Dangerous: Made & Broken (A British Bad Boy Romance) Read online

  “Aw, don’t be like that,” one of them purred behind me. “We just want to show you a good time.”

  “You should pay us for our kindness.” A sharp tug on my purse’s shoulder strap made me cling on harder to my bag.

  “Get off me!”

  “Oi! Leave the lady alone.” It wasn’t a full-on shout, but the new voice mixing in with the whoops and laughs of the group had a distinct no-nonsense tone. The guy grabbing on to my bag was shoved out of the way, and suddenly I was no longer alone in the circle of youths.

  “Hey, who the fuck—” The protesting voice behind me died as the newcomer next to me spun around.

  “Piss off. And if I see you harassing birds on the street again, you’re going to regret the day you slid out of your mother’s cunt, got it?”

  Someone muttered “Sorry,” and then, to my utter astonishment, they all took off down the street and around the corner.

  I blinked and readjusted my purse, taking just a moment to gather myself before I looked up at my savior. “Thank you, that—” The words died in my throat when he turned around and his gray eyes met mine.

  “You all right?”

  “Yeah.” I stared up at Blaine for a couple of seconds—long enough for that trademark smirk to reappear—before I managed to pull myself together. “Why did they run from you like that?”

  He shrugged and put both hands in his jean pockets. “My family’s pretty well-known in some parts of the city. You headed for the station?”

  I nodded and gave him a long side-look as he fell into step alongside me. In any big city, only a few families could make low-level thugs scarper just on sight. I’d made it a point to stay far, far away from those sorts of people since I left Belfast years ago, but there was no way Blaine knew anything about where I came from. If he had, I’d likely be in the back of a van by now, not casually strolling down the street beside him.

  And, honestly, I was a bit curious as to what had made him come to my rescue.

  “I didn’t take you for the kind of guy who would lurk around, waiting for an opportunity to save damsels in distress.”

  Blaine laughed. “Haven’t diagnosed me with a hero complex, then, little dove?”

  “No—no, Mr. Steel, that I haven’t. You are about as far from a hero as it gets.”

  “How rude,” he hummed. “And after I swooped in and saved you from those big, bad bullies. Aren’t therapists supposed to build up their patients’ self-esteem?”

  “Not when that patient’s ego is already way overblown. But it’s not like you’ll be my patient going forward, so we’re good regardless.” Savior or not, being back in Blaine’s presence and feeling my body instinctively lean toward him reminded me of how much of a jerk he’d been during our session. I scowled at his handsome profile for good measure.

  “Does that mean you’ve changed your mind about shagging me?” He didn’t even look at me, just grabbed my arm and stepped off the pavement so he could lead me across the road.

  I did my best to ignore the shiver of awareness his touch drove through my skin, even through my wooly coat. Damn him and whatever all-male pheromones he seemingly bathed in before going out! And damn my traitorous ovaries.

  “No offense, but I would rather slit my wrists.” I yanked my elbow out of his grasp the moment we were on the pavement again. “Does this usually work for you? Do women really drop their knickers when you make your interest in their fun bits known?”

  “Generally, they do, yes. In fact, your continued refusal might end up doing permanent damage to my fragile self-image. Isn’t it in your ethical code that you must do what you can to help those who come to you seeking help? You really want to risk your professional reputation over the welfare of a patient?”

  I really should have learned my lesson from our encounter in my office, but every word out of his mouth grated against my nerves—partly because of my frustration at my body’s reactions, and partly because he served them with the most obscene smirk I’d ever seen. So instead of biting my tongue, I dug my heels in and rounded on him.

  “I realize that your crippling self-hatred is so tied to your masculinity that you constantly try to undermine strong women with crude attempts at sexual dominance, but maybe you should try to see us as more than something to bury your cock in, hmm? Whatever it is you’re so desperately trying to hide from yourself, it isn’t going to go away by sexually harassing anyone who thinks to challenge you.”

  Blaine’s deviant lips twitched, most likely at making me lose my temper—again. “Ah, but I have nothing against strong women, Miss Holler. I’ll even let you be on top.”

  I took a deep—deep—breath and counted to ten. “Sometimes, Blaine, we don’t get what we want. It’s part of our emotional development. Clearly, you’ve missed out, so see this as an opportunity to better yourself. If I had gotten the pony I desperately wanted for my sixth birthday, I would probably have ended up a horrible human being who thought she could get anything and anyone she pointed at, as well.” Yeah, I was subtle. “But I didn’t, and look at me now, all capable of acting like a normal person.”

  My righteous fury had done nothing to dim the devilish gleam in Blaine’s eyes. “You say I’m the one who’s scared, but you should see yourself—you look positively terrified that a night in the sack with me will make that prim and proper façade of yours come tumbling down.”

  Well, ouch. That hit a tad too close to home. I took a step back and shook my head, disengaging as I should have done from the start. “I truly hope you learn to drop the bad boy act one day so you can get rid of your demons. Goodbye, Blaine.”

  * * *

  I spent the train ride home doing my best to forget I’d ever met Blaine Steel, but it was hard to ignore how completely he’d gotten under my skin.

  I knew it wasn’t just because he’d made my panties damp. No, it was also because he reminded me so strongly of all the things I’d run away from, and all the things I still woke up from nightmares of. He was dangerous; there was no doubt in my mind about that after having looked into his eyes. He was the type of man who could and would crush a person if it suited him, and yet… I hadn’t done everything I could to fly under the radar. I’d argued with him and shoved his flaws in his face, like some moron with a death wish.

  Perhaps it meant that I was finally starting to heal? Maybe, if I could face a man like Blaine and not immediately turn around and run in the other direction, then my childhood had finally lost its petrifying grip on me.

  I felt marginally better when I got off the train, but I was still too emotionally squashed to consider cooking.

  I stopped by my local chippy on my way home, giving my current diet a remorseful thought as the bell jingled merrily upon my entry.

  “Chicken Kung Pao, Mira?” Mr. Chang sent me a friendly smile when the smell of fried food and soy sauce enveloped me.

  Okay, so maybe there was a reason I never really completed a diet, leaving me in an eternal cycle of restrictive eating, binging, and then guilt. When your local chippy knew both your name and your regular order, there weren’t all that many excuses left.

  “Yeah, thanks, Chang,” I said, sending him a pale smile. “With extra sauce, please.”

  Oh well, the guilt would have to wait until tomorrow. Right now, all I wanted out of life was my Kung Pao, my sofa, and a date with Doctor Who.

  I was already considering maybe slapping on an episode of Coronation Street after the good doctor when I let myself into my apartment ten minutes later, balancing my bag and the food while pulling the keys out of the lock as the door slammed shut behind me. But my musings were cut short when I reached for the light switch and nothing happened.

  Dammit. Was the fuse blown? I fumbled my way through the hallway in the darkness toward my kitchen, praying it could be fixed by flipping random switches in the fuse box. Getting an electrician out after hours in London was about as likely as seeing a rainbow-colored unicorn strutting down the street wearing a tutu.

&nb
sp; It wasn’t until I got to the kitchen that I realized I wasn’t alone in the flat.

  Something scraped against the floor in my living room, but even before I’d managed to convince myself it must have been something outside making a weird noise, I heard the unmistakable sound of boots against the wooden floors, making their way toward the hallway. Cutting off my only escape route.

  My pulse surged as I spun around, mindlessly groping for a weapon from my kitchen counter. I grabbed a wooden handle and ripped my weapon to me, dropping the Kung Pao on the floor.

  “I know you’re there!” I hissed, my voice sounding somewhat more steady than I felt.

  The steps stopped right in the doorway to the kitchen, and then a cone of light momentarily blinded me as someone switched on a flashlight.

  I squinted against it, not wanting to lose track of my would-be assailant—and realized my weapon of choice was a wooden spoon.

  “Hello, Aignéis,” a cold, dreadfully familiar voice said from beyond the glare. “Or Mira, I suppose you go by these days.”

  A small whimper made its way through my throat, but I don’t know how, because every single muscle in my body spasmed and then froze as the man shone the flashlight onto his own face, casting it in an eerie glow.

  They had found me.

  * * * *

  Chapter 3

  Blaine

  “You what?” I stared at my father, a bottle of beer frozen halfway on its way to my mouth.

  He shot me a cold look—the one that I’d learned to take as a warning early on in my life. “I’ve arranged a marriage for you. It’s a business deal with the Clery family from Belfast. They’ve been pushing for our help up north, and we unfortunately owe them. This is the best way to pay our debt without actually giving them anything of real value.”

  Apart from one of his sons, of course. Not that William Steel had ever seen any of us as much more than business assets.

  I slammed the bottle of beer down on the kitchen counter, unable to keep my infamous temper fully in check. “Why the fuck me? Do I really strike you as the best husband material around?”

  My father raised an eyebrow at me. “You’re my oldest available son, so the task falls to you. Besides, married life might do you some good. There’s no reason to kick up a fuss about this, Blaine. You’re going to go to the church, you’re going to marry the girl and sit through the reception so the Clerys can show off their new connection, and then you can do whatever the hell you want, as long as you make sure your wife doesn’t get herself killed by any of our enemies along the way. Though it would suit you to breed a couple of heirs while you’re at it—it’s way past time one of you began expanding the bloodline.”

  I bit back a snide remark about me being the oldest available son. If he hadn’t sent Jeremy to the U.S. to strengthen his business ties across the pond, and Isaac wasn’t in jail, then I would have been third down on the list of sons to get married off to improve the business. Not to mention I had absolutely zero intention of “expanding the bloodline.” Ever. But I knew better than to challenge him. He would send every ounce of his considerable power to back me against any of the other crime families in town. Hell, he would even back me against the police if need be, but cross him… Cross him, and it no longer mattered that we were blood.

  I’d learned that much from what happened to Isaac.

  I took a swig from the beer bottle, suddenly itching for something stronger. “When?”

  “Next Saturday.” My father got up from the barstool he’d been perched on without ever taking off his coat. Then again, it had taken him less than ten minutes from stepping through my doorway to completely and irrevocably fuck up my life, so why bother getting comfortable, right?

  I gritted my teeth to stifle the black rage churning in my gut while he made his way out of my kitchen and to the front door. When his gloved hand touched the knob, he paused for a moment and looked at me over his shoulder, steel in his eyes and his jaw set in a way I recognized all too well from my youth. My hands clenched as if to brace for a beating, even though it’d been years since I’d grown too big for that particular brand of incentive.

  “And Blaine… if you fuck this up, you’re going to be sorry.”

  I stared mutely for several long minutes after he’d left, too stunned to move.

  I guess it wasn’t a huge surprise that it was now my turn to get dragged to the sacrificial altar for “The Family,” but never in a million years would I have imagined it would be as a fucking groom.

  The thought of being tied down and responsible for a bird had always filled me with cold dread, and the fact that my upcoming marriage was a sham didn’t make me feel any less shackled.

  Finally, blessedly, anger drowned out the mixture of emotions coursing through me, its hot embrace allowing me to break free of the trance-like state my dear father had left me in.

  Whoever the little cunt was, I wasn’t about to change my ways. If she had hopes of taming herself one of Steel’s sons, she was in for a nasty surprise.

  I liked to drink, I liked to fight, and I liked to fuck every female that crossed my path, and if she wanted to be part of the Steel family, she was going to have to get used to that.

  And maybe if I was lucky, she’d get fed up and get this fucking disaster of a marriage annulled.

  I grabbed my leather coat and pulled out my phone, calling the twins as I slammed the front door shut behind me and headed down the stairs.

  Time to get shitfaced and find a small-time gang dumb enough to challenge a Steel.

  * * *

  “You look like absolute shit.” For a man who’d kept me company during most of my weeklong bender, Liam’s voice was much too cheerful. I sent him an annoyed glare, which I immediately regretted as the sunlight caught my eyes and shot a bolt of pure agony directly into my brain.

  Even his unruly, ginger hair looked offensively chipper.

  “You really should have thought this through,” his identical twin, Louis, chimed in. “How are you going to satisfy your wee Irish lass tonight when you’re so hungover you look like you’re about to pass out?”

  “Poor girl’s in for such a disappointment—if she’s desperate enough to agree to marry you, she undoubtedly needs a good rogering. Heck, she might even be a virgin! You really should bring your A-game, brother.” Liam grinned.

  “You two fuckers better just shut up and thank your lucky star that it’s me here instead of one of you,” I growled, though the twins obviously didn’t share my lack of amusement. Of course, while they were standing by my side as the guests found their seats, I would be the one to swear sacred vows to a woman I’d never even met before, while they got to continue on with their lives as they pleased.

  “To be fair, it would have been Marcus before either of us,” Louis said, slanting a look at our only other, present brother. “For once, being the youngest of the bunch paid off.”

  “Ha, can you imagine them trying to marry some poor girl off to Marcus, though?” Liam snickered. “Eh, no offense, man.” The last part he mumbled, the perpetual laugh in his voice dying to a cough.

  I glanced at Marcus just in time to catch the dark look he sent our way before once again looking straight ahead as if lost in deep thought.

  Most sane criminals in town—and quite a few law enforcers—would make sure not to get in the way of a Steel, but Marcus had a way of making people cross the street just by looking at them. Of course, his reputation as a complete sociopath didn’t help matters much.

  Even I didn’t really know what went on behind his blank expression, but I’d been to clean up a few of his messes along the way, and knew that he had some demons, for sure. He didn’t just kill—he butchered.

  “God, the Clerys are such a bunch of pricks,” Louis muttered, and my attention was drawn to the front row, where a bunch of strangers filed in across the hall from our own father and stepmother. “Look at those smug smiles—they really think they hit the jackpot, eh?”

  I didn�
�t answer, but despite my blinding headache, I couldn’t help but frown at the older man as he stared up at me like I was a prime cow up for auction. Undoubtedly the father, as he looked especially pleased with himself. Yeah, the Clerys obviously thought this marriage was their way up in the underworld, even if my own father saw it as nothing more than a means of placation.

  My musings were interrupted when organ music abruptly blared through the church, cutting through my suffering brain like a saw. I winced and looked up just in time to see the doors at the other end of the aisle crack open.

  “Here we go—time to get hitched, brother.”

  I didn’t know which of the twins spoke, but I didn’t turn my head to find out. My eyes were glued to the double doors and my heart suddenly decided to work overtime, pounding behind my ribs as if I’d just run a fucking marathon.

  The doors opened fully, and a lone woman in a hideous white dress and a long veil covering her face stepped through.

  I had a vague notion that it was odd her father wasn’t walking her down the aisle, but my pulse thundering in my ears drowned out the thought quickly enough. Even my palms were clammy.

  Fucking great. I already hated whoever she was for landing me in this fucked up situation—the fact that just seeing her walk toward me had the power to damn near bring on a panic attack didn’t make me any more of a fan. I liked being in control, of myself and my surroundings, and right now, I was neither.

  I didn’t give a shit if it was unfair—I blamed her.

  It wasn’t until she was right in front of me that I realized she was looking down at the floor behind her veil, and how badly her hands were shaking as she clutched her bouquet.

  A nudge to my side from Liam made me step forward to greet her, and it was then that she finally looked up and I saw her face.

  My heart gave a violent spasm before it dropped all the way to the bottom of my Italian leather shoes.

  I knew her.

  And her name wasn’t Aignéis Clery. It was Holler. Mira Holler. My fucking shrink.