King of the Cage: A Dark Irish Mafia Romance (Devil’s Own)
King of the Cage: Chapter 11

I felt like I was going mad. I paced back and forth in my apartment, O’Connors everywhere.

Sol sat on the couch, as still as a statue. No matter how much I spoke to her or called her name, she was silent.

She just stared at the wall.

Declan, Bran’s main henchman, sat in the kitchen playing some kind of card game with another guy, one whose face was black and blue.

Bran’s friend, Keiran, or Doc, as they called him, examined Sol, and Bran watched them, his expression tense. I wanted to scream. I wanted to cry. I couldn’t do either with the Irish audience, so I paced.

I lingered in the doorway of the kitchen, eyeing Declan when he tried to light a cigarette.

“No?” he wondered.

I shook my head.

“Fine. Your turn,” he said to the guy with the heavily beaten face.

He winced, touching his nose as it if pained him.

“What happened to you?” I asked.

“Bran,” was all he replied.

“Aren’t you on his team?”

The guy let out a laugh that could have been a cry. I turned away and went back to Sol.

“So, what’s going on?” I asked Doc nervously.

He took his stethoscope off from around his neck and folded it into a leather bag. “She’s been given a powerful substance. I can’t be sure without checking it against the sample from Quinn, but I think it’s the same.”

“Quinn?” I echoed.

“My sister.” Bran’s voice was hewn from granite.

“What does it do? It’s a date-rape drug?”

Doc nodded, but his expression was troubled. “Yes, but more than that. It’s a date control drug.”

“Meaning?” I snapped. I was exhausted and scared, and it was making me shrill and brittle.

“I’ll demonstrate for you, wee one, with your permission. It’s not an easy thing to explain,” Bran said heavily.

“Fine, demonstrate and stop being so dramatic about it, and just let me see.”

Bran nodded and turned toward Sol.

“Solaria, look at Giada,” Bran instructed in a clear voice.

Sol’s eyes turned immediately to me.

“Stand up,” Bran continued.

Sol stood up immediately. The blankness on her face was chilling. She was utterly devoid of expression. Like a doll.

“Stick your tongue out,” Bran said quietly.

Sol obeyed.

“Sit down again,” Bran said.

Sol complied, literally sitting without a glance behind her to make sure there was a seat. She still had her tongue sticking out.

I felt sick. A tear escaped my eye and slid down my cheek, but I couldn’t look away. It was like Sol was gone, and all that was left was an empty shell that resembled her.

“Relax now, lassie. Be comfortable,” Bran said heavily.

I swiveled my teary eyes to Doc.

“When she comes round, she won’t remember this, or the last few weeks, if the recovery presents like Quinn. Maybe it’s a blessing,” Doc started.

“A blessing?” I repeated, anger bubbling up inside me. “It’s not a blessing to have your free will stripped away, or your memories… It’s not a blessing to lose control of yourself and your life… because some motherfucker decided he wanted a real-life blow-up doll. We should have killed him,” I swore.

“We will,” Bran interjected, his tone soothing. “We will… and I’ll make sure you’re there, if that’s what you want, selkie.”

I nodded stiffly. It was what I wanted. I wanted to see the life drain from Enrico’s eyes, consequences be damned.

I stared at the vial on the table. Bran had taken it off Enrico. What the hell is this stuff? I swiped it and turned it over in my hands.

No. Fucking. Way.

The logo stared at me, taunting me.

The logo on the drugs. The brand on a dead girl’s wrist. The mark on a young prostitute… Enrico’s date to the wedding.

“I’ve seen this before,” I muttered flatly.

“Where?” Bran asked.

But I was already pulling the curtain in front of my murder wall back and grabbing the picture.

Bran narrowed his eyes at the wall plastered with cold case and crime scene photos but didn’t comment.

“Here. She was a Jane Doe, found in Central Park two years ago. Her case is unsolved, but she had this branded on her arm. I met another girl with it last night, she was there as Enrico’s paid-for date.”

Bran stared at the photo and handed it to Doc. “Did you get her name?”

I swallowed hard. “Alice. Just Alice. She wouldn’t tell me her last name.”

“I think it’s pretty safe to say that this is all connected. The brand, the girls, the drugs… we need Enrico to talk before we kill him. He has to have answers.”

I had gone back to pacing beside the windows. Bran reached out to stop me, holding me still by my shoulders. I felt so restless, I vibrated. I wanted to do something, now.

“What are you going to do about the drugs?” I asked Bran.

“Find out who’s making them and end it.”

“Why? Isn’t that something the O’Connors might like to capitalize on? Looks like a real moneymaker to me. Men like you get rich, men like Enrico get a willing girlfriend, or punching bag, whichever he feels like that night, and women? They get fucked, like always… but hey, maybe they won’t remember, and it’ll be a blessing.” I cut my eyes to Keiran, who had the grace to glance away.

“If you knew me at all, you’d know I was a fucking terrible businessman. I’m the bane of my da’s existence, and the truth is, I don’t fucking care. I’m going to replace the producer, the brainchild behind this unholy shit, and end them. For my sister, and you, and your friend, and all the women who live in this city and deserve so much more than the men who live here with them.”

His tone was rough, demanding even, but I didn’t replace it intimidating or annoying, not this time. Instead, I heard the emotion behind his words. He really meant it. He didn’t care about the money.

His hands were curled into fists. He was upset.

He looked right at me. “There are lines that shouldn’t be crossed, and I fucking know where they are. A man’s life should mean something… even a man like me. Got it?” His gaze was steady and true.

I nodded, a new respect flourishing for this unpredictable man.

“Got it, and I’m going to help… and replace Alice in the process. Got it?” I stuck my hand out toward Bran.

He stared at me and made no move to take it.

“I said, got it?” I repeated, my heart pounding hard.

Bran shook his head slowly. “I’m afraid not, selkie. I can’t let you get involved with this.”

His sudden refusal felt like a slap. “I’m already involved. Like you said, this would have been me if I’d drunk that, right?”

A muscle ticked in Bran’s strong jaw as he shrugged. “Even more reason you shouldn’t get involved.”

“I can help. I can track the drugs down online, trace the materials and where they’re coming in from. I can figure out⁠—”

“No. I said no. You’re out of this, from this day on.” Bran’s voice was final.

I stepped back, pulling my singed feelings with me. I felt like he’d snatched the rug out from under me. The whole evening, we’d been shoulder to shoulder, working together. He hadn’t been turned off watching me track Sol down, or strong-arming my way into Raffaele’s office. He hadn’t told me I was too opinionated or loud or self-sufficient. My stupid heart had used that moment to justify leaning on him, even a little.

But I’d been right from the start. Lowering my guard only meant getting hurt. I’d let my walls slip a fraction of an inch, and this guy had been there, luring me into letting him in. Even the slightest amount, and bam — hurt. Rejection. The feeling of being too fucking much, all the time.

I stepped back and turned toward Sol, tearing my eyes from Bran’s handsome face.

“Okay, fine. If that’s your opinion, I can’t change it. I can take care of Sol now. You guys can go.”

There was an uneasy silence, and slowly, the other guys started to clear out while Bran watched me.

“It’s not that I don’t think you have skills, wee one, believe me, I know you do. It’s that you need to stay away from trouble, not run right into it.” Bran’s tone was heavy and final.

The fucker really thought I was going to follow his orders like one of his lackeys? We’d see about that.

I shrugged. “Whatever.” I held my hand out to Bran. “My knife. I want it back for protection. Now.”

He hesitated before slowly pulling it out of his pocket. I knew he had it. He had cut Enrico’s ear off with it. I had no idea why he’d lied before, except to toy with me.

“We’re even now. Give me my knife back.”

“You think we’re not going to see each other again?” Bran flipped the knife around in his fingers like a pro, holding the hilt toward me.

“A girl can dream. Let’s go back to what we’re best at… being enemies.” I took the knife and tucked it into my pocket. “That’s all you and me were ever meant to be.”

The Irishman moved slowly toward the door, and I folded my arms, closing myself off as well as I could. His rejection didn’t hurt me, because I wouldn’t let it. I didn’t care. I didn’t.

Bran lingered in the doorway and shook his head. “You’re wrong, selkie. None of this was coincidence… it was fate.”

“Fuck fate,” I said with a bitter smile. “And just so you know… your selkie is a curse, and she’s heading back to the sea, never to be seen again. Nice knowing you, O’Connor, and it’s even nicer saying goodbye. Have a good life.”

With that, I slammed the door and turned the lock and deadbolt, only then sinking down and burying my head in my arms.