“Lachlan Harbor,” she mutters to herself. Her eyes widen, slicing to mine. “Your family founded this town?”
What I don’t tell her is that technically, my full name is Preston Lachlan Megalley.
I shrug nonchalantly. “Something like that.”
Those expanded eyes tell me she knows I’m heir to Lachlan Harbor. But the detail I leave out is that the responsibility is also tied to being the future boss of the Megalley Syndicate.
Ever since I was sixteen, the weight of my future as being the boss of the Irish mafia has slowly been added to rest on my shoulders. My dad has conditioned me to take on this responsibility because Arden believes he should leave his son better off and more successful than he was. My father is brutal, unrelenting, and cruel when he needs to be, but he’s also the bestfucking father a man can ask for. It’s why the people in this town don’t cower from him like they do with me.
“That’s why you know my name,” she whispers. “You’re like my…boss.” Her head tilts, flashing me with that long scar under her ear.
I fight the urge to ball my fists at my side.
An unexpected feeling of disgust with myself surfaced when I used that imperfection against her. But I had a job to do, so I pushed past it and ignored the buzz in my fingers that itched to tangle in her soft waves instead. She was already trembling, but I didn’t miss the way I injected an extra dose of fear into her bloodstream when I dragged the blunt end of my knife across it.
Interest is pulling at all sides. The scar is too clean. Too seamless to be an accident.
Usually, a woman calling me boss would set my dick off behind my zipper, but it's nothing compared to the warmth that fizzles across my skin when she calls me Captain. “Does that mean you’ll finally be a good girl and listen to me?”
Her features drop, her lower lip quivering. “Please, don’t call me that.”
Now I’m really fucking interested in this girl.
Where she came from.
What darkness plagues her past?
I’m a very intuitive man. Every time her eyes flit to my knife clenched in my fist, I have this gut-wrenching inclination that she isn’t a stranger to one.
Which further solidifies my distrust of her.
It's not a secret that Luciano and the Calco Cartel are bleeding into our borders. It’s clear that he will do whatever it takes to destroy us and establish ownership of the East Coast, expanding his operations.
It’s why Tayla and my mom’s hearts were carved out of their chests and succumbed to a styrofoam box like they were nothing.But out of all of us, they were pure. They were more than flesh and bone that protected their souls. They were kind. Exuding the type of warmth that burrows so deep it can’t help but shatter the frigid darkness that infests anyone enslaved to a world like ours.
It was a horrific and immoral motive that left us distracted and vulnerable. While we were mourning, Luciano took out some of our men positioned on our borders. The bloodshed five years ago hit us like a flash flood amid a drought.
We got our shit together. Recruited more men. Arden and I came back stronger on the outside, since nothing remained on the inside.
It’s been a year since the last attack, but that doesn’t mean he’s given up.
What better way to destroy us than from the inside?
Kate’s scar makes me think she crossed someone unmerciful. The uneven healing tells me it wasn’t stitched.
What if this is his plan?
Sending a pretty distraction to worm her way to the heart of our operation.
Not on my fucking watch.
My voice is unrecognizable. “Get up.”
Her chest stills. “What? Wh-Where are we going?”
“Your sentence starts now, darling.” I reach for her forearm, tugging her upward as she struggles to stand like a newborn giraffe on those long legs that would perfectly wrap around my waist while I thrust between them.
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, I won't let it happen again. Please, just let me go!”
