The Wedding Pact (The O'Malleys #2) (5 page)

There was nothing to do, but if she told him that, it would crush him. The only thing Teague had wanted more than getting out of this life was to get her and their other sisters out as well. That he hadn’t been able to do either killed him. Seeing her walk down the aisle, delivered to a man he knew she didn’t love, would deliver a wound that would fester over the years. He knew she wouldn’t have chosen this path for herself. He knew she wanted out as much as he did.

And
she
knew the cost was too high to risk their father’s wrath.

“The same thing you’ve always done. Be there for me.” She dropped her head onto his shoulder. He was as solid as a rock. He always had been. The contact centered her, and it must have done the same thing for him, too, since he relaxed a little.

“That seems like a cowardly choice.”

There had to be some way she could get through to him. “
My
choice, Teague. Please don’t take it away from me. I’ve already had that happen one too many times.” A low blow, but Carrigan wasn’t above hitting him where it hurt in order to keep him safe. He had a chance at happiness. She might be a selfish bitch, but even she wasn’t selfish enough to take that away from him.

He hissed out a breath, the barb striking true. “Damn it.”

Needing to change the subject and put them back on more familiar—and safe—ground, she said, “How goes the wedding planning?” Both their parents and Callie’s father refused to acknowledge that their marriage was legitimate until they did things “right.” Carrigan found it darkly amusing that there was no end to the sins her father could commit and still sleep at night, but seeing one of his children married without an actual wedding was one he couldn’t live with. But then, she’d always known he had skewed priorities—and that wasn’t even getting into their mother. She took their courthouse marriage as a personal insult, and as a result she was determined to plan the largest and most extravagant affair she could to make up for it.

For her part, Carrigan was just happy the wedding planning kept her mother’s attention elsewhere. The last thing she needed was her other parent meddling alongside her father’s determination to match her up with someone on his list.

This time Teague’s sigh was less agitated. “For all her protests, Callie’s taken the whole thing well in hand. She’s gone head-to-head with our mother a few times, from what I understand, and come out on top at least half the time.”

“Half? Impressive.” She was surprised their mother had conceded
anything
let alone multiple anythings. But then, she already knew Callie was something else. The woman had held herself together in the face of certain death and managed to work with Carrigan to get them both to safety. If there was going to be someone to put Aileen O’Malley in her place, it would be Callie Sheridan.

She smiled at the thought. “I like her.”

“I like her, too.” Teague grinned, some of his worry melting away. Love did shit like that.

Carrigan stamped down on the envy threatening to take root. Teague was lucky, and she didn’t begrudge him that, though part of her wished she’d be able to find the same connection with someone. She knew better. If she agreed to marry one of the men on her father’s list, it wouldn’t be a love match.

“Do you think…” He hesitated. “Do you know which way you’re going?”

She didn’t need him to clarify. “I don’t really have a choice.” The convent hadn’t really been an option for her. It was a bargaining chip she’d used to keep her father’s ambitions at bay. That was it. Her life would have been a lot simpler if she had a higher religious calling.
Or if I’d been born with a penis
. Maybe then her opinions and plans would actually have had merit in their father’s eyes. “All that’s left is to pick the groom.”

“Don’t make any hasty decisions.”

She laughed. “Teague, I have a month. The only thing left to me is hasty decisions.”

“Just remember—all you need to do is say the word and I’ll get you out.”

She hugged him. “I know.” Just like she knew she’d never say the word. Teague had stood as protector between her and problems in the past. Or tried to. It never quite worked out like either of them wanted it to, and she wasn’t about to place bets that this time would be the exception to the rule.

All that was left to her was to go on the expected dates and pick the least horrible one of the bunch. Then it was a matter of hoping for the best. She could stack the deck in her favor to make up for the lack of choices, but in the end it all came down to whoever she chose to hitch her wagon to. There was no reason to expect that she’d enjoy spending time with any of the men, since she fully expected her father to pick men similar to the caliber of man he was.

God, she hated this.

Carrigan patted her brother’s hand and rose. The longer she procrastinated, the less time she’d ultimately have. It was better to bite the bullet now and get this shit started. “I’ll talk to you later.”

“Sure.”

She felt his worried gaze on her all the way out of the library and into the hallway. It was only when she shut the door behind her that she breathed a temporary sigh of relief.

Now, to deal with her father.

She found him in the formal living room, looking bored as her mother pored over some kind of photo album—something to do with the upcoming wedding, no doubt. It would be held in just under two weeks, so most of the details had already been taken care of. It stood to reason, though, that little last-minute things were bound to pop up.

She stood in the doorway, waiting for them to acknowledge her. Her father looked up first, almost comically pleased for the distraction. “Carrigan.”

It was far too tempting to make small talk—about anything other than the real reason she was here. That was the coward’s way out, though. “I’m going to meet the men you have on this list.”

Her mother finally looked up, green eyes narrowing. “What list? I haven’t seen any list, Seamus.”

“It’s none of your concern.” He spared one of his rare smiles for Carrigan. “I’m glad you’ve decided to be reasonable.”

“Anything for the family, Father.”

Besides, if the man she married turned out to be a monster, she could always take a page from Callie’s book and shoot the bastard dead.

*  *  *

Sloan floated through the hallways of her childhood, feeling more like a ghost than a woman. The feeling had been there in their giant home in Connecticut, and she’d wandered the house at all hours of the night, driven from her bed by the treacherous thoughts of what could have been. If she’d made different choices the night Carrigan was taken. If her brothers hadn’t drank themselves stupid and walked home. If her father hadn’t been so willing to risk all of them in a grab for power.

She didn’t like the answers she came up with.

They didn’t really matter. The past was dead and gone, just like Devlin. She pressed a hand to her chest, stopping at the top of the stairs, feeling like she’d just run ten miles.
Devlin
. One of her brothers was dead, and everyone was going on as if nothing had changed—as if their world hadn’t turned to dust around them.

It wasn’t fair, and she knew it. Life went on, whether they wanted it to or not.

She took a deep breath and kept walking, her bare feet padding over the cool wood floors. She wasn’t a child. She
knew
life had to go on. It couldn’t come to a full stop just because her heart was so broken she didn’t think it’d ever recover. Devlin had been only twenty, three years younger than her, and growing up they’d always been close. Of all her brothers, he hadn’t expected her to change. He’d been perfectly content to share the comfortable silences she was so fond of, broken only to bring up something interesting that one of them was currently reading. And he’d managed to accept the weight of the burden their family placed on them, while still striving for more.

And now his dreams were ashes in the wind, whisking hers away with them.

Their father liked to say that great privilege brought great responsibility with it. He was a liar. He hadn’t been the one forced to make compromise after compromise. He was completely content to move his children around like pieces of furniture, aligning them to his satisfaction to keep the O’Malley clan strong. What did their individual happiness matter in the grand scale of the family’s safety?

Not even a tiny bit.

Her stomach lurched, leaving her lightheaded, and Sloan paused to lean against the wall. She might have gotten away with her midnight wanderings in the old redone farmhouse, but there were too many people here. It was only a matter of time before one of her well-meaning siblings guided her back to her bedroom. Or the guards reported her to her father.

Imagining how pleasant
that
conversation would be had her picking up her pace. She passed Keira’s door, hearing strains of some hard rock song on the other side of the door. It was selfish to think Sloan was the only one suffering. Her youngest sister had taken Devlin’s death just as hard—if not harder. She’d started drinking. A lot. Sloan knew that Carrigan chalked it up to her age, but she wasn’t so sure. Keira drank like she was trying to escape the thoughts in her head. That kind of thing didn’t simply disappear over time.

It got worse.

She touched the door, hesitating. Should she say something? Try to get Keira to talk to her? Sloan had always been good at listening, but broaching this subject was going to reopen wounds that hadn’t even had a chance to close, much less heal.

So she kept walking.

Carrigan’s door opened as she approached, and her older sister stepped into the hall, wearing a sheath dress that left little to the imagination. She froze when she saw Sloan. “You’re up late.”

“I couldn’t sleep.”

For a second she thought—hoped—Carrigan would let it go. She obviously had plans to sneak out, and her skin nearly twitched with impatience. But then she stepped back into her room. “Let’s talk.”

More talking. Sloan let loose a silent sigh and obeyed. The sooner they got this over with, the sooner she could retreat into her room and lose herself in a book. It was the only escape that worked these days, the only thing that took away the harsh edge of reality.

Carrigan perched on the edge of her bed and gave her a long look. “Father’s decided that he’s tired of waiting for me.”

She’d known this was coming. They all had. Her sister’s ability to hold him off for this long was something to be commended, but it couldn’t last forever. “How long?” It felt curiously like she was asking how long Carrigan had left to live.

“My birthday.”

Her breath stalled in her chest. “But…” Sloan looked down at her hands, fighting to get the words past the concrete block in her throat. “
Marriage
.”

It was on the tip of her tongue to point out that it had worked out for Teague—to maybe even suggest that Carrigan would get the same results—but she stopped. Their brother had been fortunate to the point of unbelievability. Lightning never struck the same place twice, and those were the odds for Carrigan to make a love match from the list of men their father had provided.

“I know.” Carrigan took her hands. “I didn’t drag you in here so we could have a pity party. Things are the way they are. I just wanted to give you as much of a heads-up as I could.”

Because she was next.

The realization settled inside her, turning her blood to ice and her brain into a worthless buzz. As soon as Carrigan was safely carted away into a marriage, their father would turn his eye on
her
. She’d never pretended the Catholic devotion that her sister had, not to the point where it would be believable that she was considering joining a convent. Even if she had, their father wasn’t likely to fall for the same ruse twice. No, he’d strike quickly, while she was still young enough to be valuable.
Pliable.

“It doesn’t matter if I see it coming or not. It’s inevitable.” It seemed like her feet had been set on this path from birth. She’d never put much thought into it before, and now her time was up.
What am I going to do with a husband?

“Sloan…” Carrigan hesitated, and then seemed to change what she’d been about to say. “I’m sorry.”

She managed to squeeze her sister’s hands back, even though her fingers were numb. “Don’t be sorry. Go enjoy your night.”

“Do you want to come with me?”

She would have laughed if she had the breath for it. “You know how much I hate those clubs. Don’t worry about me. I’ll be okay.” A lie, but one Carrigan let her have. Sometimes it seemed there were more comforting lies than truths between them now.

“We’ll talk more soon.”

What was the point? They could talk for days on end, but it wouldn’t change their circumstances. Helpless fury rose inside her. She was well and truly trapped, up to her neck in quicksand and sinking fast.

God, what am I going to do?

Chapter Four

C
arrigan stepped into the club and tried to tell herself that she was here for the right reasons. It had nothing to do with looking for James, and everything to do with proving to herself she wasn’t afraid. Because she wasn’t. The only reason he’d gotten the best of her was because he kept catching her off guard. That wouldn’t happen tonight. Even as the thought crossed her mind, she scanned the crowd, searching for that towering blond figure.