“You’ll answer me when I ask you a question.”
“Thought that was rhetorical,” she pants. “And yes, I’m sensitive. I thought that was obvious.”
“You’d think that, wouldn’t you?” I ask, dragging the crop between the valley of her breasts. My cock aches, she’s so fucking beautiful. “But no, doll. Nothing’s obvious in this game.”
I drag the crop to her pussy, and she begins to tremble.
“Have you ever had your pussy punished, Sheena?”
She nods, and it looks as if she’s trying to toss her shoulder with nonchalance, but restrained and vulnerable like this makes the action difficult. Instead, her movements are jerky and nervous.
“Of course,” she says. “Loads of times.”
I lift the crop and tap her pussy. She hisses and gasps, but can’t get away.
“Loads of times? Is that the truth, doll?”
“Okay, well,” she begins. She bites her lips. “At least once.”
I shake my head. “Lying again, then? I won’t put up with that.”
I lift the crop and snap it on her inner thigh once, twice, three times. She hisses and yelps, but she can’t get away, not now.
She’s here to be questioned, it’s the very purpose of her being held prisoner. No one said I couldn’t have a little fun with it.
“You’ll tell the truth when I ask you a question. Do you understand me?”
She nods and squirms, still aroused, but now it looks like there’s a touch of fear in her eyes.
My phone rings. I keep the crop propped on her belly and leave it there while I step away to answer the phone.
Keenan.
“Yeah, brother?”
“You have any answers yet? I heard you found her and you’ve taken her.”
“Found her, yes. Taken her, also yes, she’s in my room.”
“Ah, you’ve got her in the love shack?”
My brothers love to give me crap about my room.
“Aye,” I say, leaning against the wall and eying her perfect, naked body on display. “You could say she’s good and well secured.”
I give her a wink. If her wrists weren’t restrained right now, she’d probably flip me off.
“Any answers yet?”
“Of course not, brother. Interrogation’s a fine art, you see. I’ve only just begun preparing the canvas.”
Her eyes widen slightly and it might be my imagination, but I swear she finally looks a little nervous.
He grunts. “Fine art, my arse. You brought her here for questions, and I expect—”
“Calm your titties,” I tell him. Christ, I need a smoke.
“Nolan,” he says warningly. As my older brother and Clan Chief, I do owe him respect, but for Christ’s sake, does he think me a magician?
Still, I want to prove myself to him. For years, I know he thought me worthless and spoiled, and fuck, maybe I was. But not now. I’ve shown my loyalty to The Clan time and time again, he just has to give me time.
“I will, brother. Trust me, Keenan. I’ll get answers in time.”
Right about now would be a good time to smoke a cigar and sit on the balcony that overlooks the sea. Let the salt breeze unwind my nerves and calm me. But not when I have a job to do.
There’s a pause on the other end of the line, then I can almost hear him nodding when he says, “Absolutely. Of course I trust you. Do what you think’s best, and let me know when you have something for us to go on. If you need answers, call Carson. He’s ready and willing to investigate.”
“On it.”
We disconnect the call. She’s watching me with those wide, beautiful eyes of hers. She notices everything. It’s her job to note every detail. I slide my phone back into my pocket and go back to her.
“Your brother,” she says. “Keenan?”
I nod. “You know who my brothers are,” I say. “Don’t pretend you don’t.”
“I’m not,” she says. “But I’m trying to get them straight in my head. He wants you to get answers from me. Why?”
“Why? You’re a smart girl. Of course you know.”
Her look grows cold and detached, her jaw clenched and her eyes icy.
“I just wondered if there was any new reason for you to get all up in arms about my investigation is all. I don’t know everything. Suppose you think you do.”
I lift the crop and hold it, crossing my arms on my chest. Warning. She swallows again and gives me a placating smile.
“New article that came out recently,” I tell her. “The locals are angry at the McCarthy Clan. We’ve been on amiable terms with the locals for decades, and you’re ruining that. You’re the informant, you’re the one causing trouble. What do you have to say for yourself?”
She holds my gaze. “Isn’t it obvious?”
“Much is obvious, Sheena. But I asked you a question.”
For some reason, she looks away when she answers me.
Why?
“You’re mafia,” she says. “You might fancy yourselves some sort of benevolent do-gooders with their own code of ethics or whatever, but you’re still organized crime. You flaunt the law. You don’t bring security to Ballyhock but misery and devastation, and it’s time the villagers knew the truth.”