Irish Rogue: An Arranged Marriage Mafia Romance: Brooklyn Kings, #5

By LK Shaw

Anya

 

Five years ago I was sold. Used. Abused. Now, I'm broken. My loving family thinks a husband will fix me. I have no desire to get married, but I'll give them what they want. Except it will be on my terms. And I know just the person to ask.

 

Paddy

 

Getting married is at the top of the list of things I swore I'd never do. So there's no way I'll agree to Anya's ridiculous proposition. Yet, somehow, I find myself saying yes. She says we both can live our lives without interference from the other. It seems like the perfect plan.

 

Until it isn't.


*Author's note: Please visit my website for CW

• Language: English
• Publisher: LK Shaw
• Release date: Apr 26, 2022
• ISBN: 9798201345457

LK Shaw

LK Shaw is the bestselling author of sexy, sinful suspense. She resides in South Carolina with her high maintenance beagle mix dog, Miss P. An avid reader since childhood, she became hooked on historical romance novels in high school. She now reads, and loves, all romance sub-genres, with dark romance and romantic suspense being her favorite. LK enjoys traveling and chocolate. Her books feature hot alpha heroes and the strong women they love. Want a FREE short story? Be sure to sign up for her newsletter and download your copy of A Birthday Spanking, a short story set in the Doms of Club Eden world! http://bit.ly/LKShawNewsletter

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

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Anya

---

Not for the first time, I wish he’d kill me already.

It would be a much kinder fate than to continue enduring the pain and torture he inflicts. But Krzysztof Gornak is neither kind nor merciful. A lesson I learned the day he bought me. 

I sit on the only piece of furniture in my room, huddled against the wall with my knees to my chest. I laugh bitterly. Almost maniacally. Room? More like prison cell. A cold shiver dashes across my neck. Goose bumps pepper my arms. The only clothing I’m allowed is a thin scrap of sheer fabric that’s meant to entice. 

To seduce. 

Still, I welcome the false sense of modesty it provides, even though it offers nothing more than if I were completely naked. It exposes everything. It’s my tormentor’s intent. His men need to see what they’re getting for their money. Bile rises in my throat. Gornak has done nothing but taunt me since yesterday. 

I found a buyer for you, he announces in his heavy Polish accent the second he strolls into my room. He’s going to pay a high price for that sweet pussy of yours. And your ass. The man is massive, too. No doubt he’ll make you bleed. I better get one final taste of that tight, little hole before he ruins it.

After everything he’s done to me—forced me to do—I thought my tears had dried up, but there seem to be more left. Screams echo outside my room. On most days, I can ignore them, but sitting here, waiting to be taken to the next monster who will own me, they’re all I focus on. The endless wailing that serves as a reminder of who we are.

Pets.

Slaves. 

Fuck toys. 

Over the faint screams, footsteps plod down the hallway. The familiar creak from that one spot on the floor makes me tremble, and not just from the cold.

My gaze darts to the door. There’s a click, and the knob slowly turns. My heart pounds. Vomit churns. I swallow it back and try to control my breathing. A narrow crack appears, then widens, until Gornak steps through, carrying something in his hand. The evil grin he wears when he’s feeling particularly sadistic contorts his face into a macabre picture. I bite my cheek, and blood fills my mouth. The copper flavor of it bursts across my tongue. 

How’s my little pet this evening? 

I don’t respond. 

It’s time to go. Are you ready to meet your new master? he mocks.

Knowing better than to take too long, I climb off the bed and stand next to it. I stare straight ahead. Gornak moves into my line of vision. His perusal of my near-naked body makes my skin crawl. I hold my hands out in front of me like I’ve been trained to do these last six months. 

My almost-healed wrists already hurt in anticipation of the rough texture of the rope he frequently uses to bind them. Ever since the first time he raped me and I nearly clawed his eyes out. He smirks as he wraps the length tautly around them, not even attempting to be gentle.

It abrades my sores, and rips off scabs, turning my battered flesh raw and bloody. I wince at the pain. Gornak merely smiles. 

Let’s go. He grabs my upper arm and drags me out of the room. 

I can barely keep up with his quick pace and trip more than once. He jerks me upright each time, yanking my arm hard enough I’m scared he’ll pull it out of the socket. Tears from the agony of my wrists and shoulder spill down my cheeks. I’m shaking with cold. And more than a little fear. 

Gornak chuckles, sending a bolt of panic through me. It’s a familiar laugh. A terrifying laugh. It’s the one he uses when he’s feeling particularly vicious. 

Just wait until you see your new master. He reminds me of the devil himself. Covering his entire throat is a skull tattoo with eyes the color of the flames of hell. Rumor has it, it’s an exact replica of the skull from the first man he killed, he says with glee. It’s the devil’s own eyes, though, that are terrifying. They’re cold. Emotionless. Soulless. Like you’re looking into the face of a true killer.

It’s the last part that sends my terror spiking. Maybe I don’t want to die after all. We exit through a door and cross a parking garage. Gornak nearly throws me in the back seat of a car. I stumble and fall to the floor, scraping my knees across the fabric, adding more abrasions to the collection I already have.

I scramble onto the seat, my movements awkward and hindered by my bound wrists. He and two more men climb in behind me. The driver pulls away, and the farther from my former prison we get, the more tears that fall, though I try to hide them.

My sister’s face flashes before me. Along with the last conversation we had. Every hateful word I spewed at her slams against the inside of my brain. For six months, I’ve held out hope I’ll see her again. But lately, that bright ray of hope has grown dimmer. I’m scared that before the evening ends, and my ownership switches hands, it will be extinguished. My body continues to tremble. I will it to stop, but it’s useless. 

We trail behind another town car until, at last, we turn down an alley and come to a stop behind a single-story building. The other two occupants exit first, then Gornak. He snaps his fingers at me, and I follow behind him. My bare feet land in a puddle of water. 

From the first vehicle, three men exit. We join their group, and they all converse in Polish. I’ve picked up a few words since the beginning of my captivity, but they’re speaking too fast for me to keep up. The warm air feels good against my cool flesh, and I stare up at the night sky. I take a shuddering breath, breathing in the scents of sugar and yeast. My stomach growls. 

One of the men pounds on the back door of the building. Moments later, it opens, and a man with fear-filled eyes stands there. He steps back, and our entourage enters. Gornak speaks to one of his buddies, then turns to me. His arm lashes out, and he grabs a fistful of my hair. He yanks my head back and slams his mouth down on mine. His tongue forces its way past my lips, and his teeth gnash my flesh. I whimper in pain.

Krzysztof, someone snaps. 

He releases me and smiles. Blood is smeared across his lips. His tongue swipes across them, pulling it into his mouth. He lets out an, Ahhhh. His gaze shifts to his comrade behind me, and he barks out an order. Then, with another glance in my direction, Gornak pivots to face his boss, who’s glaring at him in annoyance. I’ve only seen the man a few times in the common area of the warehouse, where the other women and I were forced to entertain the men. Thankfully, he never spent time with me.

Gornak dips his head in acquiescence. My apologies, Panie Wójcik.

You know what will happen if the merchandise is too damaged, the Polish leader admonishes.

Appearing properly chastised, the five men follow the terrified man, who’d first opened the door, out of the back room we’d been escorted to. 

I move to follow them, but the remaining guard latches onto my arm. He shakes his head. I tense, unsure what’s happening. Time passes. It could be seconds or minutes. It’s endless and only makes my anxiety worse. My captor’s phone beeps. He glances at it, pockets it again, and grabs my arm, dragging me forward. 

I’d gotten my tears under control, but the thought of who is on the other side of the door, of the unknown fate that awaits me, brings them forth. I’m trembling. My teeth chatter. He turns the knob, and the bright light from the next room nearly blinds me. It’s as though I’m being transported to another world. A worse one. I take a few, slow steps forward and must hesitate a moment too long to take the next ones because I’m shoved none-too-gently farther in. 

The tile floor is cold on my bare feet. I keep my gaze narrowed on a spot straight ahead. I’m afraid to make eye contact with any of the multiple shadows outside my tunneled vision. We continue crossing the room until we come to a stop at a table. 

Anya.

My name is said in a low and somewhat gentle tone. Shocked at the use of it, I jerk my head up, and my gaze locks onto cold, dead eyes. Oh, god. It’s him. Terror infuses itself in my every pore. Gornak grabs my arm and thrusts me closer to the demon. I can’t breathe. 

The tattooed man yanks out a gun and shoves it directly in Gornak’s face. Take your hands off her and back away.

Someone behind him shifts, and my gaze darts in that direction. Power emanates from the man rising from his chair. To my surprise, there is gentleness on his face as he looks at me. He shrugs out of his suit coat and passes it to the devil still pointing his weapon at Gornak. Why isn’t he examining his merchandise? What’s he doing with that jacket? What’s happening?

My buyer holsters his gun and slowly moves closer. I’m frozen in place. You’re safe now. I swear, he says in that low voice, tucking the coat under his arm. I’m going to cut these ropes, okay? 

I watch, paralyzed, as he raises his leg and pulls a knife out from a sheath strapped to his ankle. These men are Italian. Enemies. I’m going to die. My breathing is ragged. Except he doesn’t shove the blade in me. He saws at the binding around my wrists. Despite my terror, I can tell he’s actually trying to be gentle. Confusion sweeps over me. Who is this man? At last, the threads fall to the floor, and he puts away the knife.

That flicker of hope inside me hums, and the light it produces flares the tiniest bit. He settles the jacket over me. I’m surrounded by warmth and the scent of woodsy cologne. My eyes meet his for half a heartbeat. His gaze has thawed. In fact, it’s warm. Gentle. His whole expression has softened into compassion. That single glimpse is all it takes. A sob spills from me, and I collapse in a ragged heap. 

Before I can hit the floor, strong arms sweep me up into a comforting embrace. I shake with tears. The man carries me away. I can’t make myself care where we’re going, as long as it’s away from the Polish bastards. Moments later, we’re in the back seat of a car. I can’t stop trembling. Or crying. Voices reach me, but it’s like I’m inside a glass bowl. They’re distorted. My body grows heavy. I fight the exhaustion, but it overpowers me. 

Rough hands grab me. My breasts. My sex. They’re touching me everywhere they can reach. I fight them off. Thrash around. Anything to make them stop. My screams grow louder until a woman’s voice penetrates through the fog. 

Tishe, tishe, ya zdes’, Anyusha. Ne kto tebya bol’she ne obidet.

My eyes fly open. There’s nothing there at first and then my gaze lands on the one person I never thought I’d see again. Mila? I choke out around my tears, nearly leaping off the couch I’m lying on, and throwing my arms around my sister’s neck, sobbing into it. 

I cry for all I’m worth. Her tears mix with mine until neither of us have any left to shed. She pulls back, and like she did when I was a little girl, tucks my hair behind my ears. My gaze drinks her in. She’s lost so much weight, and her beautiful blonde hair is almost completely gone. It sticks up from her head in a wild mop. What happened to her?

A small noise draws my attention. I shift my gaze away from her. It collides with the devil-man standing over us. I suck in a sharp breath. 

Shhhh, Anyusha. He won’t hurt you, I promise, she rushes out, trying to reassure me. Anya, this is Pierce. He’s a…friend.

You were there tonight, I whisper. 

He nods. You’re safe now. 

More stupid tears fall. Is it because I believe him or because I don’t? Will I ever be safe again? It doesn’t feel that way. I’m just so tired. Mila moves to sit next to me. It takes no resistance to allow her to pull me down so my head rests in her lap. She starts singing my favorite Russian lullaby. The one she used to sing to me when I was a baby. Her fingers thread through my hair. My eyes close, and I let her voice carry me off to sleep, praying that the nightmares remain at bay.

CHAPTER 2

Five years later

Anya

---

I never pictured myself being a wallflower. At least not before. That’s how I’ve come to think of things. 

Before.

And after. 

But I’ve come to embrace my status. Seek it out.

Enjoy it.

People make me nervous. Being in a crowd of hundreds of Italians and Irish, some of whom still haven’t completely accepted me—or my sister—even after five years, is still a little terrifying. Granted, it’s only a small number, and none of them would dare say a word out loud, but their disdain is often noticeable.

I’ve managed to escape my sister and her machinations to introduce me to various gentlemen under the guise of friendly small talk. You’re hiding behind a fake tree, that mocking voice inside my head states. I shush the stupid thing. I’m not hiding. I’m merely standing out of sight. Avoiding people while, at the same time, trying to gather my courage to approach one person in particular. It doesn’t mean I’m hiding. 

I peek out from behind my hide—the spot where I’ve parked myself. Familiar and unfamiliar faces fill the room. All here to celebrate Emilio and Brenna’s infant twins. My heart pinches. I love babies. Always wanted to have kids. Before, anyway. I push away those thoughts. My gaze lands on my target. 

Paddy Donnelly has been standing by the hors d’oeuvres table—mere feet from me—for the last ten or fifteen minutes, sipping his drink. If I didn’t know him any better, I’d say he’s hiding—or not hiding, rather—too. Not that I know him all that well, though, aside from my casual observations over the years. But his expression is oddly contemplative. Which is not his usual state. He’s almost always smiling—or smirking—as though he’s the only one in on some big inside joke. 

Nausea churns in my belly. Are you really sure you want to do this? Before the answer comes to me, a voice rings out. There you are.

Shit. Someone found me. Except, it’s not me she’s addressing. 

You’re looking lovely as always, Paddy compliments the woman.

I know you’re trying to hide from me.

He gasps in mock horror. I would never.

Her lips twitch, but she smooths them out. Uh-huh.

What can I do for my esteemed mother today?

Her eyes narrow, but she carries on. I met this lovely, young woman earlier. She’s the daughter of one of Emilio’s captains and was sitting at one of the tables by herself, and I thought it would be nice if you went over and talked to her.

You know I love you, right? He doesn’t wait for her to answer. But I have zero interest in making small talk with some woman I don’t know and have—no offense to her—no interest in knowing. I wish you would stop trying to pawn off every woman you meet. Unless you want them to spend the night in my bed—one night only—then you’re only wasting your time.

She closes the distance between them and cradles his face between her palms. No small feat considering he nearly towers over her. There’s so much love on her face for him. Envy pierces my heart. I nearly gasp from the pain of it. My mother hadn’t loved me at all.

"I only want you to be happy. Behind that fun-loving, devil-may-care attitude, and carefree façade you present to everyone, I know there’s a part of you that is truly unhappy. It breaks my heart, Padraig," she says to him, her eyes boring into his.

Wow, I hadn’t expected that. He stops breathing. If I weren’t staring so intently at their interaction, I might have missed it. Mrs. Donnelly’s gaze stays on Paddy for another beat and then she drops her hands and moves away. Several seconds pass before, at last, he takes a huge breath.

Don’t you love well-intentioned family members? I blurt out and nearly slap my hand over my mouth as if to pull the words back in. 

Paddy’s head snaps in my direction, his eyes widening. I send an apologetic glance his way. Sorry. I didn’t mean to eavesdrop on your conversation.

His gaze darts from me to the tree, and those expressive blue eyes I’m just noticing land back on me. "Were you hiding back there? 

Told you, you were hiding. I shrug, trying for nonchalance, but my cheeks heat. I don’t really like being around people.

Paddy seems to be studying me. All of me. In an entirely uncomfortable way. The way I’ve been studied far too often by far too many men. I should have known he’d be like all the rest. My feet take a small step back as though of their own accord. I look away, second-guessing myself. 

He clears his throat. Have a good evening. 

My gaze shoots back to him. He nods in farewell and turns away.

No. Wait, I call out a bit too loudly and wince. 

Paddy stops and glances at me over his shoulder. Nervous energy runs through my body. I wring my hands, trying to settle it, and shift my feet. Finally, he turns around to face me again. If I’m going to do this, this is the time. Please don’t vomit. I cast a final glance over the entire room before locking it back on him. I have a proposition for you. 

Paddy’s head jerks back slightly. It’s no wonder he’s surprised. This is the longest conversation he and I have had. It’s one of the longest conversations I’ve had with anyone besides Mila, Pierce, or Caitlín in the last five years.

I’m listening, he says. 

I shake my head. Not here. Not where there’s a chance someone will overhear. Plus, if he says no, he’ll be the only witness to my humiliation. It’s going to be hard enough actually making my proposal to him. Follow me.

I creep along the outskirts of the room, making sure to keep my pace natural. Not too fast, but not too slow, either. No one pays attention if there’s no skulking. I still glance around, keeping certain people I want to avoid—like Mila—in my line of vision just to be safe. 

The back of my neck heats as though Paddy’s eyes are boring into it. Hopefully, that means he’s following me. I don’t know what I’ll do if he decides to ignore my request. I’m betting on his nosy nature to lead him. 

I’ve learned a few things about Padraig Donnelly over the last five years. He thinks his sister, Caitlín, butts into everyone’s business. Little does he realize he’s nearly as bad. If he knew that about himself, he’d be really pissed. 

In no time, I make it out the door without anyone bothering me, and I move behind the farthest twin winding staircase just to be safe. Moments later, Paddy exits through the doorway and glances around. 

Psssst, I call out softly to get his attention and move into his line of sight. 

He crosses the entryway. 

This way. I take off again and head toward one of my favorite rooms in the house. When no one pays attention to you, it’s easy to sneak off. I’ve explored every nook and cranny of this beautiful, old manor. Everything about it is stunning. I’m envious that it belongs to Emilio and his family. I’d give anything to live in a place like this. 

I reach the door of my intended destination and swing it open. Paddy enters right behind me, and I quickly push it nearly shut to make sure we’re not interrupted. I’m alone with him. I push back the fear. Of all the things I’ve learned about him, the fact that he’s honorable when it comes to protecting women is the one that comforts me the most. He won’t hurt me. Just keep telling yourself that. 

Paddy takes in the room. I’m curious what his impression of it is. I’m sure most people would find it pretentious with all the portraits hanging up. Like the owners are trying to impress upon any visitors that they’re obnoxiously wealthy and want everyone to know it. Like there are these giant neon signs asking, Don’t you wish you had all this? It reminds me of all the generation paintings of the royal ancestors of the monarchy of England I learned about in school.

What’s this proposition you have for me? He breaks the silence.

I have to swallow to give myself an extra second before responding. This has always been the hardest part of what I’m about to do. 

You know what happened to me. I barely pause