Irish Rebel: A Mafia Bodyguard Romance: Brooklyn Kings, #7

By LK Shaw

Caitlín

 

After finally convincing my over-protective family to let me visit my uncle in Dublin, I know this may be my only chance to experience everything I've always wanted: Adventure. Excitement. Freedom.

 

Until I'm introduced to the man assigned to be my bodyguard. With his silver-flecked hair and wicked scar, Roarke radiates power and danger. Everything I'm drawn to. Except, he's also the one standing in my way. I push all of his buttons, until one night I push too far.

 

Roarke

They call me a killer. And with each death I cause, my soul turns a little blacker. As an enforcer for the Irish mafia, I've always done what's been asked of me. Including becoming the reluctant bodyguard for a woman who shines so bright, I'm afraid of tainting her with my darkness.

 

Caitlín tests my patience at every turn, determined to make my life hell. Even worse, she tempts me with her smart mouth and lush curves. In a moment of madness, I forget she's off-limits and cross a line I can never come back from.

 

Now I'm torn between loyalty to the family I owe everything to—including my life—and the woman who just might be my salvation.

• Language: English
• Publisher: LK Shaw
• Release date: Nov 22, 2022
• ISBN: 9798215552384

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

Roarke

A tangy, metallic scent lingers in the air of the tiny, ten-by-ten room. It should. Enough blood has been spilled in here. Nearly all of it by me. Because I’m the one the boss comes to when he needs shit done. And this shit right here? It needs doing. 

A morbid sense of pride grows inside my chest.

I slowly circle the bleeding and broken man slumped in the wooden, straight-back chair in the middle of the otherwise empty space. My footsteps barely make a sound on the dreary gray cement floor. It’s only the three of us in here. Me, Hugh, and his fear. It pulsates off him. Because he knows what happens to people who visit my private domain. They either leave in a body bag or wish they had. 

Coming to a stop in front of him, I squat and rest my elbows on my thighs, shifting my weight forward a bit to study his battered and nearly unrecognizable face. Mr. Donnelly is extremely disappointed in you, Hugh.

Streaks of wetness that isn’t just blood mar his cheeks. At least he hasn’t pissed himself. I have to give him credit. He’s lasted a lot longer than I expected.

I’m sorry, he croaks in a dry, brittle tone. 

Are you sorry for taking something that wasn’t yours to take or are you sorry you got caught? I wave my hand. Not that it matters, really. Neither one brings back the shipment of weapons you sold to our enemies. The same weapons that are being used to destroy the men who are supposed to be your brothers. What happened to your vow of loyalty above all else? 

I’m sorry, Hugh repeats with a whimper, blood spilling down his chin to drip onto his red-soaked shirt.

Christ. I rise and stare down at him. After over a decade, it should be easier to do what I have to do. Except there’s still a tiny kernel of humanity left in me, despite all the people who tried to snuff it out. Yet it doesn’t stop me from delivering the consequences for other’s actions. I owe everything—including my life—to Carrick Donnelly. The least I can do to pay him back is give him my loyalty. 

A single gunshot rings out. Hugh jerks from the impact and then…nothing. My job is done. I’m sorry, too, I whisper softly, even though there’s no one to hear me, and holster the weapon I’d drawn.

With a fatigued sigh, I turn away from the body and pull out my phone. It’s me. I have a single disposal for the cleaning crew. 

Ending the call, I pocket the phone again and take one final glance over my shoulder before walking out the door and locking it behind me.

I check my watch. Still early for my meeting with Carrick. I’ve learned through life how to get a good read on people. Something in his tone when he requested I stop by the estate sent a warning bell off in the back of my head. I haven’t been able to shake loose a niggling thread of unease. That whatever he needs to see me for, I’m not going to like. 

The iron gate at the entrance of the long, narrow lane opens at my approach. I slowly make my way forward. Pulling into the circle drive, I park my car—a ridiculously overpriced Aston Martin Vanquish and the one luxury I allow myself—and head for the double-front doors of the manor. The echo of the bell rings faintly from inside. I glance around the property, admiring, and perhaps even envying, the beauty of it. The towering trees that form a canopy over, and shade, both the house and the entire front yard provide a bit of coolness on this unusually warm day. 

There’s a click of the lock and I face forward. Carrick Donnelly greets me with a welcoming grin. Roarke, it’s good to see you, son. Why don’t you come in? 

Thank you, sir. He steps back and I move past him into the open entryway at the base of the stairs. 

I’ve never been entirely comfortable inside this house. Not because anyone has ever made me feel unwelcome, but because deep down, a part of me is still that little boy who slept on the streets and ate out of rubbish bins. 

Let’s go to my office so we can speak privately, Carrick directs with a nod. 

I follow him down the hallway until we reach the spacious and inviting room. Bookcases line one of the walls, full of books on varying subjects. I’ve borrowed a couple on more than one occasion. Carrick sits behind the large oak desk and gestures for me to take a seat in the leather chair on this side of it. I settle in and cross an ankle over the opposite knee and thread my fingers over my waist.

Sunlight spills through the French doors to my left, illuminating tiny particles of dust floating in the air. The scent of pipe tobacco intermingled with his favorite stout is faintly evident. 

Carrick leans back and studies me, his face all rough and craggy lines. Barely restrained anger wafts off him. Was everything taken care of with the traitor? 

I nod. Yes, sir. 

Did he give you any more information?

Not much, I’m afraid. He did mention something about the Moroccans wanting to cut a better deal with our buyers in Germany. 

Carrick sits forward and rests his chin on steepled fingers. Let Nathan know when we’re finished here. Have him reach out to his contacts and discuss what we can do to convince the Germans that it would be in everyone’s best interest if they maintain the current contracts we have in place. 

Yes, sir. I wait, because this conversation isn’t just about how my interrogation went. Carrick’s techniques are more than familiar to me.

Excellent. There’s a sudden softening of his features. As for the reason I called you here. I have a task for you. You know my brother Cormac. He took over our families’ business dealings in Brooklyn ten years ago, after that bastard father of ours died.

That warning bell goes off again. Yes, I’m aware. 

You may also remember his youngest daughter, Caitlín. She came to visit, briefly, five years ago or so. 

My whole body tightens. An image I’ve pulled from memory far too many times of plump pink lips, bright blue eyes, and lush curves that could turn any saint into a sinner flashes inside my head. 

Vaguely, I measure my tone. 

She’s coming to visit and will be staying for a while. Cian has gone to pick her up at the airport. They should be here shortly. He glances at the clock on the wall. My brother tends to be a bit more…perhaps conservative is the word. Maybe because he has girls. Either way, he’s a little overprotective. 

Get on with it, Carrick. 

"And this task you need from me?" I manage to push out past a clenched jaw, doing my best to hide the way my whole body is taut with tension. 

He sighs. Because he knows the boys let Caitlín get away with anything, I promised I would assign someone to her to make sure she stays out of trouble. You’re one of the few people I trust to not only keep her safe, but who won’t be distracted by the fact she’s a young and attractive woman. 

Fuck me. So you want me to babysit a twenty-year old girl? I ask before I can help myself and despite the fact I’m well aware of how old she is. Acutely aware. 

Carrick snorts. We’re speaking in semantics here, but Caitlín is nearly twenty-six. Regardless of her age, I’m not asking you to babysit. I’m asking you to keep an eye on her. Protect her, if need be. Even from herself. Because Lord knows that girl is reckless and doesn’t have a sense of self-preservation.

I’ve done a lot of things for the Donnelly family—for Carrick—over the last ten plus years. Not once have I hesitated in doing what’s been asked of me. Except I’m not sure I can do this. Is this a request or an order, sir?

He studies me with a blank mask. Do I need to make it an order, Roarke? 

My lips flatten into a thin line. No, sir. I’ll make sure she’s taken care of. 

Carrick answers with a sharp nod. Why don’t you head into the library and help yourself to a drink while we wait for them to arrive. I’ll have Nora notify you when they get here. We’ll be in my office. Just knock and I’ll introduce you. 

I rise stiffly from the chair. Yes, sir. 

With that, I turn and exit the office, closing the door behind me. Goddamn it. I stride down the hallway, past the entryway, into the opposite wing of the manor until I reach the double doors of the library. The scent of must and paper greet me. Normally, I’d take a moment to appreciate them, but instead, I go straight to the bar against the left wall and pour a generous amount of The Devil’s Keep in a glass. 

Whiskey is meant to be savored. Instead I swallow nearly the whole thing, instantly regretting it, because I’m going to need a clear head to deal with this problem. And Carrick’s niece is most definitely a problem. I’d never been face-to-face with her during her last visit, but that doesn’t mean I’m unaware of who she is. In fact, I’m not sure I’ve ever been more aware of someone in all my forty-one years. I set the drink on the bar’s surface and lean against it with both hands, chin tucked into my chest. Closing my eyes, I breathe in through my nose. 

Behind closed lids, I once again bring forth a memory of the woman I have no business even thinking about. 

Movement from my periphery makes me turn toward the French doors leading out to the patio. It’s been a rare, bright sunny day. A young, unfamiliar woman stands there speaking to someone out of my field of vision. Fire burns through her long, auburn hair as the sun shines down on her. I can almost imagine touching its smooth silkiness and my fingers tingle with heat. 

A short, pale pink dress hugs her curves. I track the line of her spine and down over the swell of her ass before continuing back up to breasts that appear to be a little smaller than a handful. 

What really has my attention though, is the way she laughs. There is no holding it back. No restraining it. It’s loud and boisterous, even through the double-paned windows. The pure joy of whatever she finds funny is stunning. Breathtaking even. It’s a light to all the darkness that surrounds me. Like she’s a beacon in the night guiding me home. 

Then she’s gone, stepping out of my line of sight, taking her brightness with her and leaving me cursing myself for whatever fanciful bullshit I’d been thinking. The girl can’t be older than twenty. I might only be thirty-six, but I’ve lived a life that has aged me far too soon. Still, I can’t help but hope she returns.

I open my eyes and the memory disappears like smoke. That hadn’t been the last time I’d seen Caitlín during her short visit five years ago, but the second I learned who she was, I did everything I could to avoid her. There won’t be any avoiding her this time. Damn you, Carrick.

There’s a short knock on the library doors before they open. Nora bobs a quick curtsy.  

Mr. Donnelly and his niece are on their way to his office, she announces before returning to her duties. 

With a deep breath, I make my way there and rap sharply on the door. A command to enter comes from the other side. I let myself in, casting a glance around as though searching for an enemy. I’m assaulted by the scent of oranges with a hint of brandy, as though someone is drinking mulled wine. The fragrance goes straight to my cock. Even more so when my gaze finally lands on her. With more willpower than I’ve ever needed, I manage to keep from hardening further.

Carrick calls her name, but she’s oblivious. Instead, wide azure eyes assess me from head to toe, pausing at the scar along my face. Her pupils dilate and I nearly groan. Instead, I harden my jaw, clamping my teeth tightly shut. I can’t help but take an equally assessing trek over her. There’s drowsy arousal on her face. 

Caitlín, Carrick barks again. 

She blinks as though clearing her mind. What was going through your head just then, little bunny? I raise a brow and a flush rises up her cheeks before she quickly turns to her uncle.

Did you hear me? 

She clears her throat. I’m sorry, no, I missed it. 

Carrick blows out a small, impatient breath. I said, this is Roarke O’Sullivan. He’s been assigned as your bodyguard while you’re here.

Caitlín stares at him like she’s trying to process his words. Then her expression quickly shifts, the blue orbs spitting fire, and her lips thin. No fucking way.

CHAPTER 2

Caitlín

I go from hot to cold back to hot again. I’m absolutely seething. My whole body is on fire and I swear my blood pressure is rising from the rage rushing through my veins. Every curse word in every language I’ve learned over the years nearly explodes out of me. Instead, I latch onto a single phrase and repeat it with a biting edge. No fucking way. 

Caitlín. Uncle Carrick’s tone holds a warning that I refuse to heed.

Disliking the fact they’re both standing over me like I’m a child, I jump to my feet and glare at my uncle. It’s clear I have a fight on my hands, and I need all the advantages I can get. No way am I going to chance a quick peek at the other man—this Roarke. He’s probably still got that smirk on his face. My fists tighten at my hips. I don’t need a babysitter. 

Uncle Carrick’s face hardens. I’m afraid this is non-negotiable. It was the agreement I made with your father, and it stands.

The rigid stance and sharp words tell me that arguing will get me nowhere. I guess I’ll have to devise another way to get out of this. Because I’m not going to have some uptight guardian suck all the fun out of my time here. To hell with that. 

I stand a little taller and square my shoulders. Then my lips curl into the most insincere smile I can form. If there’s nothing else, I’m going to my room. 

Without another word, I stride past the two men with my head high. Against my will, I’m drawn to the man who, with a single order, has become my nemesis. I can’t read anything on his face. It’s as blank as Pierce’s always is. Is he as opposed to this position he’s been given as I am?  

The heat from his stare nearly burns me. Flustered in a way I’ve never been before, I quickly move past him, the scent of pine mixed with fresh rain stealing its way through my senses. I wrinkle my nose. Is that a hint of blood, too? Who is this man? 

My steps quicken the minute I exit the office until I’m running up the stairs and down the hall to the same room I stayed in the last time I’d been here. On the bed are both my suitcases. I barely refrain from slamming the door like a petulant toddler. The anger that had only been briefly withdrawn rises again. I grab my phone from my backpack and tap the screen a couple times. 

I pace the length of the room, waiting for my best friend to pick up.

Hello? Anya answers.  

Do you miss me yet? I ask, my temper only slightly mollified by her voice. 

She laughs. You’ve only been gone a day. 

That’s plenty of time to grieve my absence. I’m hurt that you aren’t. I huff like I’m truly put out. I bet my niece misses me.

Anya snorts. Yes, yes, Kira is prostrate with misery. 

Smart ass, I say without any bite. 

Was your flight okay? How’s Dublin? Still as amazing as you’ve always told me? 

I push my suitcases over to the other side of the bed and flop onto my back in the open space to stare up at the ceiling. Flight was good. There are perks to flying in a private plane, I can tell you that. 

Sexy perks? Anya asks with a suggestive lilt. 

Ew, no, I sputter. The only other person besides me was the pilot, and he was old enough to be my grandfather. 

She makes a noise of disappointment. "Bummer. I’ve