  She could handle anything he dished out. “I’m not giving in.”

  “You’ve said that before.” He skimmed his knuckles up her arm. She didn’t like the gleam in his eyes. Kieran tweaked her nipple. “Let’s see how long it takes to make you scream this morning.”

  Her heartbeat sped up and her breath hitched. This was their game and sweet heaven above how she missed playing with him. She’d never trusted a man like she trusted Kieran. He could make her body sing and she would feel the effects of his loving for days. She’d been attracted to Kieran from their initial meeting when he called o
ut in a half-full courtroom that he’d represent her in her court case. He’d ambled down the aisle as if he was taking a stroll in the park then demanded a continuance.

  In his suit with his hair slicked back, he gave the impression of an established trial attorney. He’d accomplished something none of her other lawyers had even tried to do given the evidence against her. Kieran got her off with probation. When she was released from county lock-up he was waiting for her. He brought her to the bar, dropped the keys in her hand and told her she had an apartment upstairs.

  She took what he offered and never looked back. It didn’t take long to figure out Kieran wasn’t what he seemed. With his brothers, sipping Irish whiskey and playing cards, he ran his crew with an iron fist. If he wanted someone dead, folks disappeared. He might joke with his siblings but she’d never witnessed any true show of affection with anyone else. From the moment she accepted the keys to Irish, she was part of his crew, and before long she was issuing orders on his behalf.

  A faint buzz drew her from her memories. She glanced over at Kieran to see past the width of his back. “What are you up to?”

  He peered over his shoulder at her. “Blindfold?”

  “Seriously?” Excitement skidded along her nerves.

  “Safe word.” He shrugged.

  “On the tip of my tongue, lover boy.” She giggled. Anyone else would have been lost in their conversation but she understood him to the point she could finish his sentences.

  He rose and sunk his fingers into the waistband of his sleepers. “We haven’t gotten started yet. Close your eyes.”

  Trust, and mutual understanding. That’s what their relationship was based on. They both had their demons, and they respected them enough to leave them be. She shut her lids.

  One at a time her restraints tautened, stretching her arms and legs and partially lifting her up. She gripped the smooth cord and swallowed. The mattress dipped on her side.

  Kieran traced the shell of her ear with his tongue. “Ten minutes.”