Claimed - a Portwright Book

Chapter Two: Sophie

I might have been young, but I certainly wasn't stupid. If these men worked for Paddy Martin, I knew who, and what, they were.

My heart was racing, my palms felt sweaty, my stomach was bubbling around insistently, reminding me that I'd missed dinner while I was tutoring. So even if I were to throw up, there'd be nothing but bile. But the stoic presence of the man in front of me made me feel like I could do face anything, even the head of the Martin Boys – I didn't know if it was PC to call them gangsters, but it's what Alice and I called them.

Whoever this second guy was – Dec, Decky, Decko, who knew – he made my brain fizzle out, total vacation, just like bye. I looked up at him, not caring that I probably looked like a complete spaz and I'd been running around all day so probably looked terrible and had thrown on probably whatever was closest to my school uniform because I was weird that way.

But, this guy? Whew. He was the kind of gorgeous I'd heard people talk about but I'd never seen for myself. The kind of gorgeous that Alice went on about from her trashy romance books. The kind of gorgeous people said actors and musicians were. The kind of gorgeous Andrew Michaels from school was supposed to be. But I'd never known what that level of gorgeousness was until now.

His obviously lean body was clad in black; black boots, black jeans, black button up shirt, black leather jacket. The top button was undone and ink swirled up his neck. My eyes fluttered about and caught hints of more ink spilling out from under his sleeves. His clothes fit him like he'd been born for them. His waist was narrow, but not like swimmer narrow, just nice narrow. I'd seen enough movies to expect that an achingly beautiful body hid under those clothes.

With dark auburn hair – and a little extra length on the top that gave me the first understanding of wanting to run my hands through anything remotely man-related– and piercing green eyes, he looked down at me. His face was chiselled, angular, freaking perfection. His expression was hard and unforgiving, but there was something shining in the depths of those beautiful eyes that drew me in. I inherently trusted this man, for quite possibly no other reason than that he saved me from losing my virginity to some thug against the wall of a seedy bar. Not that you could really say he wasn't a thug. But whatever it was, as bad an idea as it seemed on the surface, I looked at him and everything in me screamed safety.

Whatever was facing me, I believed he'd protect me. I gave him a small nod and turned to face whatever music was awaiting me in that room. With him at my back, I was sure I'd be fine. Besides I was Geraldine Buckley's daughter, I was supposed to be able to handle anything and anyone.

"What the hell is this, boys?" a hard voice asked and I came to an abrupt stop.

I felt my protector behind me – although, why I was so convinced he would protect me was beyond me – and his hand touched my side gently as though to comfort me. It may have been to stop him running into the back of me unexpectedly too, though. I mean, I don't know these things.

I rearranged my glasses again and focussed on the guy behind the desk.

"Decky-boy here's got a bit o' news for ye, Da," the Rory guy said, dropping onto the corner of the desk with a sly smile.

The hand at my side tensed. "Paddy–"

"I thought ye were sortin' trouble, boyo, not makin' it?" the guy said – obviously Paddy Martin. Holy hells! The Paddy Martin! "Who's the lass?"

Paddy Martin did not look like I'd expected him to. I'd probably seen pictures of him in the media, but honestly, I didn't pay much attention to the pictures. The idea of them was what kept Alice and me up at night. I'd been expecting the head of a crime family to look a little more Godfather and less... Well, less ordinary man in his mid-fifties who obviously kept himself in shape. He had brown hair with a hint of grey at the temples and brown eyes that seemed attuned to mischief. He was tall, although not as tall as either of the men I'd met outside, and lean. He all at once looked like someone you wouldn't want to meet in a dark alley and like a doting uncle. Frankly, the contradiction was terrifying.