Want to Catch Up? Here.
Book: The Nanny Affair
Series: Wicked Game
Chapter Three: Spells
Pairing: Sam Dalton (male) x Niamh Kenney (OC)
(meet my OC here)
Rating: M, 18+
Content/Series Warning: NSFW, trigger warning, character deaths, strong language, sexual violence, blood, weapons
Summary: Is everything going to come crashing down? Or does Sam have a plan that can work for both of them?
Word Count: 4318
Glossary of Irish Terms | Music Inspiration Playlist | Pinterest Mood Board
A/N: It's been a while for these two, if you haven't reread the first two chapters, I would recommend doing that because there are a lot of small details that you may have forgotten- but alas, if not, you are fine! I didn't realize how much I missed writing these two, life is handing me lemons right now, so I made LEMONADE. A special thank you to @txemrn for pre-reading one of the scenes. Love you sweet friend!
Don't forget- her name is pronounced Neev.
Characters and some very minor canon dialogue belong to PB… the rest is all mine.
My sleep has been restless for the last few nights. I have not seen Sam since our strangely intimate moment during my first night here, the twins have tried to keep me entertained and distracted during the day, and for some fucked up reason, it worked. But at night… that was a different story entirely, it was like I was under his spell, all alone with my devilish thoughts. I lay tangled in luxurious satin sheets in a bed that was too soft, staring at the city slowly waking up through windows that were too big. My mind raced in the deafening silence as I cursed my traitorous body for melting into his rough touch. Every single thing about Sam Dalton has my body thrumming. He oozed sex appeal. It seemed to seep from every pore, perfuming the air around him. I didn’t realize how dangerous being in such close proximity would be for me, surrounded by his scent. I knew he had an unexplained effect on me at the bar, but now it was spiraling out of control. When he slipped his hand around my bare neck, I felt the electric shock down to my fucking toes.
“Don’t worry, I won’t kiss you until you ask me to.” His words echo through the walls of my mind. His low, husky voice made me think of sex. Not just mediocre sex, but the best sex. Toe-curling, nails breaking the skin sex. Sex so fucking good you couldn’t walk the next day. Sex that I had only read about in those trashy romance novels that Jenny was always getting me to read. Sex so good it raised my current core temperature in a very embarrassing way. Sex that I had never had before, so I longed for it in the worst way.
Jesus, this is way too early for Stockholm syndrome, right? Seventy-two hours later and suddenly I have forgotten that he’s the reason I am in this situation in the first place. How pathetic am I? I am a fucking prisoner. And alone. So alone. I pinch my eyes shut at the thought of Hugh. I knew better than to curse him because there was no way he could avoid the Five Points influence. And he’s dead. And even though I don’t believe in a God, I knew if there was even a small chance that Hugh could live a better life after death, I wanted that for him, because he fucking deserved it. Besides today is his funeral, according to the large burly man that has been watching almost every single move I make, who I have come to know as Aidan. I need to hold it together. I have to have my wits about me, just in case I have a chance to slip away, which is extremely unlikely… but still. I bury the heels of my hands into my eyes, rubbing at the tender flesh. With a sigh, I swing my legs out of bed and my feet sink into the plush carpet. I have one black dress, sure it’s a little short, probably not the most appropriate for a funeral, but I wasn’t trying to impress anyone. I slip on my biker boots, stashing my knife inside. I knew I could do more damage with that knife then anyone gave me credit for, and for some reason, Sam hasn’t taken it away from me yet. I refuse to be defenseless.
Grabbing my thin coat, I try to open my bedroom door, but of course, it’s still locked. Banging my fist against the dark wood, I lay my forehead softly on the cool surface. Prisoner. The lock clicks as it is turned from the other side, and I wrap my fingers around the handle and ease it open. Aidan is standing inches from the open door. His eyes meet mine briefly before raising them to stare at a blank spot on the wall. With a small shake of my head, I pad out into the kitchen and see the twins perched on barstools at the counter, their gazes turned to me.
“Mornin’ Niamh,” Mickey says with a mouth full of his breakfast.
I roll my eyes and try to hide my smile. “I would rather not see your food, dude.”
He shrugs, turning back to his plate. I slide onto the barstool furthest from them, and Maria, who I have come to learn knows absolutely zero English and is indeed Portuguese, slides a plate of eggs and bacon in front of me, ordering me in her foreign language to eat. At least that’s what I am assuming, based on her hand gestures.
“We heard about Uncle Hugh.”
I drop my fork with a loud clang on my plate and turn my face in disbelief towards the twins. Mason is looking at me innocently, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose.
“You knew him?” I asked.
“Of course. He used to bring us Whoopie Pies from Orwashers all the time. Especially after She-Who-Must… Ow! What the heck, Mickey?” Mason grabs at his side, shooting Mickey a venomous glare. Mickey narrows his eyes briefly before turning his attention back to me.
“You used to live with him, huh?” Mickey asks casually.
I look between them, narrowing my eyes, then decide against asking why he just elbowed his brother. None of my fucking business. I turn my gaze back to my plate, picking up my discarded fork and pushing the eggs around, my appetite is all but forgotten.
“Yeah… I did.” I finally managed to reply.
“Was he your dad?”
My lips part in a sharp exhale and my chest tightens. “Something like that,” I answered quietly.
“We’re sorry he’s gone,” Mason says apologetically. “But, we got something for you.”
“Wait, like a gift?” I’m no stranger to gifts… but I don’t even know these kids.
“Yes, like a gift.”
I scrunch up my face and look down at the floor.
“What’s wrong?” Mason asks.
“I… just…” I shake my head and raise my gaze back to them. The last thing I need is to create any attachments to these people… and these boys are really making that difficult.
“You’re weird.”
“Take’s one to know one.” I bite back. Jesus, I am a child.
“Here.” Mason extends a closed fist out towards me. I give him my outstretched hand and he drops a heavy purple rock into it.
“A… rock?” I moved the violet stone around in my hand, its different facets shimmered even in the gloomy morning light.
“Actually, it’s a crystal. An amethyst crystal to be exact. We picked it out for you.” The twins exchanged an uneasy look.
“Umm… Thanks?”
“Most people would call that ungrateful.” Mickey bites off a piece of bacon and chews it with his mouth wide open. No one has taught this kid any goddamn manners.
I lift a brow and fight back a laugh at his audacity. Maybe I will just throw this damn rock through the closest window. “Don’t lecture me. You are literally seven years old. I’ve just never been given a… crystal before.”
“Well, the lady at the store said you should hold it when you are feeling sad and it’s no secret that you’ve been feeling sad,” Mason says.
I stifle my sigh and manage to fake a smile… regardless of what it is… it was… considerate. “Well… thank you. It’s very… um… thoughtful.”
“You are a bad liar.” Mickey points his fork at me matter-of-factly.
“And you really need to learn some manners,” I reply, my temper rising. “I mean it… it’s unusual… but thank you.”
I hear a throat clear behind me and I knew it was him. I look over my shoulder and see Sam’s tall frame wrapped in an impeccably tailored obsidian silk suit, his dark eyes fixed firmly on me. I look away and down at my lap, the intricate black grand piano I have permanently inked onto my thigh reminds me of a time when life was even just a little simpler than it is now. The colorful gladiolas are a reminder of my strength and resilience through the dumpster fire that has been my life. I run my thumb over the soft skin, desperate for some of that strength right now.
“Buachaillí (boys), you are to be good for Aidan today, understood?” His voice was calm and cool.
“Yes, Athair (Father)” The boys chimed in unison before they jumped off of their stools. “See ya, Niamh!” They shouted as they ran from the room together. I watched them longingly, wishing I could stay here and avoid Sam for another day. My eyes swing to Sam who is watching me with an unreadable expression.
“Let’s go.”
I stand up and pull my jacket on and he closes the distance between us in a few long strides. I nearly whimper when he moves around to rearrange the lapels of my old and worn-out coat, and I let him. I actually let him because his magic eyes tangle with mine, and he looks at me as if nothing could break his stare.
“Are you ready for this?” He asked, his voice a low growl.
I manage a small nod, my eyes still fixed on his chocolate brown orbs. My silence seems to please him as the corners of his full lips turn up slightly.
He steps aside for me to walk ahead of him, and I feel the weight of his gaze on my back. It sends a shiver down my spine as I close my eyes and try to ignore the heat rising to my face… I am under your spell and I have no idea what to do about it.
Sam
Obsessive habits weren’t foreign to me. They were as real as my jet-black hair and tattooed skin. Ingrained as they were, it doesn’t mean they aren’t annoying as fuck.
As I stand in silence in the elevator within inches of Niamh, I am trying my hardest to not be interested in her, trying to ignore the heady scent of her breath and the rise and fall of her chest. I want my focus to turn back to the matter at hand- my family business. But there was something about her… something I couldn’t figure out…
I managed to avoid Niamh for days, staying in one of my many offices late into the night and leaving early enough that I knew she would still be asleep. I knew having her in my home was a poor choice at best, I also knew Hugh’s sudden and untimely death complicated things for her… and me. Now here I am, unbeknownst to my own athair hosting a funeral for a man that owed the family tens of thousands of dollars, with Niamh and not… her. This girl was already unknowingly making herself right at home in my every day - nearly every moment- thoughts. This was a dangerous and risky game I was playing. But what’s life without a little risk… right?
The ring of the elevator brings me out of my roaming thoughts and I gesture for her to exit first. With an amusing roll of her eyes, she obeys. That pathetic excuse for a dress and coat needs to be addressed, it does nothing to showcase the completely mind-blowing curves she has underneath.
I watch her fold her slender body into the back seat of the Rolls, and her silver hair glistens under the ceiling stars before I slip in next to her. The privacy screen is up, and I know how soundproof it is-not because of technology, but because Carter knew not to listen to any of the murmurs back here.
“Do you know who killed Hugh?”
I could admire her bravery. Straight to the fucking point.
“Ay,” I reply, hoping my shortness deters her from pressing the matter. I rest my chin in my fingers as we emerge from the underground parking onto the gloomy New York streets. The silence stretches between us, growing heavier by the second.
“Who was it?” Her breathy voice asks. I should have known better than to think she wouldn’t push it, and my answering growl fills the cabin. People didn’t ask me questions, it was the other way around. I clench my hand into a tight fist at my side and turn to look at her small frame. Her milky flesh glows even brighter against the black material of her dress and the black leather, but for once, her face looks pained. Instead of defiance in her soft brown eyes, there is defeat. It takes damn near all of my self-control to not reach over and pull her onto my lap. I clench my teeth tightly, feeling the ache building in my jaw.
“I’m not ready to share that information.”
“Don’t you think I deserve to know?” Her defeat doesn’t last long as her eyes alight with a burning flame of anger.
“One thing you must learn, éan beag, nothing in this world is deserved. It’s earned. You deserve nothing from me. Perhaps…” I lift my shoulder casually feigning disinterest, even though I’m feeling the furthest from it. “Maybe one day you will earn it.”
Her answering silence surprises me. Niamh silently turns her gaze out of the window, watching the people walk by with umbrellas, doing their best to avoid the steady stream of misting rain that is falling from the dark clouds. The brightly colored tattoos that grace her arms dance as she plays with the hem of her dress. Such a juxtaposition of her mood and the funeral appropriate weather. The ivory towers of St. Patrick’s Cathedral loom high into the dim morning sky. I know she is upset, Hugh was everything to her, and now I have this unrelenting urge to make her all mine, to comfort her, protect her, a complication I do not need in my life. She lets out a deep sigh as the car rolls to a slow stop at the entrance and I notice the reporters with cameras… everywhere.
I watch her face carefully and I see her wince. They didn’t know Hugh, but they damn sure knew I was going to be here. Her hands are clenched together in her lap, trying to hold it together. Carter rounds to my door and pulls it open and I quickly exit the Rolls, grabbing the black umbrella from him and turning my back to the press. They are there, firing questions even in the terrible weather, all jockeying for a look at who I dared to make a very public appearance with. I make it a point to avoid the press as much as I can. I’ve had to deal with it before… at the last funeral I attended in this very church. I bend down and extend my hand back into the car.
“Take my hand, éan beag,” I ordered over the shouts from the reporters. Her soft brown eyes flick to mine and I see them flare with familiar defiance before she deflates.
“You’re lucky I don’t have the energy to argue with you right now.” She mumbles before resting her delicate hand in mine. I ignore the electrical current that seems to pulse between us when we touch and pull her swiftly from the car. I rest my palm on the small of her back, and usher her through the loud crowd, ignoring the urge I have to hurt every single asshole that is shouting questions at me.
When we enter the church, Niamh’s eyes rise to the intricately ornate ceiling, and her steps slow. I take her distraction for granted and scan the large crowd that has gathered inside who have grown silent at our arrival. My eyes fell on a particular guest I was hoping would not be here, Detective Cassian Keane. Our eyes meet and his gaze travels down to the hand I have pressed to Niamh’s back. I watch his jaw clench and when his eyes rise back up to mine, a murderous look paints his features. I give him a cocky smirk before I apply a firm pressure on Niamh’s back to keep her moving towards the pulpit. Her body tenses and her feet try to stop when she sees the dark wood of the closed casket and large framed photo of Hugh, but I urge her forward.
“Keep moving to the front.” I lean down and whisper in her ear, her intoxicating scent filling my senses. Her face turns towards mine, causing my lips to brush the soft skin of her cheek. I watch her lips part as the air leaves her lungs. I stand up straight and she turns her beautiful face up to meet my eyes. We stand and stare at each other for a moment before I flick my eyes to the pew in a silent instruction to sit. This woman was my kryptonite. My interest in her hadn’t just been piqued. It had fucking imploded.
Niamh sits silently in the front pew, her eyes fixed on Hugh’s photo and her hands clasped tightly in her lap, her expression, for once, almost completely unreadable. I take my place at her side, ignoring the looks that are being cast in our direction. The minister takes his place at the pulpit “Thank you all for coming. Today we are here to celebrate the life of Hugh…”
I tune out his sermon. My eyes fixed on Niamh’s delicate features. If she can feel me staring, she doesn’t give any notice of it, in fact, she manages to avoid my ever-present attention for the entire ceremony. There will be no eulogies, no wake, not because of any doing on my part… but because it’s actually what the old man wanted. He didn’t even want it in a church. This I did for the young thing sitting next to me, and I knew if I did it for her, he would approve. I am a lot of things, a devout Catholic is not one of them, even though I was raised as one and I attend church in this very church every Sunday morning. I do that for my pàrantan (parents). I’m still surprised I don’t erupt into flames every time I walk through those pearly doors.
“Come with me.” I leaned down and whispered in her ear when everyone else had already risen and was exiting the church. They knew better than to approach me and whoever was in my company.
“Are we going to the cemetery?” She responds in a hushed tone.
“No, his final resting place will be in Éire (Ireland).”
“Oh.”
I brush my fingers along the smooth skin of her jaw, urging her chin up. When her almond eyes meet mine, I see the unshed tears I was expecting earlier. She tries to blink them away but a lone drop escapes, leaving a trail down her porcelain skin. I wipe it away with the pad of my thumb and then drop my hand to my side, finding the pocket of my slacks.
“It is what he wanted, éan beag (little bird).”
She watches me for a moment, her expression inscrutable before she finally speaks. “I know… you just don’t seem like the type of guy that cares.”
“There are a lot of things you don’t know about me.”
I watch the column of her throat as she swallows.
“I think it’s best if it stays that way.” Her voice is small, and I don’t even know if she believes the words she is speaking, but it’s for the best.
I take a slow breath before speaking again. “I agree, but we do have something we need to discuss, so, come.”
Time to see if I can get her to agree to the plan I’ve put together…
Niamh
I really didn’t want to go in. My breathing grew labored and I closed my eyes, in for four, out for four. I could feel Sam's steely gaze on me, but I didn’t care. I felt like I was about to have a panic attack. Everything was just too damn overwhelming right now. I’ve never been like this. So out of control, so anxious. You can do this. Your Niamh Kenney for fucks sake. You can do anything.
When I opened my eyes, I could tell Sam was on his last thread of patience. He raises an inky brow at me and gestures towards the door to The Irish Exit that he is currently holding open for me.
I march past him, my shoulder colliding with his strong abs, but he doesn’t even move. A small laugh escapes him, and I curl my fingers into a fist, my nails biting at the soft skin of my palm. When I walk through the old wood door, the air leaves my lungs. I stand, rooted to the spot for an unknown amount of time. My mind is a mix of anger and sentimental sadness.
“This place meant something to you, éan beag.”
It’s not a question, it’s an observation. I have always held my cards close, my face a carefully constructed mask. Wearing your emotions on your sleeve is a dangerous game. My eyes flick to his in annoyance. I don’t want him observing me. I don’t want him reading my mind, which he seems to be able to do so damn easily.
“I have a proposition for you, Niamh.” His deep voice demanded my attention in the silent space.
I don’t grant his declaration with a response. My eyes scan the now empty bar, looking for any evidence of the destruction from a few nights ago. There is nothing. Not a shard of glass out of place. In fact, this place is cleaner than it’s ever been.
“Don’t you want to know what it is?”
I huff, my eyes meet his. “I know you are going to tell me anyway, so what difference does it make if I beg?” My fingers curl into fists at my side.
The corner of his lips lifts in amusement which he swipes away with a quick brush of his thumb. He takes a few wandering steps around the bar, before running his long fingers along the worn wood surface. The skull Phoenix tattoo on the back of his hand danced in the dim light.
“Some very powerful and dangerous businessmen are working on tearing this building down. This bar is more valuable than you might realize, they want a skyscraper on this plot of land. I made a promise to Hugh to take care of you. Now, this is happening a lot sooner than either of us realized. I understand that a four hundred million dollar project isn’t going to be put on hiatus because one small bar doesn’t want to just close.” He cocked his brow at me. “However, I am willing to make this project disappear… for a price.”
I sucked down a breath and swallowed roughly, and his eyes followed the movement. I saw a fire flare in them as his piercing stare came to rest on my lips. So this beautiful man, who also happens to be a fucking dangerous gangster, is also an absolute cocksucker of a bastard. I knew what he wanted. Me.
This couldn’t be real, could it? I worked to control my breathing, my heart starting to hammer in my chest.
“I will give you this bar, I will fund it until you can support yourself, I will protect you, but I need you to live in my home. I need you to take care of my boys. There aren’t many people who can beat them at their own mind games or that I can trust enough to make the correct decisions to keep them safe. You seem to have a way with them, and I am not willing to let that go so easily.”
I frown up at him and my eyes search his, finding nothing but sincerity. He wants me to be his fucking nanny in exchange for the bar? But how honest could a mobster be? This man has literally killed people for saying no to him. I knew his suggestions weren’t wasted words. They were like law. God, would he be angry if I turned him down? Would I even be safe if I left? I would spend the rest of my life looking over my shoulder. All I have ever known is right here inside these four walls. I didn’t even know that the bar was being threatened. Damn it, Hugh.
But deep down I knew all my scattered thinking was futile. I wasn’t dealing with a normal person here.
I was dealing with a Five-Pointer and the highest-ranking one at that. He was stronger than the law. People always thought they knew what gangsters were like because they watched The Sopranos or some other show, but they didn’t. Real-life gangsters? They were larger than life. They throbbed with violence. Even right now, I watched Sam’s knuckles whiten as he gripped the bar with force.
“You test my patience.” I could tell when he was angry, his Irish brogue turned harder, deeper. His brow was furrowed in frustration and his nostrils were flared.
“Do I even have the option of saying no?” I bite back at him, firmly planting my boots under me.
“Вы должны принять его предложение.” You should take his offer. A man’s voice came from behind me.
“Why? So I can be a hostage for the rest of my life?” I was so distraught that my gut reaction was to answer, but I knew as soon as the words slipped from my lips that I had just revealed a secret that I have been able to keep from everyone for my entire life… even Hugh. I could understand Russian. My stomach hit the floor as panic began to course through my veins. What have I done?
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