Page 27 of Dirty Legacy

Dominance. Control. Blood and pain. Those are all I’ve known for a very long time.

What’s a good woman like Sinead want with a ruthless, heartless monster like me?

I can’t tell Rowan any of that though. She knows I get around, but the other stuff?

I don’t want her to start looking at me like everyone else does.

Like I’m the boss. Like my word is death.

“You should be happy then. Come on, cheer up, idiot. We all know you don’t deserve her, but it’s happening, and you might as well enjoy it.”

“Wow, your pep talks are incredible.”

“Thanks much, I’m fantastic.” Her mouth pinches when her mother calls for her from the other room. “Welp, I’m being summoned. Got to go. I assume I’ll see you at your own wedding?”

“I’ll be there.”

“You better. God, imagine if you weren’t?” She snorts, hopping to her feet. “The freaking shitshow that’d be? Actually, skip it, I want to enjoy the show.” She waves over her shoulder as she marches out of the office, leaving me alone.

I give her ten seconds before I’m up and grabbing my drink again.

All this self-pity is worthless. I’m marrying Sinead in a few hours and that’s the end of it. Like Rowan said, I don’t deserve my future wife, but I might as well try to enjoy it.

She is beautiful. Tall, willowy… long blonde hair, full lips… a tight, athletic body… she clearly keeps in shape. And since there are kids in our future, I’ll get to sample it…

But when I close my eyes to picture my bride’s perky tits, all I can see are those three photos I have hidden deep in my computer’s file system like an addict’s last hit of crack.

Dad, Danielle, and Rowan leave not long later. I wait until they’re gone before emerging from the office, enjoying the quiet. I check my phone and find a couple texts from Sinead, reminding me to show up on time, and a message from Marcus, wondering if I’ve drank myself into oblivion and if I need a ride. I reply to them all to let them know I’m fine and turn to the door.

When my phone starts to ring.

I answer, figuring it’s Sinead. “Yeah, don’t worry, I’m on the way. You don’t have to panic.”

The line’s quiet for a beat. Then an unexpected voice sends a jolt of shock down my spine.

“Uh, Mr. Maguire? Hi, sorry, this is actually Angelina Bellandi? I’m so sorry to call you on your cell like this. I got the number from your assistant? I had to tell her it was an emergency.”

My jaw feels dislocated. I have to physically rap my knuckles on my forehead to knock sense into my skull again.

“Angie, hello. Is everything okay?”

Another pause. This one laced with anxiety. “Yes. I think so. Mostly. Actually, I know this is strange, but is there any way we can meet and talk today?”

I close my eyes, one hand pressed against the wall. Fuck, I’ll drop anything, for any reason, to see her again.

But I’m marrying another woman in a few hours.

“I can squeeze you in,” I hear myself say, my voice husky with emotion, and what the fuck is wrong with me? Stop talking, Connor, shut the fuck up—“Are you free now?”

“Oh, right now? I mean, yes, absolutely, that’s great. I mean… where should I…?”

In my bedroom. Tied to the posts. Legs spread, dripping wet.

“There’s a coffee shop called Third Rail. Can you be there in fifteen?”

“Sure, yes, I’ll make it happen. Thank you so much, Mr. Maguire, I really appreciate your time.”

“Connor. Call me Connor.”