Mac was grabbed beneath his arms and pulled to his feet, the barrel of a gun pointed under his chin. He raised his fists, ready to set this motherfucker off yet again when his father leapt from the stage and stood in front of him. He leaned in close and whispered something that only the two of them could hear. Mac stiffened, and I heard a distinct growl coming from the back of his throat before he finally nodded once to his father. The two of them retook their spot on the stage, but his eyes never left mine. Things seemed to settle after that as one of the guards was instructed to remove my gag. I knew enough to keep my mouth shut. None of these people could help me, not even Mac.
“Ye have been charged with the murder of an Irish boss, lass. What have ye to say about that?’ the stout man from before questioned in earnest.
My eyes locked in on Mac’s, and my heart soared with relief. The strength in this gaze, the sureness of the stance, the intense desire, everything else faded away until it was just the two of us, alone. Maybe I took one too many shots to the head, but I felt him everywhere—the warmth of his body, his fresh breath as it fanned across my face, his touch as he reached up and delicately tucked a strand of my wayward hair behind my ear. We were communicating without a single spoken word being passed between us, and it meant everything to me.
“How the fuck did you get here, kitty cat?” he silently asked.
“Bella had me kidnapped.” I flicked my eyes to said bitch. “I don’t know what’s happening, but I swear I didn’t kill O’Brien. I don’t even own a damn gun, let alone know how to use one. I’m so fucking scared.”
Mac snarled, showing both rows of perfectly straight teeth. His fists clenched at his side as he fought to restrain himself from launching into another attack.
“I’ll kill anyone who tries to hurt you, Otelia. I should’ve been there to protect you, and I wasn’t. I swear on my life that will never happen again.”
“I believe you.” I sighed.
“I didn’t fuck her.”
“Didn’t fuck who?”
“Bella O’Brien. The other night during the average Joe fights, when you came to my office. I didn’t fuck her. She tried, but I turned her down flat.”
“Yeah, but you fucked her before. Don’t try and deny it, Mac.” I narrowed my eyes. He had the nerve to look contrite for a split second. “And you lied to me about meeting up with that troll the other day. When I get out of this mess, you and I are going to discuss MY new particulars, buster. Prepare to feel the pain, Casanova. You have some lessons to learn.”
“Yours is the only pussy I want in my bed, kitty cat. That sweet ass belongs to me, and I plan on taking it as soon as I’m done killing a few people.” He crossed his arms on his chest.
My life was in danger, I was beaten to a bloody pulp, and I was expected to plead my innocence in front of this makeshift mob council, yet through it all, I managed a sincere smile. Since this was my dying fantasy, I chose to believe that Mac would’ve wanted me to know that particular truth about him and Bella. She really had no idea the type of man he had become since she’d left him. He caught my untimely smirk and shook his head in disbelief before leveling me with a hard gaze.
“Be strong, Otelia. I’ll get us out of this. Trust me.”
“Did ye hear the question, lass? Or do you ye need me to repeat it?” Fat man asked.
Oh, right.
The accusation.
I grudgingly relinquished Hallucination Mac from my thoughts, steeled my shoulders, and looked them all straight in the eyes before declaring, “Not. Fucking. Guilty.”
CHAPTER 41
MacCabe
THE STAB OF fury that started at the base of my balls and traveled upward was so intense, I could barely stand upright without feeling its sting. Seeing Otelia in that chair, under a bright spotlight, frightened out of her mind, hit me on a visceral level. A piece of my soul died in her beautiful blue eyes when that hood was yanked from her head. She wasn’t safe back home in Remington, pissed because she thought she’d caught me fucking Bella. No. She’d been taken against her will, used as a goddamn punching bag, and dragged to Boston to face the Irish council, alone, on some trumped-up murder charges. I should’ve left more than one man behind to cover her back. His presumed death and Otelia’s suffering were both on me.
My father whispered in my ear to remember my place and what he’d taught me and my brothers about the old ways. The last thing I wanted to hear was his idiotic reprimand, not when I was this close to disarming one of the men and emptying the clip into anyone who stood in my path. If he hadn’t intervened when he did, I would’ve aired this motherfucker out before the first cunt knew what hit him. There wasn’t a doubt in my mind that he recognized Otelia as the woman from my penthouse. Though battered and bruised, she was still fucking stunning, and he never forgot a face. But this was mob business, and I was a privileged outsider with zero control against a room full of armed soldiers. As boss, he needed to show dominion over his subordinates. I understood that. Didn’t mean I had to like it or accept it for long. In my core, I knew I’d failed her, and in my heart, I realized that in the short time since meeting this brave and sassy woman, she’d never once failed me. I watched as an almost serene smile formed on her parted lips. Strange that she found any of this shit funny; even stranger was my need to kiss her senseless regardless of the danger.
I wondered what she was thinking about.
I remained wrathful in my need to get to her, fervency barely controlled, and I could guarantee its persistence long after these fuckers were dead and buried. I stood on the stage like a stone statue, my body keyed up to inflict pain on every single person who had anything to do with Otelia being terror-stricken.
The so-called accuser?
That twelve-sandwich- eatin’ motherfucker would be the first on my roster to catch a bullet, right after I discovered who set this whole thing in motion. No way his dumb ass was the mastermind behind the orchestrated killing of O’Brien and subsequent frame-up which somehow found its way before the council. Otelia’s eyes had cut towards Bella’s locale several times when the head of the O’Sullivan clan asked for her plea. Her glare had manifested from fear to downright loathing right before she made her position clear to everyone.
“Not. Fucking. Guilty.”
Such a brave little kitty cat.
“I must say I’m greatly disturbed by the appearance of this young woman, that and the obvious lack of malevolence necessary to pull off something so…blatant,” the head of the Kelly clan spoke up. “I’d like to know what other proof you have that it was this woman who killed O’Brien and not someone else, Hogan. Did you actually witness her pulling the trigger?”
“What difference does it make? She killed my husband, and I want justice,” Bella demanded.
“Says you, you psycho bitch,” Otelia snapped back. “I didn’t kill anyone, you slag twat, so go fuck yourself with a busted chainsaw.”
“The accused will remain quiet and respectful,” my father chastised.
Otelia wisely closed her mouth, but it didn’t stop her muttering under her breath about a cage and five minutes alone to whoop Bella’s ass. She definitely had something there. I’d been on a killing spree inside my own head since I was forced to retake my position at my father’s side. Hogan was already dead, fingers severed, cock split in half, and just for shits and giggles, I’d use a funnel to pour hot cooking oil inside his asshole. It was the least I could do.