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Kenney, Laina - Overexposed [DIG Security 3] (Siren Publishing Ménage Amour) by Laina Kenney
Authors: Laina Kenney
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OVEREXPOSED
DIG Security 3
LAINA KENNEY
Copyright © 2011
Chapter 1
Avelyn listened with her ear pressed to the inside of the bathroom door and tried to calm her racing heart. She could hear the springs on the creaky old sofa in her dad’s Dublin flat. Paddy O’Neill must be sitting down. He was whistling a jaunty tune. She could just make out the words as Paddy told his hulking bodyguard to wait outside in the hallway. A hinge squeaked, and the front door clicked shut.
Perfect.
She turned on the water in the tiny shower stall and glanced in the mirror. Her auburn hair was wild and fly-away. The pale skin of her cheek was red with a flowering bruise, and a few drops of blood ran down her throat from a knife slice under her ear.
She looked a fright, but she was alive, and Paddy hadn’t forced her into having sex with him to pay off her father’s loan. Not yet, at any rate.
Thankfully, Paddy was from a different generation. The former IRA spokesman turned loan shark was willing to play the gentleman when she drew on her acting ability and begged for a few minutes to shower and prepare for their “first time” together. She privately thought Paddy and men like him represented the worst of the former Irish Republican Army, those young hotheads who tried to force their political agenda by blowing up people. Her father, who had been an IRA member in his youth, claimed she just didn’t understand that era of unrest and that most of the IRA soldiers were just idealistic young men fighting for freedom from injustice.
Avelyn listened when her father spoke of those days, but she couldn’t accept his reasoning. No excuse was good enough to cover political shootings or car and subway bombings leading to innocent civilian casualties. The two of them would never be able to agree about that.
Her hand brushed the sore spot on her arm, and her thoughts jumped to Paddy’s demands. Her stomach lurched, and a shudder ran through her at the thought of submitting to Paddy’s touch. She gritted her teeth. Never.
Under cover of the sound of the cascading water, she shoved a few essentials in her leather hobo bag and quickly climbed out the bedroom window with her sneakers knotted around her neck. Her suitcase caused a pang of regret. It was still in the entryway where she had dropped it, but she couldn’t take the chance of retrieving it.
She stood at the top of the fire stairs and steeled herself to look down once. The wet paving stones three floors below swam in her vision, and she grabbed the flimsy railing. The stairs seemed to sway, and her stomach rolled in protest. After a moment of dizziness, she was able to focus on the steps under her feet.
She clung to the inner railing and leaned as far away from the edge as she could without touching the wall. Even the third storey was too high for her. She clenched her teeth and kept going down one step at a time.
Using this method, she made her way down the shaky fire escape and dropped lightly to the wet stone of the back courtyard.
She put on her sneakers and ran.
When she had covered several blocks through the back streets of old Dublin, she ducked into a narrow alley by the green grocers and pulled out her cell phone. She knew from previous visits to her father that cell phone coverage in Dublin could be hit or miss at times. Praying for a strong-enough signal, she dialed with a shaking hand.
“Please, please,” she chanted under her breath, willing the call to go through.
“Conn, here,” the beloved voice answered, and Avelyn burst into tears.
“Uncle Conn, I’m in trouble,” she sobbed, “in Dublin. I need you.”
“Where are you, girl?”
She glanced up at the quaint old street sign and relayed her location through chattering teeth.
“Your father?”
“He wasn’t at his flat when I got there, and there were two other men there waiting for him. They used to be IRA, and he owes money to them. I got away from them out the back window, and I
DIG Security 3
LAINA KENNEY
Copyright © 2011
Chapter 1
Avelyn listened with her ear pressed to the inside of the bathroom door and tried to calm her racing heart. She could hear the springs on the creaky old sofa in her dad’s Dublin flat. Paddy O’Neill must be sitting down. He was whistling a jaunty tune. She could just make out the words as Paddy told his hulking bodyguard to wait outside in the hallway. A hinge squeaked, and the front door clicked shut.
Perfect.
She turned on the water in the tiny shower stall and glanced in the mirror. Her auburn hair was wild and fly-away. The pale skin of her cheek was red with a flowering bruise, and a few drops of blood ran down her throat from a knife slice under her ear.
She looked a fright, but she was alive, and Paddy hadn’t forced her into having sex with him to pay off her father’s loan. Not yet, at any rate.
Thankfully, Paddy was from a different generation. The former IRA spokesman turned loan shark was willing to play the gentleman when she drew on her acting ability and begged for a few minutes to shower and prepare for their “first time” together. She privately thought Paddy and men like him represented the worst of the former Irish Republican Army, those young hotheads who tried to force their political agenda by blowing up people. Her father, who had been an IRA member in his youth, claimed she just didn’t understand that era of unrest and that most of the IRA soldiers were just idealistic young men fighting for freedom from injustice.
Avelyn listened when her father spoke of those days, but she couldn’t accept his reasoning. No excuse was good enough to cover political shootings or car and subway bombings leading to innocent civilian casualties. The two of them would never be able to agree about that.
Her hand brushed the sore spot on her arm, and her thoughts jumped to Paddy’s demands. Her stomach lurched, and a shudder ran through her at the thought of submitting to Paddy’s touch. She gritted her teeth. Never.
Under cover of the sound of the cascading water, she shoved a few essentials in her leather hobo bag and quickly climbed out the bedroom window with her sneakers knotted around her neck. Her suitcase caused a pang of regret. It was still in the entryway where she had dropped it, but she couldn’t take the chance of retrieving it.
She stood at the top of the fire stairs and steeled herself to look down once. The wet paving stones three floors below swam in her vision, and she grabbed the flimsy railing. The stairs seemed to sway, and her stomach rolled in protest. After a moment of dizziness, she was able to focus on the steps under her feet.
She clung to the inner railing and leaned as far away from the edge as she could without touching the wall. Even the third storey was too high for her. She clenched her teeth and kept going down one step at a time.
Using this method, she made her way down the shaky fire escape and dropped lightly to the wet stone of the back courtyard.
She put on her sneakers and ran.
When she had covered several blocks through the back streets of old Dublin, she ducked into a narrow alley by the green grocers and pulled out her cell phone. She knew from previous visits to her father that cell phone coverage in Dublin could be hit or miss at times. Praying for a strong-enough signal, she dialed with a shaking hand.
“Please, please,” she chanted under her breath, willing the call to go through.
“Conn, here,” the beloved voice answered, and Avelyn burst into tears.
“Uncle Conn, I’m in trouble,” she sobbed, “in Dublin. I need you.”
“Where are you, girl?”
She glanced up at the quaint old street sign and relayed her location through chattering teeth.
“Your father?”
“He wasn’t at his flat when I got there, and there were two other men there waiting for him. They used to be IRA, and he owes money to them. I got away from them out the back window, and I
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