Deviant Hearts: Chapter 3

“Did you know?!”

There’s murder in my eyes and fury in my voice as I charge across the closed pub downstairs to where Castle and Eilish are sitting at the bar.

My sister turns in her seat, staring at my rage and my tears in confused shock. From Castle’s hardened, grim look, I already have my fucking answer.

“You knew!??” I scream at him, jabbing a harsh finger against his granite chest.

“Neve, listen to me—”

“Oh fuck off!” I snap. “You asshole! You fucking knew and you didn’t tell me!? How could you!?”

Eilish slips off her stool, moving between us.

“Whoa, hang on.” She turns to Castle. “What did you know?”

“That Cillian has me all set to marry Ares fucking Drakos!”

Eilish’s face goes pale as she spins to face me.

“What?!”

“Yes, she’s going to marry Ares,” Castle growls quietly.

My little sister turns back to gawk at him.

“You knew?”

He sighs, shoving a hand through his short hair, unable to look at me.

“Oh, he knew all right. He led me right into the lion’s den,” I hiss.

“Neve, c’mon!” He whirls back, glaring at me, arms spread wide in appeal. “You’re acting like I’m the mastermind strategist behind the whole operation. I’m just the hired muscle, kid.”

That’s bullshit and we both know it. Castle is the muscle, sure, but any lunkhead with a gym fetish could’ve been our bodyguard. Castle got picked for the job ten years ago not just because he’s big, or because of his background as an Army Ranger, but because he’s very smart, tactical, and always six steps ahead.

“You knew,” I hiss, accusation dripping from my lips.

Castle sighs heavily.

“Yeah, kid, I knew.”

“Fuck you. And stop calling me kid. I’m about to be a married woman, or haven’t you heard?”

“What was I gonna do, Neve?” he snaps. “Kidnap you to fucking Mexico or something?”

“You could’ve dropped me out of a plane over Antarctica and it would be better than being married into the fucking Drakos family!” I scream at him.

Eilish turns, her face white.

“You…you really are?”

I squeeze my eyes shut.

“She really is,” Castle says quietly. “It’s a deal your uncle and Ares have hammered out to bury the hatchet between the two families forever.”

“It’s fucking medieval, is what it is!” I hiss.

His eyes narrow. “You think I don’t agree with you?”

“I think you’re a fucking Judas, that’s what I think,” I spit, shoving past him behind the bar. I grab a bottle of whiskey and pour a splash into a rocks glass. My hand shakes, my nerves jangling like mad as I bring it to my lips.

“Neve, c’mon,” Castle looks at me uncertainly. “It’s ten in the morning—”

“Oh, go play with your thirty pieces of silver, asshole.”

I take the bottle and the glass with me, stomping back around to their side of the bar and climbing onto a stool.

“Neve…” Eilish says quietly, her voice choked as she lays a hand on my arm. “What are you going to do?”

“Run away.” I spit. “Kill Cillian. I don’t know.”

Castle clears his throat. “Look, I’m not on board with this—”

“Oh, so good to know. Fuck you.”

I’m being way harsher to Castle than I should. But right now, it’s either yell at him, who bought me here today knowing what I was walking into and didn’t say shit, or my equally left-out-of-the-loop sister. Between the two of them, damn straight it’s going to be Castle who catches my wrath right now.

“I’m not on board with it,” he repeats. “But you have to understand why Cillian played this card. It changes everything. It erases the hostilities between the families and all of the subsidiary families. It turns Drakos and Kildare into a superpower. Neve, I know you’re not blind to the politics of this world. You know there’s rumblings from the Cartel, the Bratva…waiting for the Irish and the Greeks to tear each other to shreds so they could come in and divide up the spoils.”

I do know all of this.

It still doesn’t do a thing to calm my racing heart or quiet the fury surging in my chest.

Castle sighs as he plops down on the stool next to me and drops a heavy hand to my shoulder.

“I’m sorry, kid. I really am. I’m not saying I like it, but the reality is the oldest Kildare daughter marrying the oldest Drakos son cleans the whole slate. Marriage is law in this world, you know that. That’s why Cillian went for this.”

“It’s the twenty-first fucking century, and we’re in New York,” I spit. “He can fucking marry Ares.”

Castle smirks quietly, shaking his head. I exhale as all the fight leaves me, and dread begins to fill the empty space that remains.

Fuck.

Fucking fuckity-FUCK.

Ares. I’m marrying Ares.

The god of fucking war himself.

The one with the god-like body molded out of sin and temptation, you mean.

I flush, quickly slugging back a heavy swallow of whiskey to try and burn the traitorous, lustful thought from my head. But that just brings on other filthy thoughts involving Ares and his divine physique. His chiseled jaw and perfect cheekbones. His piercing dark eyes, dark hair, flashing white teeth and tanned skin.

Not to mention his CGI abs. And his perfect ass. And his hip grooves and his….

I flush violently, draining the last of my glass before I reach for the bottle again.

“Easy.”

Castle pushes it outside my reach. I turn to glare at him.

“Gimme.”

He shakes his head. “I know you don’t like this. But it’s done.”

I feel Eilish sink into the stool on the other side of me and put her arms around me.

“Neve…”

“It’s fine,” I mutter coldly.

“It’s not,” Castle grunts. “Not really. It fucking stinks. For what it’s worth, you better be damn sure I’ll be watching for Ares to fuck up even once. He talks out of line to you, or lays a single fucking finger on you, and he’ll pay for it in blood.”

“A for effort, Cas. But I’m still mad at you,” I pout.

He flashes a crooked grin at me as I turn to punch him in the arm.

There’s a pause. Then—

“I mean…” Eilish frowns. “How real does it have to be?”

I shake my head. “Huh?”

“Like, maybe it’s just a marriage on paper, you know? You can still live at your place, or…” she looks at me hopefully. “Back at home? And you can still go to class and have your own life. Maybe it’s just a figurehead thing?”

“I have no idea,” I mumble, dropping my forehead into my hands, my elbows on the bar. I turn to glare at Castle. “Although I suppose you do.”

He shakes his head. “I don’t.”

“Big help you are.”

He smiles wryly.

“Let’s get you home.”

“Or, better idea,” Eilish prods. “We go back to the house—”

She means the main Kildare house, where she, Cillian, and Castle live.

“—and disappear into a pile of cheesy movies and junk food?”

I glower at my empty glass.

“And booze?”

She grins. “Sure.”

Castle drapes a hand on my shoulder. “I’ll get one of the guys to head into Brooklyn and pick you up some Lucali’s pizza.”

I glare at him. “You understand bribing me with my favorite pizza in the whole world is admitting your guilt, right?”

He shrugs. I groan.

This is a nightmare. But inside, my core is tightening.

My pulse is quickening

And dark, depraved thoughts are slinking and prowling around the edges of my mind.

It beyond sucks that I’m marrying Ares Drakos. But if I forget who he is, and I forget the fact that we’re enemies….

I flush.

I mean, look at the man. It could be worse. I could be marrying Ezio Adamos or someone like that. I shudder as I shove my hands though my hair.

“Well?” Eilish prods hopefully. “What do you think?”

I glare at her. “You promise there’ll be booze?”

She nods wryly.

“Fine, let’s go.” I turn to glare at Castle. “You’re still on the hook for that Lucali’s pizza, don’t forget. And I want an extra side of those anchovies they have. The ones from Sicily.”

He chuckles quietly. “I’ll get right on it.”

And I’ll get right on figuring out how to torpedo this whole thing. Because as sinfully hot as Ares may be, and as much as the depraved idea of sharing a bed with him makes me shamefully aroused, no way.

I’m not marrying that man as part of some mafia business arrangement. I don’t care what it takes. I’ll find another way. Something with diplomacy, or money, or anything.

I’m not marrying Ares.

Castle sticks the bottle back behind the bar, and the three of us head out to the Range Rover, me dragging my feet.

I don’t see the car until it’s too late.

I don’t hear the screech of tires or the pop-popping sound of guns with silencers blasting through the windows of the passing SUV until there’s no chance of diving for cover or running away.

It’s like I’m in a nightmare, or trying to run underwater. I revolve in slow motion, horror turning my face ashen as I watch red bloom across Castle’s chest through his white dress shirt.

As I watch him drop like a stone to the sidewalk.

As I turn and feel my heart shatter into a million pieces when I see the blood staining the front of Eilish’s Chanel dress, just before her eyes roll back in her head and she collapses to the pavement.

And then, over the low rumble of the New York City traffic, all I can hear is my own voice.

Screaming.