Young Irish Rebel Series

He’s a savage. She’s a willing bride who dreams of freedom; only she gives up one cage to find herself in another.

Emma

I was a willing sacrifice in an arranged marriage.

Until my father made a new deal and gave me to another.

Now I must marry a savage.

A Northerner- the very thing I had been taught to hate.

I vow to never be his. I will never belong to Shay O’Reagan.

I will defy him every step of the way.

He may lay claim to my body, but he will never own my heart.

Shay

In order to secure my place in the Irish Mafia, I agree to an arranged marriage.

A marriage with a willing bride, one groomed to be the wife of a mafia king.

What I get is a redheaded beauty hell bent on my destruction.

Turns out, she was meant to be the perfect mafia wife- just not mine.

That treacherous detail doesn’t stop me from wanting her.

From needing to taste her ruby red lips.

The fire that blazes in her defiant eyes lights a desire inside of me that demands I claim her as my own.

While she wastes my time defying me with every breath, the North rises up demanding retribution for a crime that was buried a long time ago.

The clock is ticking as I battle a war around me and within my own walls. Every minute takes us both closer to certain death.

I’m unsure of who my true allies are and where my enemies are hiding. There’s only one thing I’m certain of.

I will never give up.

I will fight to the end, no matter the cost.

I am a King and I will die on my feet.

 Young Irish Rebels:

Mafia Prince - When trouble lands her at my feet, I take the opportunity to have what I truly want. I offer her a deal. I’ll help her, but the cost will be one night in my bed.
One night of submission.

Mafia King - In order to secure my place in the Irish Mafia, I agree to an arranged marriage. A marriage with a willing bride, one groomed to be the wife of a mafia king. What I get is a redheaded beauty hell bent on my destruction.

Mafia Games - The taste of revenge sits sweetly on my tongue as I watch her, Claire, my new obsession. I keep her safe in a cage made of glass. Safe from the cravings she stirs in me. I watch her, my hunger growing with every move she makes.

Mafia Boss - The longer I stay hidden with my bodyguard, the more I see the truth.
Cillian is everything I shouldn't want, a threat no one saw coming. I'm in the hands of my father's enemy, hands that make me ache.

Mafia Secrets - Her uncle is attacking my businesses. To draw him out, I’ll use her as bait…I grew up not knowing who I was, yet I knew I was destined for something more.

A wooden ruler brought down heavily on my hand brings me back to the present.

“Are you trying to scare the livestock away?” Breda’s pale face tightens as she shakes her head in disapproval. Her Cavan lilt is more pronounced now that I have annoyed her.

I shake out my aching hand while holding the tin whistle in the one that she hasn’t assaulted yet.

“You’re not concentrating!” She barks. She’s strict, but normally not this strict. She steps away from me and circles the red high-back chair that is reserved for her alone. She rarely sits throughout our lessons. I’m not sure if standing makes her feel more powerful. Her standing or sitting doesn’t affect me. I’ve been around Breda far too long for her stern, nun-like face to frighten me anymore. As a child, my reaction was very different.

A slow grin stretches across my lips. “You’re as excited as I am.” I point the tin whistle at Breda.

Her short legs make quick work of the floor, and the ruler comes down harder on my hand. My body responds, and I jump away until I’m at a safe distance from the offensive weapon while cradling my throbbing hand to my chest.

“From the top.” She steps away and walks behind the chair again. Her long piano fingers grip the back of the chair. I bring the tin whistle back to my lips. My knuckles are red, but I know I’m right when I see the smile in Breda’s gray eyes. She can keep her face like stone all she wants, but I've been looking at her since I was a child, and I know that the slight tightness around her eyes isn’t anger; it’s amusement.

I continue to play ‘As I Ride Out’ by Christy Moore. The notes flow through the room, and I fight the smile as I hope the music reaches Liam O’Reagan’s ears. He is in the next room discussing my upcoming wedding to his son.

My excitement sends the notes out too fast, and Breda releases the chair and takes a step towards me, but I reel in my excitement quickly and slow my pace. She nods her head in approval and circles me as I play. I’m watching that ruler as I play the hauntingly beautiful melody.

The day I have been trained for my whole life is finally here. Everything I’ve been taught was all about being the perfect wife for Jack O’Reagan. I will be free. At last. My mind bubbles and bounces through all the possibilities of what I could do with my freedom. I’m picturing parties, shopping, holidays.

The song ends, and the door opens like they were waiting for me to finish. Breda is alert when James, the second eldest boy in our family, looks directly at me.

“Dad will see you now.” James doesn’t look like me. He has Dad’s features, dark brown eyes, and his skin takes well to the sun. I just blister, peel, and turn back white. It’s another enchanting Irish trait that I have inherited.

Nervous butterflies erupt in my stomach as I step towards the small round table and place my tin whistle on it. I pause, not ready to leave all of a sudden, and look back to Breda. She’s all I have ever known; now I wonder if I’ll ever see her again. Will I be shipped off today? Will I have time to pack?

She gives me a nod of approval, and I see a glimmer of moisture in her eyes before she turns away from me.

The navy swing dress I wear skims my knees and hugs my small waist. I feel pretty as I follow James down the large open hallway. My heels click click on the tiles, and I have this image in my head of being the lady of a grand house, much grander than this, where I will host parties. I keep the smile at bay as James leads me to the large kitchen.

Dad is there and gives me a reassuring smile. My youngest brother is sitting at the table. He averts his gaze from me. The eldest, and the one I thought would be lifting me into the air, already has his back to me; his large frame heaves. The kitchen grows smaller the longer I stand in it. There is no sign of Liam O’Reagan.

Noel’s wide back is heaving and has me worried. I want to call out to Noel and ask him what’s wrong, but my father speaks.

“The marriage will be in four weeks.”

My heart pumps blood so fast around my body that I want to reach out and grip something. I hold still, but I can’t stop the smile that consumes my face and showcases my teeth.

“You will be leaving tomorrow.”

I’m ready to pass out with excitement, but each time my gaze travels to Noel’s back, worry starts to lace its way through my excitement, dismantling the happiness inch by inch.

“We can’t.” Noel’s voice is low.

I’m taking a step towards him.

“She is.” My dad’s angry voice would normally recapture my attention, but I’m taking another step towards Noel.

“What’s happening?” I’m asking him, and once Noel stands to his full six-foot height and turns to me, my stomach swells with all the worries that course through my system.

Noel’s dark green eyes pin my dad to the spot. “This goes against everything we stand for, everything you taught us.”

“This is a small sacrifice for the greater good.” My dad hasn’t looked at me. His hands curl into fists. Fists that I’ve seen do a lot of damage over the years to Noel. He had shaped him into a man with his fists. At least that was his own explanation for each thump.

“I’ll take his place.” Mark, the youngest, steps up beside me as he speaks to our dad. His sleeves are rolled up to his elbows. Large muscles flex from his hours at the gym.

My father dismisses Mark’s words with a slight wave of his fisted hand, and I’m back to looking at Noel.

“What’s happening?” I bark loudly.

“Tomorrow, you’re leaving, and that’s final.” My dad’s words are heavy with something that leaves me unsettled.

Noel finally looks at me fully, and everything in me stands to attention. I’m proud of the man he has always been. Noel would walk through fire to protect me, he’s my best friend, and I know nothing bad will happen with him in my corner. My shoulders automatically relax.

“You’re not marrying Jack O’Reagan.” Noel’s brows drag down, but his gaze never wavers from me.

“Don't say another word, my boy.” The warning from my dad has my heart pounding heavier.

I’m shaking my head at Noel to stop. He’s pushing Dad too far. I know what happens when our dad is pushed too far.

“You have to marry a Northerner.” Noel doesn’t stop even as my dad moves closer to him.

My hand reaches out and grips the marble breakfast bar top. “No.”

No one hears me as James and Mark move as one and stop my father from touching Noel. My mind reels as I hear the soft footfalls behind me. Breda is in the doorway, and from the sadness in her eyes, I know right then and there that she knows. She knows I've been handed to a savage.

I turn to her because she’s like a mother to me. “Did you know?” My voice rises substantially, and the room falls silent.

“Did you know that….?” I trail off as I think of all the nights I’ve dreamt of Jack O’Reagan. I swallow around the lump in my throat.

“There is no need for such dramatics. It was a last-minute change. You are still marrying an O’Reagan.”

I remember my place. I remember that this is my father who is speaking to me. I remember to show respect as I turn to him.

Hate burns deeply in my veins. The severity surprises me, and I lower my lashes so my dad can’t see the rage in my eyes.

As I lower my lashes, I glimpse Noel still being held by James and Mark.

“What if it’s a setup?”

My gaze jumps to Noel as he questions my father while shrugging off my brothers like they weigh nothing more than paper. That’s what Noel was to me, an indestructible giant. A force that no one got through. Right now, seeing him red-faced and questioning my dad is terrifying.

“What if it’s not?” My dad fires back.

Another fist tightens around my stomach, I have no idea what they are talking about, but my dad’s answer shows that whatever this really is, it’s a risk. My mind veers down a dark and deadly path that I pull back from before I sink into a fatal fear that I may not be able to drag myself out of.

“It’s not worth the risk.”

Pride swells in my chest at Noel’s words.

“I say it is.” My dad turns to me. His lips are always downturned; they’ve been that way since Mom died. As he approaches me, they lift ever so slightly, and my body sags a little.

“You are leaving tomorrow, and you will be marrying Shay O’Reagan. You will be his wife.” My dad doesn’t touch me or embrace me, yet he’s close enough to drag me to his large chest, where I rested my head as a child, but I’m not a child anymore.

I want to say no, I want to tell him I don’t want to marry a Northerner. We hated them. This made no sense.

“Will he hurt me?” I ask the question that makes him flinch like I had hoped it would.

“Will a dog bite if it’s cornered?”

Noel growls behind our dad, and it’s answer enough. Be obedient, don’t give him a reason to hurt me.

I nod before turning my back on my dad. He doesn’t stop me as I expect him to. The stairs are before me. I take the steps quickly as voices rise in the kitchen, and Noel tries to stop this, but there is no stopping my dad. I know that. He knows that.

The minute I enter my room and close the door, I kick off my heels. I want to fire my shoes across the room. I want to unleash the rage that is building up inside me and burning my cheeks, but I don’t move.

The door behind me opens.

“Count to ten, remember that the temper of yours will get you into trouble.” Breda’s voice sounds the same as it always does when I’m ready to lose my head.

My father always said I had my mother’s temper. Noel said I was as thick as a mule going backward through a hedge.

“Ten? I don’t think counting to a hundred would calm me right now.” I spin on Breda as she opens the large wardrobe.

“Then count to a thousand.” She has dragged a chair over to the wardrobe and climbs up on it while yanking up her pleated ankle-length skirt.

“Get down, Breda, I’ll do it.” The last thing I want is her falling.

She ignores me. “Count.” She reaches the suitcase and slides it halfway out before stopping and glancing at me.

“One, two, three…” I take a step back as I count and watch Breda pull down the suitcase. She takes it to my bed and opens it before returning to my wardrobe.

I’m still counting as she starts placing my dresses in the suitcase. My counting ceases, but she doesn’t.

“He’s a Northerner.”

Now she stops, holding a bundle of dresses that are still on their hangers.

“You know what they are like,” I add.

Conflict clouds Breda’s already pale eyes. I notice the change as she stands straighter and grips the hangers tighter. “A man is a man, no matter where he comes from. He’s still a man.”

Frustration claws at my insides. “I don’t understand. They are the enemy.”

Breda places my dresses in the suitcase. “It might be a challenge from God. To love thy enemies.”

What a crock of shit. I’m moving again.

“God isn’t handing me over to the Northerners. God isn’t going to rape me.”

Breda holds her hands in the air and waves them close to her ears like she can brush away my words. “Don’t say such things.”

“What? In case I anger God?” My rage is encasing me, and I can’t breathe.

“Stop it, Emma.” Breda’s voice holds the authority that normally shuts me up but not this time.

“What can God do? He took a mother from me. What else can he take?”

“Noel.” Breda’s one word has dread threading itself through my veins, not Noel.

“Now. Count while I pack.” She returns to the wardrobe, and I return to counting as my mind buzzes with a fear that has me vowing one thing. No matter what happens from here on in, I will fight the Northerner with everything in me. My dad says I have my mother’s temper; well, I’ll use that to my advantage.

“Twenty-four, twenty-five, twenty-six….”