King of the Cage: A Dark Irish Mafia Romance (Devil’s Own)
King of the Cage: Chapter 21

So, sleeping in the bathroom was really fucking uncomfortable, but it was a matter of principle at this point. My initial plan of climbing out of the window bare-ass naked was ruined when I realized that there was no window.

Instead, I bundled up in Bran’s huge robe behind the door and piled the tub high with towels. There was an old radiator near the tub, and I had to admit, it was a pretty cozy night. I decided to leave the damn ring just now. It was stuck fast and I had bigger problems to worry about.

Against all odds, I fell asleep.

I woke when a particularly loud crash came from outside. The sound of a delivery in front of the pub. Morning light filled the apartment. I raised my hand and stared at the claddagh ring.

What the hell had Bran done last night? He really was crazy. He’d taken leave of whatever sense he’d had and signed his own death warrant.

And we were married.

The thought was absolutely unbelievable. His father really thought that Elio and Renato would accept this forced marriage and make peace with the O’Connors? He’d sentenced his youngest son to death and done it with a smile. I didn’t know how to feel about that.

The ceremony had been a sham, of course, but it might actually be a legally binding one, considering that the damn O’Connor family was dedicated to making this real. I felt certain that that bizarre priest had made sure to dot all the i’s and cross all the t’s.

I scrubbed a hand over my face, my day-old makeup cakey and gross. Not to mention the other substances on my body from last night. Heat beat at my skin. Only a shower could fix me at this point. I turned on the old-fashioned taps, genuinely unsure if the ancient thing would come on.

Luckily, it roared to life. I stripped off and stepped into the enclosure, pulling the glass door shut behind me and surrendering to the hot water.

Fuck, it felt good. Steam rose thickly. I was pretty sure there was no fan in the dated bathroom. I enjoyed the way it clouded the glass and made everything white and new. I didn’t have to think about The Enclave, or what Elio would do with Bran once he found out. I just needed to get clean.

I bent down and reached for the soap. A gust of cold air hit me, and the glass door slid open. Whirling around, I clutched the shower gel like it was a weapon, blinking through the thick steam to see a huge, tattooed body step into the shower behind me. Bran was so damn big and burly, he took up all the space.

Before I could protest at the intrusion, he leaned over and rested his hands on the wall behind me, then dipped his head and kissed me. My mouth opened reflexively, and his tongue pressed inside, stroking across mine. His teeth feasted on my lower lip, his mouth sucking it in a way that curled my toes. He was a fucking great kisser. In fact, now that I’d had a chance to sample all his skills, I could confirm, the man was fucking great at everything. It would be a real waste when my brother took him out.

My nipples instantly pebbled and brushed against his hard, inked chest. The front door key swayed on his long chain, disappearing between us when he stepped forward and crushed me against the wall. He moved his skilled mouth along my jaw to my ear.

“What are you doing in here?” I squeaked, still recovering from the shock of him suddenly appearing in my space.

“You think I can’t unlock my own bathroom door from outside?”

Right. Of course he could. Which meant he’d indulged me last night by letting me lock myself in the bathroom and sleep in the tub.

“Sleep well, selkie?” he asked in a murmur, glancing over at the claw footed bathtub in the corner.

I stared down at his cock, long and hard and pointing straight up his stomach. “Better than you, I guess.”

“You’d guess right,” he growled and kissed me again.

My hands came up to his chest, but I didn’t have the strength to push him away. Honestly, I didn’t want to. My body had overruled my brain and was running the show. My brother was going to kill this man. I might as well make the most of his fantastic bedroom skills before he was in the ground. Che peccato.

Still kissing me, he took the bottle from me and spurted a long jet of shower gel into his palm.

“You trying to wash me off you, wife?” He tossed the bottle to the floor and leaned back, rubbing the gel in his huge palms to make a thick sudsy lather.

I leaned back against the cold tile, needing the sharp sensation of the coolness to keep my head clear. The steam rose all around us, and his body was impossible to look away from. A testament to pure, masculine strength. He was a man built to plunder and pillage, and I was the treasure he sought to claim.

He brought his soapy hands to my chest and circled my tits. They were still tender after last night. I gasped, back arching, as he strummed both my nipples with his slick fingers.

“I got you dirty… so I’ll be responsible for cleaning you,” he said with a smirk that made my heart beat way too fast.

One of his hands moved up my chest and circled my throat, holding me in place while he washed the soap off his other hand. I watched him meticulously wash his fingers, then place his hand flat on my lower belly and slide confidently downward.

“Let’s get you all clean.” His fingers hit my clit and then delved lower, tracing my entrance. “Hmmm, I don’t think this is going to be good enough.”

Before I could think, he kneeled, picked up my knee, and placed it on his shoulder.

“I think I need to clean you properly, so I can make you a mess again,” he murmured, then leaned in and fastened his mouth against my pussy.

His hot tongue circled my clit. I was still too sensitive from last night. I couldn’t take it. I yanked at his hair, and the tie that had been holding it back slipped out. Those long, glorious locks tumbled around his shoulders, instantly getting wet from the shower that still rained down on us. If he’d looked like a victorious warrior claiming his bounty before, it was nothing compared to the way he looked now.

His tongue hit the perfect rhythm, and my pussy flooded. Fuck it. I was going to come. There was no way to stop it. After a lifetime of lackluster sex, and the acceptance that mind-blowing sex was solely the creation of books and movies, here it was. The real deal. A man who knew exactly where and how to touch me. A veritable sex god.

I gave a strangled cry and came, bending over Bran, holding onto his shoulders to make it through the torrent of pleasure. He supported me as he stood and kissed me hard. My back met the wall again, and then, he lifted me like I was a feather. His monster hard-on poked at my entrance as soon as he settled me against his body, and my legs wrapped around his waist. I angled my upper back on the wall, and he slipped inside.

I couldn’t stop him, and I didn’t want to.

Holy fuck. My faith had been lacking ever since I was a kid, left alone in the world, but this man could make a believer out of me again.

Bran rested his forehead on mine, dipping his hips to withdraw and then push back in, slow and steady and driving me wild.

I gripped him tightly around his hips, my thighs flexing. He pressed into me and ground on me in circles, his cock hitting my clit and rubbing all the delicious places inside me.

I was rising. I had no power to resist coming again. This man touched my body like he’d designed it and had it made to his exact specifications. I couldn’t hold back.

“Look at you, getting all tight and slippery around me. You gonna wait for me? Or are you going to leave me high and dry and desperate for you,” he murmured, his beard scraping along my jaw. He bit my ear, then continued down to the dip between my shoulder and neck and bit me again.

The pain of his teeth was just what I needed.

“Don’t pretend you didn’t finish yourself off last night as soon as I went into the bathroom,” I gasped

He shook his head. “Nope… I didn’t. I wouldn’t. From now on, I come from your touch or not at all.”

He increased his pace, pulling out and sliding home in a way that allowed me to feel every inch pressing inside. His hand snaked between us, and he rubbed my clit. It was overkill.

When I came, he bit down on that weirdly tender, perfect place on my neck, and I saw stars. It was all too much. His wet body rubbing mine, the steam rising around us. His arms holding me effortlessly, his cock, perfectly designed to fit me, giving me nowhere to hide. Fucking me through my orgasm.

“What do you say, wife? You’ll let me come inside you? Let me fill you up,” he muttered, losing his rhythm as he got close.

My reply was my nails sinking deeper into his shoulders, holding him to me. What the hell… he was a dead man walking. What was the harm?

With a rough growl that turned into a moan, he jerked inside me, coming. He poured himself into me, hot and wet and perfect.

“Did you really not know?” he murmured against my forehead.

“Know what?”

“At the wedding, did you really not know we’d end up here, like this?”

I had no answer for that. It was hot, honestly, and worrying as hell.

He pressed a kiss to my forehead. It was disturbingly tender. What was I doing? Yesterday had been the craziest day of my life, and this man had only multiplied that by a million. He’d married us. We were married. This morning was the last indulgence I could allow myself. I had to put a stop to this madness. I had to get out of here and let my brother know what had happened. It was my duty as a member of the De Sanctis family to let my capo know about such an aggressive, hostile act by a rival family. It would be up to Renato what happened next. My personal feelings had nothing to do with it. Bran would have to answer for this action, and I already knew what the answer would be. He’d answer with his life. The thought constricted my chest.

Wait a minute. Do I have actual feelings for this man?

I was shocked by the thoughts running through my head. I was all mixed up thanks to Bran being my savior at the hotel. That had to be why I was feeling the way I was.

“Let me down,” I said, my voice sounding rough and unused.

He took a second to release me. His hands held me tightly; his cock was still lodged deep. I tapped his chest, and with a reluctant sigh, he lowered me, letting his cock escape on a rush of slippery cum.

I immediately reached for the lavender bar of soap sitting on the shelf. I watched Bran as the water rained down on him. How could I make this guy understand that my brother killing him wasn’t only a possibility but a guarantee?

“Are you planning how you’re going to knock me out with the bar of soap?” Bran asked.

He turned me around, and after a moment, his hands rubbed shampoo into my hair, sending sparks of pleasure through my scalp.

“Yes, and I can wash my own damn hair, by the way.”

He didn’t answer, just slapped my ass.

“I never said you couldn’t. And be warned, if you’re planning on running off, you’ll have to be clever about it. I won’t just let it happen.”

“Hmmm, I’m sure you won’t. Got a lot of experience abducting women, have you?” I sniped at him.

He chuckled, gathering my sudsy hair into a ponytail and wrapping it around his fist. He pulled my head back until my back arched and my ass brushed his spent cock. It twitched immediately. No, it wasn’t possible. He really was trying to make it too hard to walk.

“You’re my first, actually… first and last.”

“Lucky me,” I said through gritted teeth.

Bran chuckled. He took the showerhead from the wall and held it over my hair, washing the shampoo down my back.

“I’m not kidding, Giada, I’m not above chaining you to my bed. I’m sure I could replace a chain that would reach the bathroom.”

I twisted around, horrified.

He stood there, grinning, his handsome face at odds with the warped things he was casually saying.

“I’d kill you the first chance I got,” I warned him.

He nodded. “And I suppose you’d have a right to, but you wouldn’t get the chance. I’m always watching you, wee one. Honestly, I can’t look away.”

His gaze was fixed on mine, and I had no answer for that statement.

He put the showerhead back on the wall and stepped back. “Take your time, finish up. I’ll be back to check on you later,” he said before stepping out of the shower.

I stared after him, his words slowly registering.

“Wait! Where are you going without me?”

The asshole locked me in. Once I’d gotten out of the shower and found a towel to dry off with, he was long gone, and the apartment door was firmly locked.

That arrogant prick thought I was going to sit around and wait for him to come home and let me out for walkies when he felt like it?

He had another think coming.

First, I hunted for my phone. That was nowhere to be seen, obviously. Okay, so that had been a long shot. More surprisingly, he’d also removed any trace of tech from the entire apartment. That was more annoying. Being underestimated was my superpower.

Next, I went to work on the door. I dressed in the smallest clothes I could replace in his dresser. The man was a giant. His jogging pants pooled around my ankles like a clown costume. I rolled the hems and pushed up the sleeves of the plaid shirt I’d chosen and got to work on the door. Despite it appearing ancient, the lock was decent.

After a few minutes of fiddling, the lock rolled back, and I turned the knob.

“Top of the morning to you,” Declan said cheerfully from the chair he sat in outside the front door.

I glared at him.

“Were you needing something?” he asked.

“Yeah, a gun would be nice,” I said sweetly. “But I’d settle for using your cell phone for five minutes.”

Declan chuckled. “Nice try. The answer is obviously no.”

“I’m not going to call anyone. I only want to beat my score on Candy Crush,” I pressed.

He laughed.

Nodding, he grinned at me. “I can see why the boss likes you, Santori. Sorry, my bad, it’s O’Connor now, isn’t it?”

“No! It isn’t,” I hissed and slammed the door.

Okay, stay calm. That left Plan C. I went to the windows and looked out. The street was busy. Kids played with a ball in the middle of the street, and the sidewalks bustled with the good people of Hell’s Kitchen going about their days.

I banged on the window. I was two floors up. Some people glanced my way but didn’t stop to wonder why a woman was pounding on the window of the apartment over the pub. I tried to open it, but it didn’t budge. Next, I picked up the stiletto heel I’d been wearing last night and shoved the point at the glass. It bounced off without a mark. Just as I’d suspected when I was banging on it, the window was reinforced glass. It wouldn’t be easy or quiet to break. The biggest waste of time would be smashing the difficult glass and shimmying down a frosty drainpipe only for Declan to be waiting at the bottom.

This was karma, I thought dully, sinking to the floor next to the window. My very own sister-in-law, Charlie, had been in this situation only weeks ago, and I’d helped Renato get her down the aisle. I’d had this coming. Charlie would never have helped a mob boss keep me captive. She was a better person than me by a mile. Usually, karma missed the real bad guys, so maybe this was just the universe correcting itself for once.

Sitting on the floor, I shivered. A chilly current of air blew around my ankles. It was damn cold, too, like there was a window open.

A window open?

I shifted to my knees and crawled toward the draft. Where was it coming from?

The apartment was a studio, so there weren’t that many options. I moved past a leather armchair and the facedown book on a small table beside it. The fire had died during the night sometime, but it had made the room cozy. Beside the wingback armchair was a telescope, pointed up at the curtainless window.

I could imagine Bran in this minimalist but comfortable place.

Why are you thinking about him right now?

I shoved thoughts of my new husband out of my head and continued to follow the draft toward the stuffed bookcase in the corner. The draft was the strongest there. I stood and considered the bookcase. Why would a draft be coming from it? There had to be a hole somewhere behind it. I couldn’t see a single other place in the room where air might be coming in.

I methodically pulled books out and piled them on the floor. The studio didn’t exactly seem like the kind of place that would have a secret escape passageway in h a bookcase, but that didn’t mean there wasn’t a more homemade method to get out of here if the front door wasn’t an option.

Sure, Bran’s home looked simple, but maybe it was deceptively so. The lock was top-tier, for example, and the windows didn’t open — and were unbreakable, if earlier was anything to go by. A man who made sure it was difficult to break in, or out, might be someone who had a planned escape route.

It took a while to get all the books off the bookcase. The man liked to read. I could picture him in his old jail cell doing that. What had Bran been like in prison? It was nearly impossible to imagine such an unstoppable force of nature contained unnaturally like that.

Again, I caught my thoughts wandering over this man. Get a grip, Giada. I had to get out of here before he came back.

Once the bookcase was empty, I it out of the way, inch by inch. The cold draft picked up and held a hint of snow. It was January in New York City; snow wasn’t a far-fetched prospect. The hint of fresh air spurred me on.

As I quietly moved the bookcase aside, I saw exactly what I’d been hoping to replace. A knocked-through hole to the outside. An escape route for the troublemaker who called this apartment home. I was surprised Bran could fit through the hole he’d made. It was just over a foot and a half across. Any wider, and I supposed it would be too obvious.

I raced about the apartment looking for anything of mine I could replace. There wasn’t much at all without my cell phone. A dark-red lip stain and a little leather wallet with my cards in it. That was good enough. I shoved everything into my pockets, then stole socks and sneakers that were about eight sizes too big. Balled-up socks in the toes made them wearable, though they certainly added to the clown costume vibe.

Moments later, I climbed through the hole in the wall and out into the cold air of the morning.

My foot scrambled for purchase, and I peered down, shocked to see that the only place to go outside was a very narrow ledge. This was Bran’s escape route? It didn’t seem to lead anywhere.

Taking deep breaths, I tried to slow my pounding heart. There had to be a next step, if my lifelong career of playing video games had taught me anything. I just needed to see what the next step was, and hopefully not fall to my death, or at least gain a broken leg.

I held onto the crumbling side of the hole and twisted around. In one direction was the street. There was a drop of two stories, and the building next to me was about three feet out of reach. There did happen to be a rusted fire escape on that building, but I didn’t have long enough arms to reach it. Could Bran reach it? I had a sinking feeling that he could, and if this was an escape route designed by him, then climbing down the neighboring fire escape might be the only way down. I glanced around in vain for any hint of an easier way.

Then I spotted it. The rusted old fire escape had shiny, brand-new stairs. Someone was maintaining that thing. That pretty much confirmed that this was it; this was Bran’s route. Trust him to design something that anyone under six-five and of regular human strength couldn’t use.

Still, I had to try. I wasn’t going back inside to let Bran come home and replace me still captive. It was a matter of pride. Besides, the quicker I got to Elio and told him what had happened, the more chance that Bran wouldn’t be taken out with a sniper shot and left to die on the street like a dog. He wasn’t listening to me about the threat my brother posed.

So, I steadied myself, got into the best position I could, took a deep breath, and leaped.