seen from Malaysia
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seen from Malaysia
seen from Türkiye
seen from United Kingdom
seen from United States
seen from India
seen from United Kingdom
seen from Australia
seen from United Kingdom
seen from United States
seen from France
seen from United Kingdom
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Oh Tumblr,
I took a hiatus. A much needed, ended up being a lot longer than planned, hiatus.
I missed a lot of tag list clean ups so I know I am missing so many amazing fics. If you see this, drop me a little heart love in the corner.
Sending love and will be doing a tag list clean up for all my fics shortly.
I’m back.
Much love,
chemist-Ana
In The Nanny Affair, Anna's internal monologue always shifts to something more lewd. Were you frustrated by this?
Available on Spotify and Apple Podcasts. Check out this link for the FULL list of platforms you can listen to our voices on!
The Nanny Affair
Book 3: Chapter 1 Social and text edit
For chapter one I put together an edit of a photo Ana took from the ski lift- because when I’m out snowboarding this is the type of post I make! Also a little text edit stream with her mama- and a photo of her actually skiing 😝
Happy Sunday friends.
And thank you for placating me 💜
Master List Here
Perma Tag List: @alexabeta @bisexualdisasteracd @kachrisberry @kat-tia801 @khoicesbyk @jerzwriter @lady-calypso @mainstreetreader @nestledonthaveone @peonierose @quixoticdreamer16 @shewillreadyou @sfb123 @shopaholic2022 @socalwriterbee @txemrn
Hello lovely people, friends, followers,
I definitely meant to do this before I made a post but I got excited when I finally had finished something, so I am doing it now instead! It's been 8 months (give or take) since I really had my stories going, so I thought I would do a tag list clean-up, just to see who is still around.
TAG LIST UPDATE
I want to give a HUGE thank you to all the people that have been with me through all of the stories and musings I have told about my characters. You have made this journey that I have taken by writing for fun, something that I have never done before, so much freaking fun. Thank you, thank you, thank you!
Below the cut will be my current tag list. Please help me clean this up:
Please COMMENT on this post or MESSAGE me personally, and tell me exactly what I need to do with your tag. If you want to follow a certain story/series, don’t be afraid to tell me specifically what you want. If you’re feeling wild, request a perma tag, and I will tag you in everything. If you are not on my current list, now is the PERFECT time to request a tag!
If you want to be removed completely, there are NO HARD FEELINGS. Things change. Whatever your reason may be, I know how awkward that conversation can be. So, I’d like to make it easy for you: if you do NOT comment or send me a message, I will take that as your respectful request to be removed.
‘Likes’ on this post are sweet and appreciated, but they do NOT communicate what you want me to do with your tag. Please, please, please comment or message me.
Perma Tag List: @alexabeta @bisexualdisasteracd @kachrisberry @kat-tia801 @khoicesbyk @jerzwriter @lady-calypso @mainstreetreader @nestledonthaveone @peonierose @quixoticdreamer16 @secretaryunpaid @shewillreadyou @sfb123 @shannonwrote @shopaholic2022 @socalwriterbee @somersetmummy @txemrn
OH tags: @headoverheelsforramsey @irisofpurple
Wicked Game Tag List: @bebepac
Sam and Ana ONLY Tag List:
Robin ONLY Tag List: @harleybeaumont
TNA ONLY Tag List:
Ok- I am going to do a thing. I’ve missed making social edit posts but cannot commit to smiles again (at least not right now) SO I am going to do social edits and maybe bonus ficlets or rewrites of scenes from the third book of TNA!
Each chapter I will release a new social edit that corresponds with the chapter, so something my MC (Ana) would have shared on her IG during that chapter. (Does that make sense??)
Obviously they won’t be in line with my actual Ana and Sam head canon, but same MC different universe.
Yay! First one will be up soon from yesterdays chapter.
Going to be tagging my perma list- let me know if you want to be added or removed!
Perma Tag List: @alexabeta @bisexualdisasteracd @kachrisberry @kat-tia801 @khoicesbyk @jerzwriter @lady-calypso @mainstreetreader @nestledonthaveone @peonierose @quixoticdreamer16 @shewillreadyou @sfb123 @shopaholic2022 @socalwriterbee @txemrn
Book: The Nanny Affair
Series: Wicked Game
Chapter One: Chills
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: Niamh’s life is far from perfect, but it’s still a whole hell of a lot better than it could be. Until he comes to visit, and everything takes a very drastic turn.
Word Count: 4311
Glossary of Irish Terms | Inspiration Playlist
A/N: I use a lot of Irish words, the glossary will help, for most I will put the translation at first… as I use the words more I will fade the translation out.
A/N 2: Well it’s finally here, the first chapter of a very long journey that I am under taking. I have had this series taking up so much space in my brain for months and I am excited and nervous to finally reveal it. It’s angsty, dark, dramatic, and will be full of all twists and turns. And yes, Marshall Cassian Keane from PBs most hated series is one hundred percent in this story, because they did him dirty in Witness. Thank you to @txemrn for being my ride or die and listening to me drone on and on about this story and never batting an eye, for prereading and brainstorming and just being an all around amazing human being.
Characters and some very minor canon dialogue belong to PB… the rest is all mine.
Without further ado… Wicked Game
The rain pelted against the single pane glass window of my small bedroom, bright, flashing lightning lit up the water-stained walls, and loud, roaring thunder shook our old decaying public housing apartment. I pulled my thin cotton blanket higher under my chin, trying and failing to find some warmth in my cold twin-sized bed. The lightning flashed and lit up the picture on my nightstand, my parents and I dressed up for St. Patrick’s Day, all green face paint and smiling. The thunderous crash didn’t hide the terrifying sound that followed. A scream. My eyes darted to my closed door, and I heard another familiar sound. A gunshot. My survival instinct took over and I shot out of bed, throwing open the door to my bedroom and blindly dashing down the creaking stairs.
I rounded the dark corner into the living room and came to a skidding stop as the truth behind those terrifying sounds came to light. My breath left my lungs in a rush as dread bled through me and the loud sounds of the rain and thunder fell silent. I could feel my heart beating wildly in my chest, loud and commanding as my father’s lifeless body was sprawled on the stained linoleum floor.
“Niamh! Run!”
My eyes slowly slid to my mother, her beautiful face pale and twisted in pain and fear. The lightning lit up the room again, this time reflecting off of a shiny object poised behind her. A knife.
“Niamh, baby, run!!”
I took a single breath before I turned and ran out of the front door, the rain immediately drenching my mussed blonde hair and old pink pajamas. But I ran into the dark, cold, Manhattan night, never risking a glance back. I knew better.
I wake with a jump, my heart pounding hard against my ribcage. I pinch the bridge of my nose with a sigh as I am met with the familiar sounds of Hell’s Kitchen four AM traffic and the distinct smell of stale beer. Rolling over on my thin mattress with a groan, I bury my head under my pillow. Seventeen years later and that night still manages to haunt my dreams. I practice my breathing exercise, in for four seconds, out for four seconds, over and over again until my heart has slowed and I drift back into a restless sleep.
It’s too fucking early when my alarm goes off a few hours later, flinging the stupid old clock across the room, I bring my blanket up and over my head and pinch my eyes closed. I need to stop going to bed at three am. I hear a knock on my bedroom door.
“Go away.” I groan.
“Oh lass, quit your whining and get up.” Hugh chuckles through the thin door.
It makes me smile, despite the pounding headache that is building behind my eyes. I stretch my body out, regretting those last two shots of Jack I did last night before passing out, it didn’t help keep the nightmare away anyways. What a waste. Defeated, I climb to my feet and pad across the room towards my small en-suite bathroom, discarding my tank top and stepping out of my underwear as I go. Flicking on my radio as I pass it, I turn the volume of the rock music up as high as it will go.
I step into the shower, pulling my shoulder-length silver hair back into a ponytail and letting the scalding water run over my tattoo-covered skin. Tattoos that cover scars and tell the story of my troubled, pained, and misspent youth. I try to force my mind to think about anything other than that nightmare, instead, making a mental list of all the shit I have to do today to get the bar ready… for him.
After trying and failing to scrub away all of the anger and frustration, and memories, I get ready in a rush and try to breeze past Hugh who is sitting at the old red card table smoking an Alta Gracia and reading The Times. He looks up at me over the rim of his glasses, his grey hair swept back off of his face.
“Don’t forget-“
“Aye, I know he will be here.” I interrupt him with a sideways glance. “A cigar at nine AM Hugh?”
“Mind your business girl.” His lips curl up in a smile, the laugh lines framing his hazel eyes.
I shake my head while a matching grin spreads on my face. “I’ll see you later.”
He puffs out a breath of smoke in response.
I trudge down the stairs and flick on the lights of the bar. My eyes scan The Irish Exit affectionately, the worn wood floors have a permanent layer of who knows what, making them stickier than a pickpocket’s fingers. This drinking hole is owned by none other than the notorious Hugh O’Donnelly, known far and wide, well at least in this part of Manhattan, as someone protected by the Ceannasaí (boss) himself… Samuel Dalton. My home, for lack of a better word, for the last seventeen years. Somehow I couldn’t make myself leave… This bar was my future, the only hope I had to not end up on the streets. The night I ran away from everything I had ever known, I ran straight here. Hugh took me in, raised me like the daughter he never had. He was my dad’s best friend after they traveled across the Atlantic to the states together as young boys, born in the same small village in Ireland. He was the only one I trusted then… and is the only one I trust today, I owe everything I am to that smug, cigar-smoking, old man.
This beat-up bar has raised me, along with the not-so-straight-and-narrow, mainly criminal and Irish, patrons. It isn’t much to look at, but it is a hell of a place to drink. Oh, and if these walls could talk… My lips turn up in a wry smile as I turn on the old jukebox and get to restocking and tidying up.
A loud knock on the front door catches my attention and I glance at the clock on the wall. Sighing, I march over to the door, unlocking it and pulling it open quickly.
“Sign says closed, asshole,” I snarl but I am met with a handsome smile. I roll my eyes, but I feel my cheeks warm. “Cassian.”
“You really shouldn’t talk to cops like that.” He laughs and looks over my shoulder. “Can I come in, Niamh?”
I rest my hands on my hips and look him up and down, his undercover uniform of jeans and a worn leather jacket doing little to mask his sense of authority. “What happened? I know nothing before you even ask.”
He holds up his hands placatively, “I just want to chat.”
I purse my lips in mock annoyance before stepping back and letting him in with a swing of my arm, closing and locking the door as soon as he steps inside. When I turn around, I find him watching me closely.
“What?”
“Niamh-“
“Cassian, you know I won’t rat on my customers. I don’t know them, I don't know where they live, and I sure as all hell don’t know if they did it.” I cross my arms across my chest and plant my biker boots firmly under me. I try to look menacing, but I’m only five foot four on a good day, with my boots maybe five foot six. But the smart ones know what I’m capable of.
He raises his brow, reaching up and running his hand through his chestnut brown hair. “Believe it or not, that’s not why I’m here this time.”
I breeze past him, his familiar and intoxicating scent momentarily knocking me off guard. I take a few strides away from him, creating enough distance to clear my senses. Turning back to him, I shake my head, “Then why are you here?”
He clears his throat and drops his eyes to the floor. “Ráfla (rumors).” He murmurs quietly.
I stand silently, waiting for him to elaborate. When he doesn’t, I press him, taking a small step back towards him. “Cassian, we’ve known each other for years, cut the shit. What are these rumors about?”
“Look, I don’t know who you or one of your customers pissed off, Niamh, but when my chief tells me to stay away, I do as I’m told.” His brows are dropped as his eyes rise to mine again and his hands find the pockets of his leather jacket.
“Cassian… you do know where you are right?” I breathe a sigh of relief as I gesture around at the bar. We’re untouchable, even you know that. Most of the cops in this city are as dirty as the sidewalk, they know and fear Sam as much as everyone else. Even you.
He closes the distance between us in a few long strides. His face is a mixture of anguish and pain. “Just be careful, okay?” His voice is low.
My eyes widen as I am taken aback by his concern. “Um, yeah… okay,” I responded placatively, my eyes searching his face. What do you know?
We stand staring at each other for another moment before his usual cocky smile warms his face. “So, about what you said earlier, are you sure you don’t know who did it?”
His teasing question manages to assuage my anxiety, even if only for a brief moment. I roll my eyes with a smile and push his shoulder. “Get out of here before my customers think I’m a snitch.”
His eyes dance with amusement as he turns and strides towards the door. When our eyes meet again, his gaze has turned deadly serious. “Don’t forget what I said.”
I swallow the lump in my throat and nod forcefully. “See you later, Cassian.”
I close the door loudly after he walks out, leaning on the rough wood surface with a strangled sigh. “Fucking hell,” I grumble as I stalk to the bar, pouring myself a shot of Jack. Hair of the dog, right?
I manage to keep myself properly distracted because as soon as I open the doors, we are busy. After a few hours of dealing with today’s first class, yeah right, patrons, I’m refilling the old bastard in front on me’s glass of cheap whiskey when he decides to not think before he opens his mouth.
“Come on little lady, give us a smile.” His lips roll, exposing his yellow teeth as he slurs his words, maybe I should cut him off.
I stop mid pour and set the bottle down on the bar top. It’s really not the day to test me, you decrepit fool.
“I ain’t got nothing to smile about. And neither will you if you keep runnin’ your mouth.” I reach towards the baseball bat that is mounted behind the counter. My trusty steed.
“Yeah, yeah, you’re alive, that should be good enough.” He sneers. “Finish pouring.”
I clench my jaw at his command, drawing in a breath so I don’t lose my god-fearing temper. “Henry, sometimes the worst nightmares are experienced with eyes wide awake. And you need to get your ass out of here before I do something that won’t make you so fucking happy to be alive.”
His eyes travel down to the bat that is now rolling through my hands and he tightens his fat jaw.
“Witch.” He whispers as he gets off of his barstool and though unsteady on his feet, manages to walk his drunk ass towards the door. I let the crude remark slide, normally he isn’t so goddamn moody. His deal must have gone south today, not my problem.
“Good call,” I yelled out to him over the chatter and I put the old bat back in its spot. Fucking idiot.
I duck into the back of the bar for a breather away from the needy and roaming eyes of today’s round of rowdy drinkers. Cassian’s words haunt my idle thoughts, damn cops and their vague warnings. I reach up and press my fingers to my temples, trying to wish the oncoming pressure headache away when Jenny walks up beside me.
“Is everything okay, Niahm?” She sets down a tray of dirty glasses on the counter beside me.
My gaze slowly rises to hers, “Just a headache. Are you doing alright out there?”
She narrows her eyes at me knowingly, but instead of prying like she normally does, she decides not to press it. “I’m fine, why are we so damn busy?”
I laugh drily, “It must be a bad one out there today.”
“Are we still on for Kings tonight? I need to finish this sleeve.” She asks over her shoulder as she walks back through the saloon doors.
“Wouldn’t miss it,” I called after her. If I survive the night. I roll my eyes at the morbid thought and step back out onto the bar floor. Get it together, Niamh.
I am piling the trays with dirty glasses when the usual sounds of the bar turn eerily quiet. I pinch my eyes closed and halt my movements. The saloon doors squeak open.
“He’s here,” Jenny murmurs.
“Thanks, Jen… you can go. Hugh and I got it.”
“Are you sure?” Her green eyes flick between me and the saloon doors.
“Please, go, I’ll see you at King’s. Keep the chair warm for me.” I give her a pathetic attempt at a smile, and her returning look is pure pity before she turns, grabs her coat, and walks out of the back door into the alley. I watch her leave, eyeing the back door longingly. The things I do for you, Hugh.
I close my eyes and practice my breathing, in for four, out for four, steeling myself as best as I can. When I feel as ready as I can be, I step out onto the bar floor and instantly feel his gaze on me. Every time we are in the same room together, the atmosphere changes, the chemical shift is unsettling as a shiver runs through my body.
The hair on the back of my neck stands up when his handsome face comes into view. Avoiding his fiery stare, I reach under the counter, where tucked secretly in the back is the stash of uisce beatha (water of life- Irish whiskey). The good shit. The stuff we only bring out… for him. I grab a handful of glasses and set them on a tray, and his dark eyes follow me as I come out from behind the bar. I raise my attention to him, his curly brown hair perfectly mussed on top of his head. I watched as a muscle twitched in his strong jaw as my eyes wandered across the devilish graze of stubble leading to his full lips, he had a mouth I wanted to devour, and something told me that he knew it. His broad shoulders are neatly packed in a perfectly tailored designer suit. He was the biggest, baddest, most ruthless Irish mobster on both sides of the Atlantic.
Samuel Dalton.
He exuded power. Dangerous, lethal, power, and this bar is where he did his business meetings. Usually, the kind where he had to be in a public place to keep himself from doing something… bloody. At least that’s what Hugh always hinted at. I knew my place in these meetings, serve the whiskey, and then disappear.
Letting out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding, I approached his table with as much confidence as an injured lamb. The things this man does to me. My gaze is inexplicably drawn to his sensuous eyes which are as dark as night and they draw me in like a moth to a flame. I am finally able to break away from his blistering stare and I scan the other men that are surrounding him at the table. I recognize most of them as his usual muscle, big burly Irish men all donning the same black suits and untrusting stares, but there is a new face. A Russian, if I am not mistaken judging by the snake tattoo wrapped around his neck peeking out from under his dress shirt. He sits directly across from Sam, looking around like a small fish in a pool of sharks.
“The usual, boys?” I manage to hide the shake in my voice as I set the glasses down on the table. When no one responds, my eyes rise to Sam, his gaze still fixed firmly on me. He draws in a breath, his Adam’s apple bobbing with a hard swallow before he finally looks away, his attention turning to the Russian sitting across from him. I try to keep my hand steady as I pour the whiskey into the glasses, and each man takes one, except for Sam… and the Russian. Probably not a good sign.
“There has been some chatter on the street, Nikolai. Tell me, why haven’t I heard anything from you?” Sam speaks, his deep Irish brogue working its way under my skin, caressing my body like the finest Chinese silk money can buy. It sends a warm surge of desire through my traitorous body. I turn to walk away and give them the privacy they always demand, but I feel a large and calloused hand wrap firmly around my wrist, sending an electric shock through my arm and down my spine. When I look down, Sam’s tattooed hand firmly holds me in place, the skull-inked phoenix taunting me with it's dark and empty stare. My eyes travel up his long arm, over his bulging bicep, until they rest on his face, his eyes cold and calculating as he stares at the Russian. Not at me.
I swallow hard as fear winds through my body, not daring to fight for my wrist back as I stand rooted to the spot.
Nikolai clears his throat. “There is no news to convey, Ceannasaí (boss).” His eyes fall to his shaking hands in his lap. The Irish word sounded foreign coming from his Russian lips.
I watch Sam take a deep breath as he clenches his jaw in thought. He picks up the whiskey glass, taking a small sip and savoring it in his mouth before he swallows. I watch the motion of his throat, trying to hold onto the feeling of terror and not the thrumming of desire that was building beneath the surface.
“I think you forget where your loyalties are supposed to lie, my friend.” His voice is laced with venom.
“I swear, if I had something to share, I would, it’s all just empty rumors.” Nikolai’s tone turns fearful as he looks around the large round table, raising up his shaking hands in defense.
“What do you think éan beag (little bird)?” Sam’s eyes, the color of dark stout, turn to me and they soften slightly at the corners.
“M-Me?” I stammer as my eyes widen in panic and the corners of his lips fight back a smile of amusement. He knows what he is doing to me.
Someone clears their throat over my shoulder. Saved by Hugh.
Sam drops my wrist but his dark eyes give me a silent command to stay, so I do.
“Getting started early today, eh boss?” Hugh claps Sam on the back and stands on the opposite side of him. Hugh’s eyes find mine, silently asking if I am alright. I nod slightly, my mind dazed by the close proximity of the powerful mobster, as well as this new desire he is expressing to keep me close. Where the hell did that come from?
“Mo Chara (my friend).” Sam extends a hand to Hugh as he turns his head away from me. They speak warmly in Gaelic, my heart pounding in my chest, I practice my breathing again, trying to calm my racing thoughts so I could at least make a halfway decent decision on what my next move was going to be. Do I try to walk away?
“Lass, would you go and grab that box that’s sitting on my desk?” Hugh’s English cuts through my clouded mind and my eyes snap to his. He tilts his head and flicks his eyes towards the back in an urge to usher me out of the room. I took a small stumbling step backward as I felt Sam’s eyes shift to me again.
“Y-yes,” I murmured, turning swiftly on my heels and walking quickly off the bar floor.
Pushing through the green door marked Private, I quickly closed it behind me, eager for a moment alone to try and assemble my bearings.
What the hell just happened? You froze up, Niamh, that’s the kind of shit that will get you killed… or worse.
I scoffed as I fell hard into the old worn office chair, letting my head fall back as my eyes studied the stained ceiling tiles. I run my hand over the handle of the dagger I have strapped to my waist as my mind wanders, and I try my best to avoid the traitorous thoughts I was having towards one of the most dangerous men in this city. I pinch my eyes closed. Not the time for my fucking libido to be getting involved here.
The office door squeaks open and I wrap my fingers around the hilt of my knife before my lip curls in a snarl.
“Oh, Niamh, it’s just me.” Hugh cajoles as he steps into the small space.
I breathe a sigh of relief before letting my head fall back again and I wrap my arms tightly around myself. I hear him slide the box on the desk and I look down at him, only to find him watching me intently.
“What old man?” I give him a small smile.
He laughs jovially and shakes his head. “You were never one to mince words.” Silence settles in the room before he clears his throat and his expression turns pensive. “I think you’re ready.”
“But-” I sit up, my spine straightening but Hugh puts his hand up to stop me.
“Mo pháiste (my child), you said it yourself, I am getting old. It’s time for me to go back to Éire (Ireland) and get away from this hell hole.”
His words hit me like a freight train, and as if he can read my thoughts, he continues.
“I agree that you aren’t ready yet… but be aware, the time is near, and yes, Mr. Dalton is aware.”
I sit back in the chair, my jaw tightening. “You’ve clearly made up your mind.”
“I have.” He nods once in confirmation.
“Do you really think I can do this?” My voice sounds scared and weak. Two things I usually am not.
“Níl aon amhras orm. (I have no doubt.)” His face is soft, his eyes full of the affection I have grown to love and cherish. “We need to get back out there.”
I stare at him for a moment before I shake my head. “This conversation isn’t over.” I pushed myself up and out of the chair, raising an eyebrow at him.
“Yes, it is, lass.” He laughs softly, as he picks up the small wooden box and turns around. He stands off to the side, waiting for me. Before I can open the door, he tells me one of his favorite Irish sayings. “Cuimhnigh, eist moran agus can beagan (Remember, hear much, say little).”
“Yeah, yeah, save your breath.” I flash him a wink before I open the door and lead him back out to the waiting mobsters.
“I hear congratulations are in order,” Hugh announces as we draw closer to Sam and his men.
I watch as Sam stiffens in response, his spine straightening, the atmosphere immediately shifting. Then everything went terribly wrong as the glass window at the front of the bar shattered. Other than a gunshot, there is nothing that gets my attention faster. But then it happened, the sound that haunted my waking and sleeping thoughts. The all too familiar sound of gunshots, screaming in my ears. My instincts told me to get low, but something hit me before I could even dive down. I cry out as a hard body smothers me to the floor, covering me from head to toe, my elbow colliding with the hardwood and sending a shockwave of searing pain up my arm. My eyes land on Sam’s face as his dark eyes flare with fear before his hardened mask slides into place.
“Lie flat.” He commands over the deafening destruction, his voice even as if this was just a normal everyday thing for him. Because it probably is.
Somehow I managed to nod my head, trying to ignore the dull ache in my arm and the fear in my chest. The intensely loud gunfire continued, sending my heart into overdrive, I wrapped my fingers around the silk lapels of Sam’s suit jacket, clinging to him as if my life depended on it, because right now, it did, and fuck, I did not want to die tonight. I burrowed my face into his chest, breathing in his intoxicating scent for the first time, which when mixed with my current fear-induced panic, was the most mind-altering drug I have ever experienced. I felt his chest vibrate as a groan rumbled through him.
I heard men yelling in Gaelic, their roaring voices barely registering as the rattat-ta-tat of the gunfire continued to blast through the bar, but now it sounds like they were returning fire. I pinch my eyes closed.
Hugh. My eyes fly back open as I attempt to look around Sam’s large frame in panic, trying to find him amidst the broken glass and upturned tables.
Then silence descended, and my life changed forever.
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Tag List: @bebepac @forallthatitsworth @jerzwriter @kachrisberry @kat-tia801 @khoicesbyk @lady-calypso @mainstreetreader @melalicious8383 @nestledonthaveone @pixie88 @secretaryunpaid @shewillreadyou @sfb123 @shannonwrote @socalwriterbee @somersetmummy @thefrenchiemama @thenannyaffair-fanfics @txemrn
Hello tumblr-verse
I am super excited to tell y’all about a project I’ve been working tirelessly on. I want to promote the amazing collective of TNA writers on Tumblr and give fan fic readers access to TNA Fan Fiction all in one easy place.
Links and more info below the cut ;)
So I created a blog. @thenannyaffair-fanfics
Thanks to a couple amazing fandom writers @utterlyinevitable for the organization idea of her stellar @openheartfanfics page and @txemrn for helping me scour Tumblr for TNA fics, I am officially ready to share my blog.
I will be adding fics weekly (or daily) depending on how quickly they are shared.
Do you have a TNA fic that you don't see listed here? It's easy to share! Message me @chemist-ana OR message @thenannyaffair-fanfics.
How to get your fic featured:
Pairing(s) INCLUDING GENDER
Rating
Summary of fic and if there’s any details that would make your fic stand out (it makes it easier for people to figure out what they want to read!) This shouldn’t be more than two lines long.
Category: Angst, AU, Fluff, Smut, or Series [mini or extended, wip or completed]
Warnings / Trope if applicable.
Tag us @thenannyaffair-fanfics OR use the hashtag #tnaffs
IT WOULD MEAN THE WORLD TO ME IF THIS WAS SHARED FAR AND WIDE TO GET THE WORD OUT.
Kisses, @chemist-ana
This is a HUGE Work In Progress in case you happen across this blog, BE KIND
Want to Catch Up? Here.
Book: The Nanny Affair
Series: Wicked Game
Chapter Two: Mind Games
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: Now that everything has changed, will she go willingly into her new normal, or will Sam struggle to control her fire?
Word Count: 6328 (They won't all be this long...)
Glossary of Irish Terms | Inspiration Playlist
A/N: I use a lot of Irish words, the glossary will help, for most I will put the translation at first… as I use the words more I will fade the translation out.
Characters and some very minor canon dialogue belong to PB… the rest is all mine.
Niamh
The only sound that I heard once the gunfight finally ceased was the rasp of my quick inhales against the ringing in my ears. I tried to shift my hips, but Sam’s heavy body was still lying heavy on mine, covering me from head to toe. I needed to find Hugh, I needed to make sure he was safe. He has to be okay. I spread my fingers and pushed against the strong planes of Sam’s chest which was heaving with his large even breaths, desperate to get up and find the only person in my life that gave a shit about me. Sam didn’t move, didn’t budge, as if he was a boulder that had finally come to its forever resting place. Whatever was buzzing through my veins earlier seems to have worn off, because I wanted to get away from him. Desperately.
“Let me go.” I looked up so I could see his face, but his attention was turned away from me.
“Ciúin, éan beag (quiet, little bird)” Sam whispered, his body somehow settling even heavier on top of me. My breathing grew shallow as the adrenaline that was pumping through my veins was being replaced by something far more dangerous, panic. I closed my eyes in a desperate attempt to take back control of my breath and of my racing heart.
His men began to yell, their voices snarl and snap from all sides, the Gaelic words sounding harsh and angry. Deadly. I felt Sam’s chest vibrate as he responded to them, the roar of his words adding to my fear.
Niamh, practice your breathing. In for four… out for four. I started pounding harder on Sam’s chest until a growl escaped his throat and he placed his hands on either side of my shoulders, pushing himself up. He grabbed my injured arm and pulled me up in front of him. I bit the inside of my cheek to keep myself from crying out in pain.
“We need to leave.” His voice was a gravelly whisper as he took a deliberate step towards the back of the bar, trying to drag me along with him.
I yanked my arm forcefully out of his grasp, looking around frantically as I took in the destruction of the bar… my bar. The old, wooden shelves that once held every type of liquor you can imagine are now empty, the shattered glass no doubt covering the floor. The mirrors that lined the walls were gone… everything… was gone. Fuck.
Where is Hugh? My breath caught in my throat when I finally saw him, lying in a pool of… I screamed, bringing my shaking hands up to cover my gaping mouth. The memory of my nightmare, my father lying on the stained linoleum leaping back into my mind and I fought back the bile that was slowly rising up my throat. My legs moved on their own accord, the broken glass crackling under my heavy boots as I approached his still body.
“Hugh!” I collapsed next to him, ignoring the bite of the shards of glass under my bare knees. I grab the front of his vest and shake him violently. “Hugh, don’t you fucking leave me. I’m not ready, I can’t be without you…” I splayed my shaking hands on his bloodied chest, coating my palms in his iron-red blood. An undeniable ache started in my chest as I felt my heart shatter. A sob shook my entire body and I felt large hands grab my shoulders and haul me up onto my feet.
“Don’t you fucking touch me!” I twisted out of the embrace before I ran to the bar, and I slip my red-stained hand around the smooth wood of my trusty bat. I wipe at my moistened cheeks with my bare forearm and palm the bat as I turn around and see Sam standing next to Hugh’s dead body. My stomach rolls at the sight again and it takes all of my effort to not hurl what little I have in it all over the glass-littered floor. Sam is perched like a predator, and I am his prey, his eyes have darkened to obsidian. My breath is quick and shallow as self-preservation kicks in.
“Niamh, we need to leave. Now.” His voice has a harsh rasp as he takes a confident step closer to me.
Deadly fury fills me.
“Get the hell out.” I point the tip of the bat towards the door and a deadly smile crosses his lips.
“Oh, éan beag, you don’t understand.” My shoulders stiffen when he calls me little bird again. I fucking hate pet names. He takes another step towards me, his eyes dancing in amusement which only pisses me off more. “You are coming with me.” He takes another patient step, his eyes never leaving mine.
I almost laughed in his face. Like I’ll just agree to go with him. Fuck that. He might be the head of the Five Points Mob, and the scariest fucking ass hole in the city, but that doesn’t mean I’ll go willingly. “I ain’t going anywhere with you, crazy bastard. Now. Get. The. Fuck. Out.”
“That’s not a good way to thank me for saving your life.” He counters, arching a brow. Surprise enters his eyes at my refusal to concede. I can only imagine its a first for him.
“Hugh is dead because of you.” My voice cracked and I felt tears welling in my eyes again. Don’t you dare cry in front of him.
The amusement fades quickly from his face and his jaw clenches at my words. His expression turns dark and dangerous, making the hair on the back of my neck stand up. My feet take an involuntary step backward at his heated gaze.
“Niamh, Hugh knew the risks.” His Adam’s apple bobbed with a hard swallow as his words were like salt in my wounded knees. “There is another side that you don’t know. Those men that killed him? They will be back. And when they do, they won’t just kill you right away.” He raised a brow at me, the implied and unspoken threat lingering in the tense air between us.
I swallowed roughly as he continued his slow approach towards me. One of his guards yelled something at him in Gaelic, but he ignored him, instead keeping his gaze fixed firmly on me. It was hypnotic. From the cadence of his words to his deep Irish brogue, to the way his muscles carried his tall, lean body towards me. He was coiled power, seething anger, and he looked at me like nothing could break his stare. I should be afraid of him… obeying his every word, but I’ve never been good with authority. I knew all about this man’s temper, his reputation, his nickname. I also knew all too well the mind games that men like him play… I was raised in Hell’s Kitchen. You don’t survive in Five Points territory if you don’t know who to be afraid of.
He came to a stop directly in front of me. The next thing I did was probably one of the stupidest things I have ever done, but in my defense, I was reeling from the loss of Hugh, and goddammit that shit hurt. I wrapped my other hand around the base of the bat and swung, as hard as I could at his head. His hand flew so fast as he grabbed it out of the air like it was a pesky fly, pulling it from my grasp with a flick of his wrist. He shook his head while his lips curled into a mocking smile.
“I don’t mind a fight.” He dropped the bat with a clatter on the floor. “But, sweet Niamh, let’s make this easy, huh?”
“Wh-why can’t I just stay here?” I shuttered at his proximity. He’s so much taller than me that I almost lose my balance when my eyes finally meet his. I feel exposed with his undivided attention, and my mind is swimming in so many different emotions I feel like I’m about to drown. Is this shock?
“Aye, lass. Another thing you will learn about me, I really don’t like repeating myself.” He gestured towards the back door. “We can avoid this entire dance if you just come with me. Now.” His jaw clenched and I knew I was playing with fire. I need to get out of here, but what are the odds I can actually outrun him? Fucking slim. My eyes darted to the different exits, doing my best to avoid the pooling blood around Hugh. The ache in my chest flaring at the sight. Sam’s men were fucking everywhere, watching us intently.
“There is nowhere to run.” His voice dropped to a growl. My eyes found him again and I swallowed roughly at the ice that I found in his gaze. “Now, Niamh.”
I knew that once I was wherever he was going to take me, it was going to be impossible to get out. I would be his prisoner. He took a step closer to me and I could feel the heat radiating from his body.
“Do it for Hugh. I want him to have a proper Irish funeral, don’t you?” His voice was low, his Irish accent even heavier with his simmering anger.
“That’s cold even for you.” I lifted my nose at him in a weak attempt to show contempt.
“Oh, éan beag, you don’t know me at all.”
He knew that he hit a weak spot in me with Hugh. Fucking Hugh. My heart aches again as I weigh my options… or lack thereof.
“Fuck.” I murmur.
“We need to go,” I jump at the roar from one of his guards.
“Last chance.”
“For what?”
He lifts a dark brow.
Apparently, my logic has been tossed to the wind. I don’t know if it’s the shock of losing the man that raised me or the unnamed emotion I am feeling when I am standing this close to Sam. Maybe it’s just better to keep some semblance of dignity. For Hugh’s sake. “In no way am I doing this for you.” I straighten my shoulders and breeze past him towards the back door. I heard him follow closely behind me, his heavy steps accentuated by the shattered glass.
Everything about this man is just fucking extra. I was huddled against the door in his Rolls Royce, his large body was gracefully folded on the leather chair next to me. I could feel the weight of his gaze, but I studiously avoided it, instead glancing down at my injured knees. They were slowly spilling blood. Good, I hope I get blood on your expensive leather. I huffed a sigh and turned my attention towards the window.
“I will make sure he gets what he deserves,” Sam murmured.
I bite the inside of my cheek as I realize he is talking about Hugh. I don’t look at him, I don’t acknowledge him, I just keep staring out of the window, wondering what in the hell I just got myself into. Something told me I wouldn’t survive this man, but honestly, I wasn’t sure if I even wanted to.
The elevator doors opened to his penthouse, and, no surprise, it was big, luxurious, and expensive. I expected the man that was always adorned in black designer suits to live in a cold, modern, minimalist palace. But it was the opposite. Something stirred inside of me at the warm, rich colors. The rugs that covered the wood floor were old, but they were all the more beautiful for it. Large chandeliers hung from the ceiling and hand painted canvases hung on the walls. Jewel-colored fabrics and warm rich woods decorated the space and the city lights twinkled in the massive floor-to-ceiling windows. And in the center of the room, was the most beautiful grand piano I have ever seen. A smile curved my lips as my fingers twitched in excitement. This felt like a home. He stood there watching me look around, as calm as a lion who had just eaten a filling meal. I took a shaky breath before shaking my head. Oh, how the other half lives.
“Your room is this way,” Sam’s prompt had me turning away from the large room. I eyed him warily as his mouth curved at the corners. “It’s probably a good idea to get some sleep.”
“What about my stuff?” I queried quietly as he turned and began walking down a long hallway. I followed him slowly, feeling out of place, tiny and insignificant.
“I will have it brought here, but in the meantime, I had some necessities purchased for you.”
The casual way he dropped that bit of information had me halting in my tracks. “Excuse me?”
He sighed but kept walking away from me, stopping outside of a closed door. He opened it and gestured for me to go inside. “You will find everything you need right in here, including a first aid kit.” He looked down at my blood-stained knees.
I bit my tongue, I needed a shower, and I really didn’t have it in me to argue with him right now. Plus, I really just wanted to be… alone.
I slowly walked past him. A large four-poster bed was centered in the room adorned with emerald green, and a sofa stood next to the window that I wanted to curl up on and read. I shuddered at the thought. Is it too soon for Stockholm syndrome?
“You aren’t to leave this room until the morning.” His voice was a warning and any magic I was feeling was immediately drained from my bloodstream.
“So I am your prisoner?” I turned on my heel and balled my hands into tight fists. My fingernails pinched at the soft skin on my palm.
“Goodnight, Niamh.” He closed the door and I heard the deafening click of a lock slamming into place.
I was rooted to the spot as I stared at the closed door, fighting the urge to scream.
My head is killing me when I wake up, almost like I’ve had one too many drinks. My arm is aching, and my entire body is stiff. Groaning, I keep my eyes pinched shut to try and let the pain fade away and to remember everything that happened yesterday. Praying that it was all just a nightmare. Snapping my eyes open, I stare up at the white ceiling, and the silky sheets of the bedding caress my skin. Definitely not a nightmare.
He stole me. That bastard.
Soft laughter broke me out of my stupor and I glanced at the closed door.
“Admiral Mickey! Stick to your battle plan!”
A child's voice… followed by more fits of laughter which faded away. I scrunched my brow… children?
My stomach grumbled, interrupting my thoughts. I was hungry, I didn’t eat yesterday, and my body was finally objecting to the lack of nutrition. Dragging myself out of the comfortable bed, I padded into the luxurious marble bathroom. He definitely spared no expense. I could see how puffy my eyes were with a quick glance in the gold-framed mirror, so I splashed some cold water on my face and dragged my fingers through my knotted hair. Good enough.
I went back into the bedroom and grabbed my knife from under my pillow, concealing it into place along the small of my back. Letting my curiosity get the best of me, I wrap my fingers around the doorknob to the hall, I find it locked, of fucking course. I turned around and scanned the room, directly in front of me the wall gives way to floor-to-ceiling windows which, when I move closer, allow me to see the city spread out before me like a goddamn piece of art.
I heard the door unlock and my body tensed with the fear that someone would come in. When no one does, I rush to the door, wrapping my fingers around the handle and easing it open slowly. My view into the hall is blocked by a very large man that is standing right outside my room. I clicked my tongue in annoyance and it was enough to get the giant man’s attention who grunted in greeting before turning his back to me again. Great manners.
The laughter rang out again, this time getting closer. I kept the door open, and two boys came running into view. One of them happened to be looking my way and I met his dark brown eyes. He came to a skidding stop in front of the door, unbeknownst to the other one who crashed right into the back of him.
“Oww, Mickey. What the heck?!”
They were identical twins, and so closely resembled Sam, it made my stomach twist. My guess was seven or eight years old. The one that ran into his brother had glasses that were knocked askew when the crash happened.
“Look Admiral Mason, an intruder at the castle gates!” One of them lifted and pointed a finger directly at me. Mickey and Mason.
“Maybe she’s just a lost princess,” Mason said as he pushed his glasses straight onto his nose.
They exchanged worried glances before taking off and running down the hallway. “Dad!” They called out in unison. I rolled my eyes, pushing the door closed, and stepping away. He is definitely the last person I want to see right now.
When the door opens, I narrow my eyes at Sam as he strolls inside. He is standing there in a fresh black bespoke suit like a goddamn model with an annoying smirk on his face. He is trying to come across casually… but he can’t mask the calculation in his eyes. He is so put together, so perfect, and he screams money and power. I hate him in this moment and not just because he kidnapped me and locked me in his apartment. My traitorous body heating at his gaze. I shake my head slightly to try and release myself from his spell.
“Please, let me go,” I demand and his lips dip down slightly as he arches an eyebrow.
“I thought we went over this last night Niamh, you are mine now.” He says, his voice low and smooth, his hands finding the pockets of his pants.
“I’m a human, you can’t just own me!” I growl at him.
“I need to keep you safe, and away from the police and the people that tried to kill me last night.” He shrugs, “Your anger at the situation is not going to make it any less real. Hugh is gone, and the last thing I need is for that to happen to you too. Hugh and I had an agreement that I would keep you safe if and when something happened to him, so I suggest you learn to deal with it.”
Deal with it? My body tenses up and I fight the urge to stab him with my knife. It should horrify me that I’m even contemplating killing him… but I’ve seen shit most people would never dream of. There is no help for me here, and there is no arguing with a mad man. I bit the inside of my cheek and my stomach growled again, filling the tense silence.
“You're hungry, come, we have food.” He steps to the side, gesturing towards the open door.
When I don’t move, Sam rolls his dark eyes and mutters something in Gaelic that I don’t understand.
“Mo dhia tá tú cráite (My God, you are stubborn),” He takes a few long strides towards me, grabbing a hold of my arm and pulling me towards the door.
“I can walk,” I growl at him, yanking my arm out of his firm grasp. He considers me for a moment, his eyes scanning my body as his jaw clenched. He lets out a frustrated huff before turning and leading the way out of the room.
When I enter the large open living space and kitchen, the rich colors of the decor are even more stunning during the day, giving the space a romantic glow. My eyes follow the curves of the grand piano which demands the attention in the room. When I turn towards the kitchen, I see the twins following my every move, their feet dangling off of the emerald green bar stools at the counter. Sam clears his throat and my eyes flick to him.
“Niamh, these are my boys, Mickey and Mason.” He gestures to the twins. “Boys, this is Niamh. She is going to be staying with us for a little while.”
His tone is so matter-of-fact that I want to explode again.
“Who is she?” Mickey asks, his eyes still on me.
“She is a friend, and you will treat her as such, understood?” His voice is warm as he looks at them.
Mickey pops a piece of bacon into his mouth and nods wordlessly. A short woman with graying hair emerges from the kitchen and sets down a plate with steaming food. Sam speaks to her in a language I do not recognize, Portuguese maybe? Their interaction is familiar and kind, then he smiles warmly at her…good to know he has some manners.
“Niamh, sit and eat.” His eyes turn cold as he shifts his attention back to me and he gestures at the open chair.
I slide onto the stool, the pile of food looking so damn good, my mouth is watering.
“I will be home later, slán buachaillí (bye boys)” My eyes rise to him as he steps up next to me and leans down, his whisper hot against my neck. “There are guards here to make sure you do not leave, so I suggest you don’t even try. We will have a serious problem if you run.”
“Breakfast with a side of torture.” I grumbled under my breath, dropping my eyes to the plate of food before me to avoid his all-seeing gaze, I picked up the fork. This man is clearly used to being in complete control. Food first, escape later.
He leaves the room, but I still feel the twin’s eyes fixed on me. When I glance up, sure enough, they are both staring at me.
“Take a picture, it will last longer.” I chided and they both broke into matching grins. “Eat your damn food.”
“Your tattoos are cool.” Mason complimented.
“Please don’t talk to me.” I shove a fork full of food in my mouth, god dammit this is good, whatever it is.
“You want to leave huh?” Mickey’s question has me turning my head towards him, perceptive.
I lean in closer and whisper, “Do you know how to get out of here?”
He raises a brow at me before shrugging his shoulders. “Maybe.”
Like father, like son.
“Will you show me?” I pushed.
“What’s in it for us?” They exchange looks.
Little fucking shits. I took another bite of food as I considered. I decided to take this in a slightly different direction.
“Who watches over you when your dad isn’t here?”
“We usually have a nanny, not sure what happened to her.” Mason pushes his glasses further up his nose innocently. “Right now, it’s Aidan, Connor, and Finn.” He gestures to the three big burly men standing evenly spaced around the room.
I raise a brow at him. “These guys watch you?”
“Normally they are dad’s guards,” He drops his voice to a whisper, “But something tells me they did something that got them in trouble, so they are here.”
“Or something bad happened with Dad’s work. Besides, we don’t need much watching. We can take care of ourselves, we’ve been doing it for years.” Mickey says with confidence as he pushes his scrambled eggs around on his plate.
Instead of replying I stuff my face with more of this delicious food, narrowing my eyes at both of them. Do these kids know what their father does?
“You show me how to get out of here, and I will owe you guys a huge favor. And I am true to my word.” I whisper, finally offering the only thing I have to give… and I hold my breath for their response.
“What do you think Mason?” They exchange looks and subtle nods of their heads.
“Deal,” Mickey reaches out to shake my hand and I take it with a smile. “Follow our lead.”
I fight the urge to laugh and roll my eyes, I’m literally negotiating with children.
“Want to come to see our room?” Mason asked, sliding off of the stool.
My eyes darted between him and the guards as they eyed us suspiciously.
“Um, yeah, sure.” I followed them down the hall, and into a room that was clearly theirs. Science posters hung all over the walls, they even had microscopes sitting on their prospective desks. Mickey shut the door and clicks the lock into place.
One of the big guys pounds on the door loudly, shaking it.
“Boys, you know you aren’t supposed to lock yourselves in there.” A deep, booming voice said from behind the door.
“We just don’t want any interruptions,” Mickey called out. “We have something really important to show Niamh. We will be right out.”
“Watch this.” Mickey rubs his hands together and I fight the urge to laugh out loud. He walks over to his bookshelf and moves a few books around, and then like something out of a magical fucking castle, the whole shelf swings away from the wall.
“What the fuck?” My jaw drops.
“It’s cool huh?” Mason chimed in.
“Dad doesn’t know that we know about this. But he’s the one that built this entire building, he had these secret halls put all over the penthouse, in case something bad ever happens. We stole his plans.” Mickey stepped into the darkened hall. “Are you coming?”
I shake my head before following him and Mason, my freedom already looking promising. I stay close to them, winding and weaving through the narrow and very dimly lit secret passage. We go down several flights of stairs before Mickey pushes a spot on the wall, and it swings away, opening into a completely open and vacant floor. Literally, there is nothing… anywhere. I can see clearly from one side of the room to the other. I come to a stop.
“What is this?” I ask slowly.
“Oh yeah, no one else lives here,” Mason says casually. “Only us and dad’s guards.”
“This entire building is like this?” I look around at the 360-degree view of the city, our voices echoing in the vast and empty space.
“Yep. Cool huh?” Mickey turns around in a circle with his arms outstretched.
“So how do we get down to the street?” I take a small step towards him.
“Oh, we don’t.” Mickey stops abruptly, giving me a weird look. “That’s impossible, Dad has guards on the ground level.”
I reach up and run my hands down my face in exasperation. That is what I get for believing these two knuckleheads.
“We have some food and video games stashed over here though.”
I started laughing, tipping my head back with a low growl. “Fuck.”
“You swear a lot.”
I dropped my head and found Mason staring at me. “And you stare a lot.”
His expression is unreadable as he stares at me for another moment before turning away and following his brother. Feeling sorry for myself, I let them lead me towards the far wall. I’m a fighter, a survivor, always have been and always will be. I can get through this, I’ve survived worse before. I might be Sam Dalton’s prisoner, locked away in his weird empty building, but at least he doesn’t want to hurt me… yet.
Sam
I settled into the back of my armored Rolls with the black folder pressed firmly between my fingers. I ran my hand down the front of it, I wish this had more about her in it. When I flipped it open again, her soft features stared back at me, acting like a punch to the gut. I could feel the beast inside of me roaring to life as I stared at the photos of her. It wanted out. It wanted her.
My judgment had been clouded from the moment I was stupid enough to dive and protect this little Irish áilleacht (beauty) from that attack. I was never selfless, but somehow I wasn’t able to control myself, my obsession with her had finally peaked. Now she was in my home, my sacred place. With my boys nonetheless. This woman was going to be bad for my judgment. I could feel it in my veins. I really don’t have time for distractions, and she’s a massive one.
My head swirled at the thought of her. Niamh. God, even her name rolling off of my lips was like an invocation. Niamh Kenney was undeniably Irish. I didn’t even know people still named their kids in Gaelic over here, well except the Family. With her milky-white skin and soft brown eyes, fuck, I could feel my pants growing tighter with just the image of her. I was a sucker for my own people, even when I was a kid growing up, I only ever dated Irish girls.
She was filled with fire, which only intrigued me more. It had been a really long time since someone challenged me the way she did… Well challenged me and still lived to take another breath. I always thought I liked my women demure, but this beautiful creature was changing everything that I thought I knew about myself. The timing couldn’t be worse. I thought and a low and frustrated rumble escaped my throat. I slapped the folder closed and turned my attention to the dark sidewalk outside, bringing my fingers up to rub at the stubble growing on my jaw.
We descended into the underground parking garage of my Manhattan building, slowing to a stop amongst the row of my other vehicles. I don’t wait for Carter to open the door, as I tried to calm the animal inside of me that was desperate to get close to her again. Desperate to protect her and keep her safe.
I waved my key card against the private elevator sensor and it opened and quickly whisked me up to the top floor. The air in the penthouse was tense when the doors opened and I instantly knew something was wrong. I looked over at Conor, the guard I had assigned to watch over Niamh.
“Sir-” He started but I held up my hand to stop him.
“What the fuck happened- and you better not tell me that she disappeared,” I growled, my body tensing up.
“We think they are still somewhere in the building.” His rushed words sent a dagger through my chest.
“They?” I reached up and wrapped my strong hand around his thick throat, squeezing tightly. My gold Five Points signet ring gleaming in the bright lights which only spurred me on. His eyes bulged as his face turned red and his lips sputtered. Fear flashed through his eyes.
“The boys, sir.” I heard Aidan, my head of security, speak up from behind me.
I dropped Conor, and he took a deep inhale as his hands flew up to his throat. A loud and echoing roar tore through me as I balled my hands into fists and turned towards Aidan.
“I don’t need to tell you how important it is to find them.” His jaw clenched. He knew what I was capable of, he knew it would be slow… and fucking painful. I would burn this city to the ground if something happened to her… introduce my boys into the equation and I might not be able to regain control before this whole goddamn country burned.
“Aye,” He nodded once in confirmation before turning on his heel and stepping into the elevator.
I twirled the tumbler of uisce beatha (water of life- Irish whiskey) around in my fingers, trying to not crush the crystal in my tight grip. Where the fuck are they?
The elevator dinged and I quickly rose to my feet. I let out a relieved breath when I heard the sound of my boys running towards me, their eyes alight with innocent excitement.
“You boys are going to kill me.” I kneeled down to catch them in a tight embrace, closing my eyes and allowing their love to consume me before I had to deal with the consequences of their actions. I opened my eyes and Niamh was standing there, watching me with an unreadable expression on her face. When she caught me looking, she dropped her eyes.
“Bí réidh don leaba (Get ready for bed).” I stood up and ruffled their hair.
“Are we in trouble?” Mason looked up at me, his eyes wide as he pushed his glasses up his nose.
“No, but go before I change my mind.”
They turned on their heels and ran from the room, leaving me with Niamh. Silence descended between us, and the tension was palpable.
“Why am I here Sam?” Her eyes rose to mine.
I clenched my jaw because usually questioning me like that will get you a beating, or worse.
“Leave us,” I announced to my guards without breaking my gaze on her. She looked around as they slowly left the room, and I took this moment to scan the artwork that she had tattooed on her light skin. They were sinful, and I wanted to explore every single one. I wanted to know where they started, and where they ended. Her story is written across her skin and I craved to know every part of it.
“You are here because I need to keep you safe. You know too much about me, about what I do, for me to let you go. I know you have nowhere to go, that bar isn't safe anymore.” I took a deep breath to rein in my anger. “Get used to it, éan beag, because you aren’t going anywhere.”
“I don’t need you looking out for me, I can protect myself.” Her eyes were glazed with anger as she balled her hands into fists at her side.
“With the knife you keep strapped to your waist?” I asked cooly, leaning my hip against the marble countertop and crossing my arms in front of my chest.
Her jaw dropped open in surprise before she closed it quickly and narrowed her eyes at me. “I’m pretty good with that knife, do you want to try me and find out?”
“You have an attitude problem,” I told her softly. She rolled her eyes at me and I fought back the urge to smile at her because I didn’t want to taunt her anymore.
“You ain’t the first person to tell me that,” She bit. “And you won’t be the last. I’m not afraid of you. You are holding me here, against my will. Do you expect me to treat you kindly?”
When I didn’t answer her right away she let out a huff before she turned on her heel to walk away from me. My hand shot out and wrapped around the back of her neck possessively, halting her retreat. Her body tensed and when I turned her around to face me again, her eyes flashed with fear. My chest tightened with an unfamiliar feeling, I didn’t actually want her to be afraid of me, angry sure, but not frightened.
I pulled her closer until I could feel the heaving of her chest, and see the light dusting of freckles that were scattered on the porcelain skin of her beautiful face. Her soft brown eyes searched mine while our lips were only a breath apart. “Even if I told you I expected you to treat me with respect, I don’t think you would. But, don’t lie to me a stór (my treasure). I can smell your fear.”
I felt her swallow as her eyes dropped to my lips then back up to my eyes quickly. I smiled. “Don’t worry, I won’t kiss you until you ask me to.”
“Th-that’s not what I want.” She shook her head slightly, her breath a throaty whisper. Her lips are parted slightly and I can smell the faint mint on her breath.
I shake my head with a small, deep laugh. “I will never lie to you, a stór (my treasure). There will be times that I will withhold information, but I will never lie to you. And right now, I know you want me to kiss you, your body is craving it. Trust me, my beauty, I feel the same way. But until you can admit it to yourself, and to me, out loud, I won’t do it.” I told her smoothly.
Her almond eyes were dazed, her thick lashes fluttering in response. Her full bottom lip, so pouty and plump, was now drawn between her teeth. Her body has melted into my hold, her soft curves molding perfectly to my hard edges. Fuck, it was like this girl was made for me. I dropped my hold on her neck and slowly shifted my hand to run my thumb across the soft skin of her jaw.
“Álainn (beautiful),” I murmured as she leaned into my touch.
But then something shifted in her. I watched her wrinkle her nose as she sucked in a breath through her teeth. She stepped back quickly, her honey-brown eyes dropping to the floor. I watched her in silence as she warred with something in her mind before she turned swiftly on her heels and walked away. The clicking of her door shutting snapped me out of my thoughts. I have far more important matters to deal with than one Irish girl from Hell’s Kitchen with anger in her eyes and pain in her heart.
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