“Now,” he says softly, dangerously, his hand sliding down to wrap around my throat—not squeezing, just holding, a promise of what he could do. “Are you going to walk into that room with me? Or do I need to feckin’ carry you?”
His eyes dare me to refuse.
And god help me, I don’t know if I’m more terrified or aroused by the darkness I see there.
“The room, Erin,” he growls. “Choose. Now.”
I try to twist in his grip, but it’s useless. He doesn’t answer. He just lifts me, one arm under my knees, the other around my back. I’m pressed against his chest, and I can feel his heartbeat—steady, controlled—while mine’s racing.
He smells good. It’s a crazy thought to have right now.
“Put me down!”
“No.”
Part of me wonders what he could get away with in here. He’s not only the owner of the club, he’s Cavin McCarthy. He walks on fucking water. He plays by a code of rules that nobody wants to know.
“No! Let me?—”
He carries me further down the hallway. A bouncer takes one look at Cavin and steps aside without a word.
“Where’s my sister?” I demand, panic rising in my throat. “Bridget? I need to?—”
“Don’t worry about your sister. My cousin Declan is watching her,” he says. “You won’t be leaving without her, so stop looking like a fuckin’ trapped animal.”
He pushes open a door with his shoulder.
I’m going to be married to this man. We are going to share a bed. And right now, I’m too afraid to be alone with him. He has ripped through every one of my boundaries and fears like they were paper.
Thank god the room’s private and secluded. There’s a couch, a bar in the corner, and soft music playing. It’s almost… almost elegant. But there’s something else too. Things I don’t quite understand. Equipment that makes my stomach flip.
I’ve never seen anything like this.
There are… chains and things hanging from the ceiling. That looks like—oh my god. There’s a bench and something with leather straps. And there’s something that looks like—it can’t be described as anything but a whip.
Jesus, Mary, and Joseph.
He sets me down, and I immediately step back, my eyes catching on something low to the ground. It’s padded with black leather, but it doesn’t look like the type of bench you…siton. There are restraints attached to it. And the angle is all wrong. Too horizontal. Too… purposeful.
A cabinet stands open in the corner, and I catch a glimpse of what’s inside before I can look away.
Oh god. I don’t… I don’t even know the names of half these things. There’s something that looks like a flogger with leather tails. Something that looks like a riding crop.
My heart hammers.
On a side table, there’s a neat line of items that look almost surgical. Blindfolds. Silk scarves. Something metal that glints—handcuffs? Small glass bottles I can’t identify.
And then there’s the couch that suddenly makes sense. It’s positioned to face something wooden that looks… it looks like some kind of a cross.
This isn’t just a private room. It’s aplayground.
I wonder if the walls are soundproof. I wonder if the way the door sealed when we came in means it’s locked to outside intruders, and no one would hear anything that happened in here.
And then there’s the mirror. A massive mirror along one wall with a gilded frame reflects everything back—shows me standing here, wide-eyed and frozen.
Is this what The Craic really is? This is why he didn’t want me to come here.
My heart sinks to my toes.
