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PROLOGUE
GRAYSON
Nine Years Ago…
I was dying.
Especially if that sharp stabbing pain in my chest was anything to go by. As I waited for my final breath, I played around with the words in my mind, reorganizing them, although fuck knew why.
Dying, I was.
Was I dying?
I either sounded like a fucking Irish Yoda, or I was asking a question I already knew the answer to.
Then another thought hit me.I was too young to die, but when I lived the life I did, it wasn’t unexpected.
Rolling my head to the side, I saw the still body of Kellan Quinn, his features unrecognizable on account of the rifle shell that had blown his face off. As soon as the shot hit its target, I knew it had been from a sniper. How else could they have gotten close enough to the most powerful man in Galway?
I sucked in a gasp, trying to feed some oxygen into my body, my chest feeling as if it was on fire. When a young man’s face took up my field of vision, I blinked.
It was Finnan Quinn, Kellan’s only son and now the leader of the Mac Tíre Clan. He shoved something onto the left side of my chest, making the air I was desperate to keep inside my lungs leak out as I groaned in pain. His mouth was moving—he was telling me something—but I couldn’t hear him properly. Somehow, I knew it was important. Concentrating, I focused.
“…owe you, Kent. You saved my fucking life.” He licked his lips. “I fucking owe you one in return.”
Breathing became even harder then, and my eyelids shuttered closed.
I’d never given much thought to what dying would be like…
It turned out it was peaceful.
ONE
GRAYSON
Stop lookingat her goddamn fucking ass, you goddamn pervert.
I forced my gaze away from what was in front of me to what was outside the small, rectangular window opposite me instead. White fluffy clouds looked pillow-soft below, a bright blue sky blazed overhead. I knew that once we were below the cloud cover, shit was going to get dreary. How could it not when you lived in one of the most changeable climates in the world.
I’d been Stateside for the last five days, collecting something that was owed to my boss—Finnan Quinn.
And that possession he now owned?
The only daughter of America’s Irish mafia boss.
Sloane Kavanaugh.
The arrangement had been to ‘purchase’ her in an auction. My job was to be the only bidder. Finnan had been assured of that, but shit had gone sideways on the night.
Another man had bid over the agreed price, and I had very strict instructions on how much to spend. Once that limit had been reached, I was forced to withdraw, but I knew that wouldn’t be the end of it. I knew I would get what I’d come for, even if I had to do a little B&E to achieve it.
Now, Sloane was lying with her head in my lap, wearing the oversized t-shirt she’d worn as pajamas on the night I’d abducted her. I took her from the apartment soundlessly, without having to kill the man who had outbid me or the woman he was with.
When I’d arrived at the airport and boarded the plane, I’d laid her out on the long bench seat, but ten minutes after we were in the air, she’d started crying out in her ketamine-fueled sleep, only settling when I touched her. Once she’d quieted, I tried to move away, but that seemed to agitate her more.
Which was how she’d ended up with her head on my lap. My legs were fucking numb from sitting in the same position for the last seven hours, having only disturbed her twice to go to the bathroom.
I glanced down when she let out a breathy sigh and rolled over, snuggling in more closely to my body, her face settling perilously near my crotch. The hem of her shirt rode up with her movement, flashing the curve of her ass barely covered by a scrap of black satin.
