Page 1 of Wicked Ruin

Part One

Prologue

Three years earlier…

BRIDGET

“I don't want to die a virgin, Erin.”

One sentence. Six words. And now I’m in a sex club, being led to a dance floor by a man in a mask, and my sister’s been practically confiscated.

“Just one dance,” the masked man says. His voice has a low, unhurried quality, the kind that makes you feel like you're being persuaded. It’s strangely off-putting. “Your sister's safe with McCarthy. Nobody else will touch her.”

Cavin McCarthy is my sister’s fiancé, but he’s also one of Ireland’s most feared. And didn’t he just get out of prison?

“Is safe really the right word?” I ask. I’m pretty sure it’s his family that owns the club we’re in.

A pause. “Well… no,” he admits. “But nobody else will hurt her. That much I can promise.”

Grand. Just what I needed to hear. Is that supposed to be reassuring?

His hand shifts to the small of my back, and his voice is close enough that I feel the warmth of it at my temple. I am… flattered. Curious. Someone who isn’t a doctor, a nurse, or a blood relative is paying attention to me. I haven't felt like anything other than a patient in so long—I find myself dancing with him, even though I’m not really into the gothic vibe this bloke’s giving off.

But two choruses in, and I am losing myself entirely because this man can dance, and there is nothing polite or restrained about it. His hands are on my hips. I am moving against him in a way I haven't moved against anyone in longer than I care to admit. I’m high on life and feeling good for once, and no one’s going to take that away from me.

“I don’t think I’ve seen you before?” he asks. “Are you new here?”

“Wouldn't you like to know,” I say in a voice I hope sounds coy rather than breathless.

He laughs, like he's delighted with me. Then he goes still. Completely still. His hand comes up in a gesture almost like self-defense, and I don't understand what’s going on until I hear a voice behind me.

“Hands off her and find somewhere else to be. Now.”

I blink, then turn.

My mouth drops open. A candle on the table beside us flickers out, and I try very hard not to think about the potential meaning.

The man standing behind me is tall and lean and sharply dressed, with a predatory stillness that makes everyone around him stare. Including me.

Dark hair. Blue eyes that have no business being on a face that already has everything else going for it. A jaw with a few days of stubble, tattoos crawling up his neck, and a very expensive black shirt, open just enough to be a problem. And a frown that suggests he is deeply unimpressed.

“Who are you?” I whisper.

I turn to find my masked dance partner, but he’s already fled into the crowd.

“Your keeper for the moment,” the man says. His eyes are narrowed. His voice is soft in the particular way that can be dangerous. “And you're Erin's sister.”

It isn't a question but an identification. A filing-away.

I stand there, my heart doing something mad in my chest, and realize with sudden, total clarity that my sister is marrying into a family of men who look at a woman like… this. As if they're already calculating the most efficient way to rearrange her entire life.

I think I understand her a little more now.

He's older than I am, bigger than I am, and wearing a gold band around his arm that means something I haven't worked out yet. Why does that bother me? I don't even know his name.

And what does keeper mean?

“You’re Bridget,” he says, like my name is a minor inconvenience.