The Devil’s Keepsake by Somme Sketcher

Lorcan

I cradle Poppy in my arms, feeling her chest rise and fall in a hypnotic rhythm against my bicep.

I could stay here forever. Stroking the soft skin below her collarbone, breathing in the lingering bubblegum and vanilla scent tangled in her hair.

But I can’t ignore the feeling crawling over me. It’s one I’ve only ever felt once before: the day I got the phone call to say my father and brothers had been killed. I was on a yacht off the coast of Croatia, a rolled-up thousand Kuna bill in my hand, a white line on the table in front of me.

It was Antoin who broke the news. Antoin who let me know that my world was crashing down around me. As the chopper he sent lifted from the yacht’s air pad and the Adriatic sea twinkled mockingly below me, I felt it. That feeling of not being in control. It feels like falling and you’re unable to grab hold of something, anything, to stop you from plunging into the darkness.

That feeling never really went away. I can medicate it with liquor and hookers, long enough so I can function in my new role as Boss. But now, with Poppy’s breath tickling my arm, with her fingertips gently brushing my thigh, it’s rearing its ugly head, and I know no amount of whiskey will be able to numb it.

I am no longer in control of this situation. But I don’t know if I’d even want to grab hold of anything to stop myself from falling.

The first rays of sun peeking through the window are a reminder that I can’t stay here forever. I have a business to run. Men to lead. A war to fight.

I slide myself from under Poppy’s soft curves and pull on my pants, trying to avoid the one floorboard that creaks.

As I slip on my jacket, I pause, taking a moment to drink in her soft outline, her parted mouth and flowing auburn hair splayed across the pillow. I plant a soft kiss on her cheek, then move my lips to her ear. “You’re mine now, China Doll. Whatever happens, you truly belong to me.”