King of the Cage: A Dark Irish Mafia Romance (Devil’s Own)
King of the Cage: Chapter 18

“You know, I might have misjudged you before… but you’re smarter than you seem, Lost Boy,” I murmured to Bran as we reached the cool night air of the street, finally.

The last few hours had been fucked up. So fucked up I hadn’t really processed them.

“I’m not just a pretty face, wee one,” Bran murmured, his hand on the small of my back.

After the madness inside the hotel, even the creepy street was comforting.

Bran glanced back at the hotel and took my arm in a firm grip. “Let’s talk somewhere more private.”

I was nearly too embarrassed to look him in the eye. After that scene at the altar, I’d gone and come, despite the eyes on us, despite being afraid. His touch and scent had wrapped me up and carried me far, far away. So much so, I’d come just from the pressure of his cock rubbing my clit through my panties. I’d never been more embarrassed. Then again, he’d followed right behind me, leaving me wet and sticky. I could feel him on my belly, and that should be disgusting somehow.

But it wasn’t.

I needed to clear my head. I was losing it.

“I need to see Sol,” I argued instead.

“Then you’ll want to come with me, because I know where she is,” Bran pointed out gruffly and stalked off toward a motorcycle parked at the curb.

I followed him reluctantly. I didn’t want to go with him, but I didn’t want to be left here alone in front of The Tartarus, either. I felt like a ticking time bomb that was likely to blow at any second.

Twenty minutes later, we pulled up in front of a pub, deep in Hell’s Kitchen.

Outside the car, the brightly lit pub sat on the street corner, the windows clouded with condensation. The Selkie’s Rest. The paint was bluish-green, the door cerulean.

“He took Sol to an Irish pub?” It seemed an odd place to take someone who’d escaped a traumatic event.

“This isn’t just a pub, it’s home.” Bran closed the door behind us. “I hope you’re ready to meet the family.”

He walked confidently toward the pub. The double doors opened, and three men tumbled out, in the middle of what appeared to be a pretty serious fight. Loud Irish music spilled out with them, and the raucous atmosphere of what had to be the rowdiest place on the block. Bran simply stepped around them.

“What if I’m not, though?” I called after Bran.

He grinned and held the door open.

Inside was an assault to the senses. The music was loud, but the people were louder. It was packed. Absolutely every table was full. People were eating, drinking, and being ridiculously merry. There was a sports game of some kind on the TV screens, and several men at the bar seemed to have brought their own instruments and were singing away together. Now and then, the entire pub joined in. The playing got steadily worse as the level of inebriation went up.

“Where are the bathrooms?” I asked quickly.

Bran glanced down at me, and then lower still, his gaze drifting over my skirt. We were both thinking the same thing. He was all over me.

His thick throat bobbed with a hard swallow, and he pointed over my shoulder.

“To the right.”

His voice was low and husky, and I could somehow make it out over the din in the pub. It was like that moment, on the damn altar, had made me attuned to him in a way that didn’t seem to be wearing off.

I turned without a word and headed that way.

Inside the bathroom, I stared at myself in the mirror. That had been close. Damn close. My heart raced. A delayed reaction to the panic and fear of walking into that place alone and trying to replace Sol.

I had been terrified, and I hadn’t been terrified in a long time. My eyes filled with tears. Fuck. I hated to cry. I hated it. A knock sounded outside, and I jumped.

“It’s busy,” I called hoarsely.

The knock came again, the door shuddering.

“Let me in, selkie.”

Bran’s voice came to me from the hall, and more panic seized at my chest. I couldn’t let him see me crying, weak and pathetic. My pride couldn’t stand it.

Suddenly, the door swung in.

I blinked, several tears escaping down my cheeks.

“Doesn’t the lock work?”

“I have the master key. This is my place,” Bran explained, coming in and shutting the door behind him. He locked it and leaned against it. His presence made the neat room feel tiny.

“So, you just barge in on women in the bathroom whenever you feel like it?” I protested, dashing the tears from my cheeks.

“Nope. You’re the first. Are you all right?” he went on to ask immediately.

I opened my mouth to answer, and nothing came out.

I stared at him and then shut my lips with a hard click.

“I asked if you were all right,” he pressed and stepped forward.

“I’m fine,” I managed to choke out. But I wasn’t fine. I wasn’t fine at all. The whole night of fear was catching up on me, making me fragile and damaged. Making me weak.

I stepped away from him, trying to get around him to the door.

“I don’t think you are,” Bran said steadily and trapped me against the sink. Him and his damn long arms were inescapable.

“I don’t care what you think. I’m fine,” I maintained.

He lowered his head so he could look me right in the eyes. After studying me, he shook his head.

“Jesus, you’re stubborn.”

I raised my chin. “No, you’re just annoying and invading my privacy. I’ve told you before, I don’t like bossy, dominating men,” I spit out.

“Right, you mentioned it. Too bad for you, I don’t care.”

Then his arms closed around me. I couldn’t move. He pulled me to his chest and buried his face in my hair. I was trapped. Utterly immobile. I tried to move, tried to push him, but it was impossible.

“Shh, settle down, Giada, and give me a fucking minute,” he said into my hair.

“Why?” I demanded, my tears pressing back against my eyelids, hot and fresh. My panic built, transforming into something wild and undeniable.

“Because, selkie, I’m really not fucking okay. So, just humor me, okay?” Bran said quietly.

Just like that, the dam I’d been building inside broke. Tears filled my eyes and rushed down my cheeks. All the terror I’d felt for Sol, and for me, even for Bran as well, rushing up and spilling out. Those masks would haunt me in my dreams, I was certain of it, and the way they’d been watching us, waiting their turn. I cried and cried, a gale of pent-up emotion slowly passing and leaving me exhausted in its wake. Bran held me tight throughout. I couldn’t have moved if I’d tried to. His smell filled my head. It was calming somehow. I forgot who I was for a second, and who he was. I forgot that Elio would kill me for even talking to this man, and I clung onto him, like he was an anchor in the storm. A safe haven.

When it finally passed, I felt wrung out like an old dishrag, but lighter. Bran’s arms loosened around me.

I pulled back, aware my face was beyond saving. My eyes stung with swelling, my cheeks were raw, and my nose had been running like a damn faucet.

I avoided Bran’s eyes as I tried to bring my bleary gaze into focus.

His thumb ran gently beneath my eye.

“Better?” he mused.

I didn’t know how to answer that. Could any of this get better while those people were out there, doing that kind of initiation to any number of poor women?

“You think that they do that a lot?” I asked, my voice sounding childish and lost. I wasn’t someone who looked for reassurance often, but after tonight, my optimism about the human race had taken a beating.

Bran nodded. “I think doing it even once is enough,” he murmured.

“Were they — how many people were you supposed to offer me to?” I asked, raw; the question kept playing again and again in my head. There had been nearly a hundred masked figures.

Bran shook his head. “Don’t think about it. Don’t let that darkness get a grip in your head. Let’s clean you up and go replace your friend.”

He drew back, and I sagged against the counter. Twisting around, I plucked a few tissues out of a box and dabbed at my face. It didn’t make a huge difference.

“You can go. I’ll come out in a second,” I said to Bran.

He stood behind me and raised an eyebrow.

“I need to freshen up,” I added, a blush suddenly heating my cheeks. I wasn’t the blushing type, usually, but I’d never been in this situation before.

Bran leaned a hand on the counter behind me. “That’s right. I made a mess of you earlier, didn’t I?”

I stared in fascination as his hand fell to the hem of my skirt and inched it up.

“It’s only gentlemanly to help clean up.”

“You don’t have to do that,” I said quickly, fire passing over me in a wave. He tugged my skirt up and bunched it at the waist.

“You think I’m going to miss it?” he asked, his voice a rough murmur. Holding my skirt in a firm grip, he reached his other hand between my legs and stroked over the cum-streaked front of my panties. They were semi-dry, and crusted with his load.

“You smell like me, selkie. I kind of like the idea of you wearing my cum against your cunt all night long. Since I don’t have a ring to give you, I’ll mark you this way.”

“A ring?” That was all I managed to hold onto from his statement.

“Yeah, we’re getting married, remember?” Bran teased.

It was good to see he was back to his insane self.

“Right, how could I forget? Our impending wedding.” I rolled my eyes. “I can’t believe they fell for that.”

A timid-sounding knock came through the door.

“Giada? Are you there?”

Sol.

I pushed Bran’s hand away and dropped my skirt, fixing it, and strode to the door.

“I’m here!” I announced, wrenching open the door and dragging Sol into a long hug.

“What happened?” she asked, her eyes wide with concern.

“Nothing,” I said and fought the urge to glance back at Bran. I threaded my arm through hers and tugged her in the direction of the bar.

I felt his eyes on my back like a touch the entire way.

“You made it. I was so worried,” Sol said, squeezing my hands.

“Hey, I’m the one who was worried. Don’t worry about me, just worry about yourself. Are they treating you all right here?” I stared around at the jovial chaos.

“Yeah, well, after Bran’s lunatic friend hauled me over his shoulder and shoved me in a car to force me to leave, yeah.” She shot a dark glare in Declan’s direction. “The cook is a woman called Aoife, and she’s been really nice. I’ve been sitting with her at the back. She gave me dinner and let me wash up here.” Sol glanced around. “My father will kill me if he knows I was here. This has to be like… O’Connor territory, right?”

“Guaranteed. Don’t worry about your dad, we’ll have you home before he realizes. You want to introduce me to the cook? I could do with something to eat, too,” I admitted. I was starving and exhausted and wanted nothing more than to comfort myself with a full belly after crying my heart out.

Sol took me through the pub, which was a lot bigger than it appeared from outside. There was a table near the back where an older lady sat. She patted the seat when Sol appeared.

“There you are. Sit yourself down and stop fussing. Is this the other lass? The one with Brandon?”

I stood awkwardly in front of Aoife as she looked me up and down. She narrowed her eyes.

“I bet you’re a handful,” she remarked.

“Thank you,” I said, as sweetly as I could manage.

She snorted. “Can you keep him in line, that’s the question. The boy’s a handful himself. Sit, and tell me about yourself, and what the hell happened tonight. You want food?”

“That would be great.” The words had barely left my mouth before Aoife shouted toward the kitchen.

“Bring the girl something to eat!” She turned to Sol. “You want anything else?”

Sol shook her head, sitting close to the strong, maternal warmth of Aoife. She seemed like a no-nonsense sort of woman. Trustworthy and strong as hell. I even felt comforted being cared for by her. Man, tonight had done a number on me.

Aoife patted my hand. “You’re all right now, lass. You’re safe here, with the O’Connor family all about you. We take care of our own.”

“I’m…” What was I going to say right now? That I was a De Sanctis family member so they could kick me out?

“I know exactly who you are, lass, and that’s why I’m saying it.” Aoife smiled at me.

I stopped fighting her good intentions. It didn’t matter if she thought I was with Bran, just for tonight. I would take the comfort where I could replace it for now.

Food appeared. Rich stew over mashed potatoes. Steam curled from the plate, and the smell instantly made my mouth water.

“Dig in. Brandon, bring your woman a drink,” she called over my shoulder.

I glanced back to replace Bran lounging at the bar with Declan, behind our table.

His gaze was already on me. A shot of heat even warmer than the stew flashed through my body.

Bran didn’t correct Aoife. He didn’t speak at all. He straightened up to his impressive height and ambled behind the bar.

“Now, tell me what happened to you two tonight, and start from the beginning,” Aoife directed in a tone that didn’t allow for refusal.

So, I did.