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Diarmuid

 

 

 

Now—Limerick, Ireland

 

 

Twenty bloody past four on the next Friday and Saoirse was late. Again.

I’d even texted her yesterday to confirm she was attending our Friday appointment. I didn’t hear back from her.

I found Saoirse’s mobile number in my phone contacts and stabbed the call button.

The phone rang. And rang. Until it went to her message bank.

“It’s Saoirse. You know what to do after the beep…”

Something twinged in my chest at the sound of her mature voice. Jesus, where had my little selkie gone?

I hung up just as I heard a roar outside. That better be her.

I marched out the door, only to find Saoirse hopping off the back of a motorbike parked on the side of the road—a fucking motorbike—dressed in a pair of tight black workout pants that showed off every curve and muscle in her lean thighs. On top she wore a slimline grey Everlast hoodie that clung to her waist, a tiny backpack on her back.

The driver of the bike was a skinny dickwad in a fake leather jacket, not more than twenty-two, I bet. The fucker was leering at her, taking no pains to hide it. He wasn’t wearing a helmet. She hadn’t been wearing one either.

Un-fucking-believable.

“Saoirse!” I yelled and stormed over to them, ready to beat the living crap out of that fucking idiot who let her ride without a helmet. If anything had happened, she would have been seriously injured…or worse.

I was going to put this fucker in the ground.

Saoirse glanced over her shoulder and our eyes met. Her eyes widened. She turned back to dickwad and said something I couldn’t hear. She stepped away from the bike and he gunned the engine.

“Hey,” I yelled out at him. “Stop right there, fucker.” I grabbed his collar and practically ripped him back off his bike.

“What the hell are you doing?” Saoirse cried out.

“What the hell is wrong with you that you put someone on the back of your bike without a goddamn helmet?” I screamed at the guy.

He stared at me as if I was about to chew him up and spit him out. “I-I didn’t have one?”

I was going to kill the boy.

“You fucking get one or else you don’t ever give her a ride again. Give me your fucking wallet.”

The kid did what I demanded, handing over his brown leather wallet. I frowned. This was an expensive brand. What was this kid doing with a nice wallet like this? A nice bike like this, too?

I pulled out his driver’s licence and glared at the photo of him, a sneer on his face, hair unkempt around his head. I supposed some girls might find him attractive.

“Malachi Walsh,” I read out. “Now I know your name. I know where you live. Has she told you I’m a cop?”

He shook his head, the whites of his eye showing.

“Are you fucking her?” I blurted out without thinking.

“Jesus Christ, Diarmuid,” Saoirse cried. “That’s none of your fucking business.”

I glared at the shaking kid, my rage causing me to ignore Saoirse’s probably reasonable ranting at me. “Are you?” I growled into Malachi’s face.

“N-no.”

I glanced over to Saoirse. She was glaring back at me, her arms crossed over her chest. “Fucking hell, Diarmuid,” she said, “I’m over the age of consent.”

Except not for me.

He was legally allowed to be with her.

I wasn’t.

Short of killing this prick and burying his body, there was no way I was going to stop the un-fucking-thinkable from happening between him and Saoirse. She was now a beautiful woman. Why wouldn’t he want to sleep with her?

The thought made me so fucking mad I wanted to put my fist through to the back of his head.

I couldn’t protect her from him if she chose him.

But I could try.

I gripped Malachi’s shirt tighter and yanked him right up to me so that I could see the whites all around his dark brown eyes.

“If I hear that you even breathe on her, I will hunt down your unworthy ass and rip your fucking dick off with my bare hands. You got that?”

He nodded, looking like he was about to piss himself.

“Now get the fuck out of here.” I let go of his shirt.

He drove off in a roar, gravel spitting out from his back tire.

“What’s wrong with you?” Saoirse cried, frustration pouring out of her voice.

“What the fuck were you doing on the back of his bike?” I pointed a shaking finger at the rider disappearing into the distance.

She frowned at me. “He was nice enough to give me a lift.”

“You will not see him again.”

She slammed her fists onto her hips. “Fuck off.”

I was about to lose my fucking mind, my control unravelling like the fibres of a frayed rope.

“Saoirse Quinn…” I spat out, a warning through gritted teeth.

She rolled her eyes. “Diarmuid Brennan,” she said in a mocking tone.

“What fucking eejit doesn’t wear a helmet while riding a motorbike? You could have been killed.”

“Relax. He drove safely.”

“It doesn’t fucking matter, Saoirse, there are other drivers on the road.”

She rolled her eyes again and I wanted to strangle her. She was fucking lucky that they weren’t in an accident.

I made a vow. If I ever saw this boy again, I would make him regret he ever got her on the back of his bike without a helmet.

“Whatever,” Saoirse said, dismissing me.

My vision bled red.

I raised a finger. “You are not to see him again. You are not to get on the back of his bike again.”

“You’re not my father, stop trying to act like one.”

“If your fucking father acted like one I wouldn’t have to worry about you falling off the back of a bike.”

Her cheeks flushed red. I knew I had crossed the line.

“Screw you, Diarmuid. I’m out of here.” She spun as if to leave.

I caught her arm before I knew what I was doing.

“You walk away from me—from these weekly sessions—and I will advise the court that you are a disobedient juvenile and unfit for the program. Your case will go to court. You will go to jail.”

Jesus fucking Christ, Brennan. Blackmail? I was resorting to blackmail to keep her close. I’d sunk to a new low.

Her eyes widened, her nostrils flaring. “You wouldn’t.”

I leaned in close, so close I could see the flecks of gold in her green eyes. “Test me.”

Underneath my palm, she burned like embers. I felt the heat all the way into my gut.

My eyes dropped to her mouth. Her lips parted and her tiny pink tongue darted out to lick at her bottom lip. I bit down on the groan before it could leave my throat.

“Fine,” she said, tugging her arm from me. “You win. For now.”

I let go of her and she backed up. Backed all the way up so that my body felt cold, drained of her heat.

Jesus, she had more sense than me. Here I was getting closer to her, exactly what I promised myself I wouldn’t do. She was the one who was trying to run away. I tried to pretend that it didn’t hurt.