King of Masters by Brynn Ford

CHAPTER 6

Murphy

A ONE-NIGHT STAND.

That was all it was meant to be.

That’s all it was.

But then why can’t I stop thinking about her?

Stella Scott.

I type her name into the search engine for the millionth time over the last month, and easily find her public social media profile. I click on her profile picture—it’s the same one she used on the website for her tattoo shop, Soul Story. I scroll to see if she’s posted anything new, and she has, though her posts tell me nothing about her. It’s always just pictures of the tattoos she’s done. I enjoy seeing her new posts, and her work is fucking spectacular.

Stella is a wickedly talented artist.

I sit back in my chair, linking my fingers behind my head as I stretch. I vaguely wish she could’ve been my talent slave, though I don’t think the four families would have been too keen on tattoo artistry.

Who would she perform her talent on? Other slaves?

It doesn’t matter. She isn’t the beneficiary I chose when I was younger. Fiona is my talent slave and that’s the end of it. Though, I suppose if something unfortunate were to happen to Fiona…then I could select another.

No.

I wouldn’t want Stella as a talent slave. I’d have to share her with others. Everyone in the household benefits from Fiona’s various services and talents, and the thought of sharing Stella with anyone makes my nostrils flare and my jaw tense. It would be a way to make her mine, yes, but it’s not an option because my chest hurts to think of it.

I shouldn’t be thinking of it, anyway. It was a one-night stand. A fun night to blow off some steam and nothing more than that. She didn’t give me her number and I didn’t ask for it—though that wouldn’t stop me if I really wanted to get in touch with her.

I really want to get in touch with her.

I lean forward, staring at her profile photo, the one with her eyes shut, her mouth open wide, and her tongue out. I shudder, remembering how I came on that very tongue, and how she swallowed it with pride.

I don’t have time for this kind of…obsession. That’s what it will become if I don’t get her out of my mind, yet my hands are on my cell phone, fingers dancing across the screen, typing the number to her tattoo shop that I’ve memorized and typed too many times before. Only this time, I press the green button to dial through. It’s around midnight here in Ireland, so I know her shop will still be open in New York—I’ve already memorized the fucking hours.

“Soul Story Tattoos, this is Cora.”

“Cora, hi. My name is Murphy O’Shea, I’m—”

“Sexy Irishman?” she cuts me off before I can finish my sentence.

“Excuse me?”

“Hey, yeah, I remember you,” she drops her voice to a whisper, “Stella won’t shut up about you.”

My cheeks twitch and an unashamed smile lifts my lips. “I shouldn’t be surprised.”

“Don’t be smug. It’s not a good look for a white man these days.”

“Cora, listen, I’d like to get in touch with Stella. Would you mind giving me her cell phone number so I can text her?”

I could find her cell phone number on my own, but I feel the need to legitimize the way in which I came into possession of it. I shouldn’t feel the need to legitimize anything, but my feelings about her have been strange since the moment I laid eyes on her.

Obsession.

“I don’t know…” Cora says with skepticism in her tone. “I’m not sure I’m allowed to do that. You’re practically a stranger.”

A stranger who made her come on his face.

“Then will you give her my number and ask her to text me?”

“Sure,” she agrees. “I’ll send it to her right now. I can’t guarantee she’ll reach out though.”

“Why wouldn’t she reach out to someone she can’t shut up about?”

“Girls are weird, dude. Don’t you know that by your age? Just give me your number.”

I recite to her and we end our short conversation just as Cormac bursts into my office, unannounced and without the courtesy of a knock. I guess I need to start locking the damn door. Bailey hops up from the floor and lets out a single bark as he shoves the door open wide.

I push to my feet as he enters, patting my thigh to call Bailey back over. “Go back out and try that again. Knock and wait for me to—”

“There was an escape attempt in Oslo,” he says, stopping dead in his tracks. He lifts his palms in weak surrender as fury washes over my face, and I grip my palms into fists at my sides. “Excuse me. I thought you’d want to know straight away.”

“I would like to know straight away, but you can inform me with respect, Cormac. I’m not your brother when it comes to business.”

He swallows his injured pride and takes a step back. “Aye. Understood.”

“What’s it all about then?”

“Three of the assets attempted to incite a riot, which of course, was just noise with them all behind bars. But I guess that was their intent? The noise distracted the guards and the three of them made a run for it while they were on the floor for inspection.”

“Did they get away?”

“No. Two of them were killed in the shuffle. The third has been sufficiently subdued.”

Fuck.

Now I’ll have to find two more human assets to replace the ones we lost. Each one is profitable when they’re sold, though finding the right owner and processing each sale takes time. Acquisition costs are high for a single human asset—we have to pay for capture, holding, travel, and we pay our hired help well.

Money is the only way to keep people quiet.

My phone pings, and I reach to lift it from my desk, turning it over, expecting to see a notification from my father asking me if I’m awake and handling business—as if he’s still Head of fucking House and has to manage his apprentice son.

I swipe open the new text message, ready to tell him to fuck off, but the message I see is from an unknown number.

UNKNOWN:Hey, stranger.

I pause.

My lips twist into a half-smile.

Stella sure didn’t waste any time reaching out once she had my number. Her eager return has my pulse quickening. I add her number as a contact right away while three dots tell me she’s typing something else. I wait, watching my screen, until the new message pops up.

STELLA: Cora told me you called the shop. I was surprised to hear from you.

I start to type a response, but Cormac speaks, jerking me from thoughts that drift to my night with Stella, bringing me back to reality.

“Do we need to do an inspection? You know Declan and I can do it for you. I could take Tally. She hasn’t seen one of our factories yet. It’d do her good to see one before I lock her down.”

His fiancée, Tallulah, was well vetted through our families connections. She knows everything about our business, as does her family. The McCarthy’s trade similarly as we do—in a criminal fashion—though their stock is in weaponry.

“I don’t care if you come and bring her along, but I need to handle the inspections myself. We’ll leave in the morning.”

“You can’t do it all alone. Learn to delegate.”

“Cormac, I swear, I’ll knock you on your fucking arse if you don’t mind your place with me. I’m your boss, not your brother.”

His eyes narrow. “Fucking right you are. And you’re gonna be fucking lonely with that attitude.”

“I have my companion.”

“Right,” he scoffs. “Because you really enjoy Fiona’s company. She’s boring, mate.”

“I’m well aware, but that’s none of your business.”

He sighs. “Yeah, well, when you realize how lonely it is at the top, you can stop pretending to be like Boyd and come have a drink with your brothers. At least with Declan. He feels fucking abandoned.”

I feel that hit me like a punch to the gut.

“Bridget’s trying to set him up with one of Tally’s sisters,” he says.

“She’s not.”

“She is. So, if you insist on being the king, I suggest you straighten her out, for Declan’s sake.”

“I don’t insist on being the king, I am the fucking king.” I sigh. “I’ll talk to her.”

“All hail the fucking king.” He bows dramatically like the moron brother he is, and I have to force away the grin that threatens at his pure idiocy.

“Get the fuck out, Cormac.”

“Yes, your highness.”

He ducks out of the room, and I lower to sit, pulling up email on my laptop. I type out a quick message to Nikolai, Vigo, and the new American Head of House Leo, letting them know about the situation at our factory in Oslo. As soon as I press send, I feel something tug at my spirit…a pull toward my phone sitting on my right.

Stella.

Once her image is in my mind, I forget about all else, and that’s dangerous. I shouldn’t respond. I should leave well enough alone. But I pick up my phone and type out a response to her message, and she replies almost immediately.

MURPHY:I tried to get your number, but Cora wouldn’t give it to me. Good friend.

STELLA: Well, now you have it.

MURPHY: Now I do.

STELLA:So, what did you want?

What did I want?

I’m not entirely certain I have a good answer for that.

MURPHY: You’ve been popping into my head.

STELLA:Oh???

The three question marks seem excessive, but leading. She sends another text before I reply.

STELLA:Maybe you’ve popped into my head once or twice.

MURPHY:Oh???

I repeat her punctuation overkill.

STELLA:I had fun with you. Kind of a bummer that you don’t live in NYC.

MURPHY:Maybe I’ll find my way back there soon on holiday.

Why did I say that?

I have no plans to return to the States anytime soon. We ended up there on a whim for holiday. I can’t really do business there since the Leblancs—the new American family—have claim to that territory.

STELLA:Maybe if you did, you might swing by my shop.

MURPHY:Maybe I would.

STELLA:Maybe you should, stranger.

MURPHY: Would you be happy to see me?

STELLA:I should probably play it cool, but my answer is an overly eager yes.

My smile twists and pulls at my cheeks and my facial muscles aren’t used to the feeling of it.

MURPHY: My answer would be the same…if you’re wondering.

STELLA:God, you really know how to get a girl’s heart beating, you know?

MURPHY:I don’t know. Tell me.

STELLA:What do you want me to tell you? That I like you? Does it really matter?

MURPHY:It matters to me.

STELLA:I hardly know you.

MURPHY:You know enough.

STELLA:Wow. Okay, then. Well, I guess that’s that.

I narrow my eyes at the screen. I don’t know what she means, but I read sarcasm in the tone of her message. Fuck this texting bullshit. I tap on her number to call her. Her phone rings and rings and the longer I wait, the more my frustration ticks. Tension pulls tight across my shoulders and my jaw sets, wondering if she’s going to send me to voicemail.

I’m going to lose my shit if she sends me to voicemail.

She picks up at the last possible second.

“Hi,” she says, her tone sweet, but perhaps a little sad. I can’t say for sure.

“What did you mean, I guess that’s that?”

She sighs. “Why did you call?”

“I asked you a question first.”

“And I reserve the right to refuse to answer. Woman’s prerogative.”

My teeth grind. “Too bad I’m not there to make you talk.”

“Make me talk? Are you kidding me?” she scoffs, then pauses. I open my mouth to speak, but she starts again before I can. “How exactly would you make me talk, Murphy? Hold me down? Grip my chin and force my mouth open with your thumb?” Her breath catches, rolling into a hiccup. “Shit. Full disclosure…I’ve been drinking. Which means I probably shouldn’t be talking to you right now.”

I sit back in my chair, kicking up my foot to rest my ankle over my knee. “Actually, I think you should be talking more.” This ought to be interesting. “I rather enjoy hearing you talk about my thumb in your mouth.”

She sighs, her voice going distant for a moment as she mumbles a quick, “Jesus Christ,” before returning to full volume. “Why did you call, Murphy? Why did you reach out to me?”

“Are you upset that I did?”

“No. I just don’t understand.”

“What don’t you understand?”

“You’re in Ireland, right? That’s where you live? There’s an ocean between us. What we had was a one-night stand. That’s it. That’s all it was ever supposed to be. We had a good time and parted ways, so I don’t understand why you wanna talk.”

“I wanted to hear your voice again.” I’m surprised when I say it. It’s true, but I don’t understand why any more than she does.

“You did?”

“Aye. I enjoyed spending time with you, Stella. It’s unfortunate that we’re so far apart.”

She’s quiet for a moment. “Let’s just say that you and I were closer. Say you were here…Do you think we would’ve had a repeat by now?”

“A repeat?”

“A second night together.”

I don’t hesitate. “Yes.”

She lets out an audible breath, a deep exhale, as if it relieves her to know that. “I think so, too. I…we were pretty good together.”

I rub my hand over my beard, tilting my chair back as I look up at the ceiling. “You were fucking fun. The most fun I’ve had in a very long time.”

“I’ll bet you say that to all the girls.”

“I really don’t.”

“I think I kind of like you,” she says, and my chest tightens.

Fuck, I want her.

Hearing her voice has triggered something inside me that aches to claim her again—something that aches to claim her fully.

But I have to recognize that this foolishness is a dangerous distraction. These feelings she stirs make me soft when I need to remain rigid, a wall of rock that can’t be moved or swayed against my will. Because no woman will ever cloud my judgment when it comes to the business…except, my mind already feels muddled after five minutes on the phone with her.

The O’Shea name is what’s at stake, and I can’t let a good piece of arse make me forget that. I hang up the phone on her without saying another word and leave well enough alone.

My phone pings, startling me awake from a dreamless sleep. I blink, coming into awareness that I’ve fallen asleep on the brown leather armchair in my office, my laptop somehow still teetering where it’s balanced on my thigh, having slipped between my leg and the armrest.

I groan, moving my laptop to the side table and stretching my arms over my head. My phone pings again and I reach for it, blinking as I pull up the two new text messages. I brace myself for a barrage of texts from the four families wanting news about the attempted escape in Oslo, though there’s nothing new to report.

I’m shocked Vigo Vittori hasn’t called me personally by now to hash out all the details. Though, I suppose Cordelia has already been on the phone with him about it all. I don’t understand their connection with each other, and it pisses me off how often she undermines my authority with him.

I look at my screen, and I’m surprised to find that the texts aren’t from Vigo or any of the other families.

They’re from Stella.

I glance at the time—four hours since I hung up on her. If she was drunk four hours ago, she’s either sobered up or is completely wankered by now. I open the messages.

STELLA:Rude.

STELLA: RUDE.

And then, another text slips through.

STELLA:RUUUDDDDEEE.

Completely wankered, then.

I should delete the messages, ignore them, and go and get a few hours of sleep. Yet my fingers move to type a reply without any good sense at all.

MURPHY: Care to elaborate?

STELLA:YOU HUNG UP ON ME.

MURPHY: Dial it down a notch, sweetheart. You should only be screaming at me when I’m between your legs.

STELLA: HOW DARE YOU.

MURPHY: Just how drunk are you?

My mind wanders. I wonder where she is, whether she’s drinking alone at home or out at a bar…maybe at the club we went to when I was on holiday.

I imagine a dance floor, Stella in the middle, surrounded by filthy monster men, all trying to paw at her and take her home with them. My chest aches as fury slips through, prickling awareness beneath my skin and heating me from the inside out.

I shift in my seat, leaning forward with my elbows on my knees, the phone in my hands as I type faster.

MURPHY:Where the fuck are you?

STELLA: Excuse me?

MURPHY: Where are you?

I asked her the question, and I don’t know why I bothered. I can have surveillance on her in thirty minutes or less if I wanted it.

And fuck, do I want it.

Nikolai Mikhailov has contractors in New York who do surveillance on close contacts to his talent slaves who used to live there. Before Stella responds, I’ve shot off a text to him with her name and the address of her tattoo shop. His associates will gather the rest of the information on her from there.

Five minutes go by with no response from Stella and a strange sensation washes over me. It’s an aching, tingling feeling of anxiety that tightens my muscles, pumps blood faster through my veins, and puts me on high alert. I’ve felt it before, I just don’t know why I’m feeling it now.

Anxiety.

I’ve got fucking anxiety over Stella Scott and her relative safety.

STELLA:I’m at Serendipity. What do you care?

I’ve never shot to my feet so fast in my life.

MURPHY: Stella, go home.

STELLA: I’ll do what I want, thank you very much. Not like you care. You hung up on me.

MURPHY: I care. Go home.

STELLA: Why are you like this?

I scoff. I’m like this because of who I am…who I was born to be. And apparently, she was born to be a headstrong pain in my arse. I could go round in circles with her demanding that she go home, but I gather she’s the type of woman who digs her heels in when told what to do.

She’s not O’Shea wife material at all.

She’s such a goddamn challenge…and I love it.

I try a different approach.

MURPHY: Please. For me. I can’t stand the thought of you drinking and dancing with another man.

It’s intended to be a carefully placed lie to persuade her into leaving, but it’s not a lie at all. I truthfully can’t stand the thought of it.

STELLA:What do you mean???

MURPHY: Just go home, sweetheart. Sleep it off and call me tomorrow.

STELLA: I will NOT call you tomorrow.

MURPHY: Then I’ll call you.

STELLA: Fine. Whatever. Do what you want.

MURPHY: Are you leaving?

STELLA: YES, I’M FUCKING LEAVING.

Her next text comes a full ten seconds later.

STELLA: But not because of you.

I don’t care why she leaves, just as long as she leaves. I let out an unintentionally held breath of relief.

I don’t hear from Stella again all night, but I don’t need to. Nikolai received my text and had surveillance on her forty-three minutes after she sent her last text to me. His men watched her make her way safely back home, her address texted back to me within the hour.

It’s a relief to know she’s safe, tucked away in her modest apartment in New York City with eyes on her every movement. She’ll be safe from the predatory monsters who swarm the vulnerable, drunk women in every city in every country of this godforsaken planet.

I’ll keep her safe from those monsters.

But I can’t guarantee she’ll be safe from me.