I slipped from the bed, gathering the device with trembling fingers, and quickly tapped on the screen.
The phone's screen illuminated my gaunt face, the battery at forty-three percent. Enough. I put in the code, which I'd seen him use countless times, and navigated to the search engine. Logging into my email, I typed the first letters of an address I luckily remembered by heart even though I usually texted this person.
I began typing a message, my fingers leaving dirty smudges on the screen:
I know how the security codes on the Ashford estate work and where you can find the new ones. Most likely, after your capture, they've all been changed. I can help you get back in without being caught. I know Alexander Moore's morning routine down to the minute, as well as the security blind spotson the estate. Meet me where we last spoke a week from today, same time, if you want revenge against the men who destroyed us both. — B. O'Brien
I was bluffing a bit, but my ace was to get Patrick to aid Aoife in her mission. If I could convince him I wanted to destroy the Flanagans and Alexander with them with her help, then he might give me some grace. I just had to play the game well. The trick would be to get to my goal before they razed everything to the ground.
I sent the message to Aoife O'Malley, hoping she was still actively working against the Flanagans and would check this email account. Based on my surveillance, she'd been operating independently—exactly what I needed. A calculated risk, but after three days in darkness followed by Patrick's attempts at breaking me further, risk had become irrelevant.
I deleted the message from the sent folder, cleared the cache, and returned the phone precisely where Patrick had left it. Then I lay down, my mind racing with renewed clarity while I longed to take a shower and wash Patrick's brutal touch off my body.
I returned to the bed, arranging myself in the posture of defeat Patrick expected to find upon his return. All I could think of was Alexander's face, his touch, and how I would escape this prison. I would find Alexander Moore, seek his touch, and he'd finally claim me as the woman meant to be with him forever...
"Soon," I whispered, curling into myself, my eyes on the prize.
Eight
ALEXANDER MOORE
Her taste lingeredon my tongue like expensive whiskey—bitter, intoxicating, and undeniably addictive. I paced my study at three AM, thinking of her, nothing but her. Sleep was impossible. Not while every nerve ending still vibrated with the memory of Aoife O'Malley's skin beneath my fingers.
"Fuck," I muttered, downing another Macallan in one burning swallow.
I’d been avoiding her. Our encounter a few days ago had shattered all boundaries I’d set. The way she'd arched beneath my touch, breath catching as I circled her clit with calculated precision, keeping her suspended on the edge of pleasure without allowing release. Her eyes—fierce despite her vulnerability—challenging me even as her body betrayed her.
I'd felt her wetness on my fingers, watched her bite that full lower lip until it bled, heard those rebellious whimpers she couldn't quite suppress. And still she'd refused to beg.
My cock hardened at the memory. I adjusted myself, disgusted by my lack of control. She was Connor O'Malley's daughter. A prisoner. The heir to the man I'd helped annihilate.
Yet, I couldn't stop replaying the moment she'd nearly surrendered. The way she'd writhed against my hand, sweat beading on her forehead, her thighs trembling with need as I deliberately withheld what she craved. I knew what she liked…
"This ends now," I told the empty room, though my body disagreed emphatically.
I checked the surveillance feed from her room. Even exhausted and dishevelled after days of captivity, she maintained that aristocratic poise, sitting perfectly still on the edge of the bed, auburn hair cascading around her face like liquid fire. I'd never encountered anyone with such exquisite control over themselves—except perhaps in my own mirror.
A dangerous plan formed in my mind.
Morning light streamed through the windows as I entered her room carrying coffee and breakfast. Her head snapped up, wariness replacing the momentary vulnerability I'd glimpsed.
"Good morning, Aoife." I set the tray down, deliberately invading her space. "I thought you might appreciate something more... satisfying than our usual fare."
Her eyes narrowed at my choice of words. "Have you poisoned it, or is this just part of your particular brand of psychological warfare?"
"If I wanted you dead, there are far more efficient methods." I poured coffee, sliding it toward her. "Black, one sugar. Like everything else about you—bitter with just enough sweetness to be dangerous."
A flicker of surprise crossed her face before she masked it. "What do you want?"
"I'm offering a change of scenery. The grounds of Ashford Estate are quite stunning this time of year." I took a deliberate sip from my own cup. "Unless you prefer to remain here and continue yesterday's... activities."
Colour stained her cheeks—anger, embarrassment, or perhaps arousal. "You mean your failed attempt to make me beg? I wouldn't classify that as a success for you."
I leaned closer, close enough to catch her scent. "Your mouth said no, but your body..." I dropped my gaze deliberately to the juncture of her thighs, "...told me everything I needed to know."
She didn't flinch. "Is that what gets you off, Alexander? Forcing reactions from unwilling participants?"
"There was nothing unwilling about your response." I produced a slim silver bracelet and sighed. "This is a security tracker. But we need to talk, and you need fresh air. You can walk the grounds—supervised, of course—but don’t try to pull one on me. Attempt to cross the property line, and you'll be immediately intercepted. Trust me, this is not easy to remove."
