Binding 13 (Boys of Tommen, #1)

by Chloe Walsh

I would rather be alone.

“No, you got my head,” she croaked out. She glanced down at her body and sighed. “Actually, I think you ruined all of me.” Thank fuck for that, because you’re ruining all of me right now, I thought to myself.

She was just so fucking pretty.

I hated that word. Pretty was a pussy word used by women and the elderly, but that’s what she was.

“Keep that talk up and I’m going to start thinking you’re going soft for the girl.”

“Now listen to me, you little fucker,” I hissed, hand wrapped around his throat as I dragged him back into the room, closing the door from witnesses with my free hand. “And listen good, because I’m only going to tell you this one more time.”

“I’m your daddy on the field, bitch.” I smiled darkly and squeezed, cutting off his air supply. “You don’t see it because you’re a jumped-up, narcissistic little spanner.” I squeezed tighter. “But they do.” I waved a hand behind us, gesturing to the team, who were all standing down, not one of them intervening. “Every single one of them. They all get it. They all know I own you,” I added calmly. “Keep pushing me, kid, and it won’t matter who you’re related to; you’ll be off this team. But go anywhere near that girl, and God himself won’t be able to save you.” Deciding I had terrified the young fella enough to get my point across, I released his throat and took a step back.

“She’s serious,” Lizzie informed me. “She’s afraid of the

“Fuck no,” Gibsie exclaimed. “Last time I tried to clean his ass, he maimed me.” I laughed out loud. “It’s not fucking funny, Shannon,” Gibsie grumbled, surprising me by remembering my name. “I had to get a tetanus shot because of him.”

“He looks like the cat from Inspector Gadget.”

“Some nights I wake up and he’s on my bed, standing over me with those evil little eyes.” He shook his head. “They should have never neutered him. He’s been in a homicidal mood ever since. Would have been an easier life to let the poor bastard keep his balls.”

“Good pussy… That’s right… I love pussies… I do… I won’t hurt you—ahhhhh!”

“Jesus Christ,” Gibsie breathed. “Your girl here is like the pussy whisperer.” “Shannon,” Claire squeaked. “Please be careful. He’s vicious. He can turn on you in an instant.” “Yeah, Shannon,” Gibsie agreed. “Be fucking careful. He only lets my mother and Kav hold him. He’s seriously

was nice to think about. She was fucking beautiful. Her voice. Her hair. Her smell. The way she spoke. Every single part of her. I was deep in thought, contemplating how different it would have been had it been Shannon who put her mouth on me, when the sound of the taxi honking distracted me.

My gaze flicked from Hughie to Gibsie, who was currently facedown on the table, snoring his head off, to Patrick Feely, who was being molested by one of Bella’s friends, to Bella, who was dry-humping Cormac Ryan, and then back to Hughie. “Why me?” I groaned. “Because we’re your babies,” Hughie announced, leaning his weight on me. “My babies?” I slurred. “How the fuck are you three anyone’s babies?” “You’re our captain,” Hughie slurred. “We’re kind of your responsibility.” “On the pitch, ya gobshite.” “Come on, Cap, you’re the one with the empty house. You know Feely’s mother will lose her shit if he goes home in this condition, and

“You’re a bunch of bleeding eejits is what ye are,”

“Keep looking out for her, Cap,” he said, squeezing my shoulder. “God knows someone needs to.” And then he was

watched your match,” I blurted out instead. “Congratulations.” Oh yeah, Shannon, because that’s much better. You should have stuck with good, idiot!

“Boys with pretty eyes and big muscles mess everything up for girls.”

Because I could hardly concentrate during the game, knowing she was watching me. Because when she turned around to leave, my legs moved of their own accord, desperate to intercept her. I can give you a spin home when you want to go? What the actual fuck? I might as well have shouted, Love me, fucking love me at the girl. I felt like a bleeding eejit.

With a shit-eating grin etched on his face, Gibsie tapped his “mic” and said, “How’s it going tonight?” He glanced down at the medal resting on his chest and grinned. “We could get used to this, couldn’t we, lads!”

“By the way, I saw you with him on the pitch Friday, you little flirt.” “I was not flirting with him,” I practically spluttered. “He came up to me.” “Better again.” She giggled. “He was the one doing the flirting.” “Nobody was flirting,” I choked out. “We were just—” “You were just what?” Claire teased. “Talking,” I filled in with a helpless shrug. “About what?” “I don’t know,” I mumbled. “Just stuff, I guess?” “And taking pictures together,” she added with a cackle. “I saw that, too.”

I was too fucking busy watching a girl who clearly wanted nothing to do with me.

And I fucking hated it. I wanted her, I realized, and it was entirely inappropriate and horrendous bad luck on my account, but I did. I wanted Shannon Lynch. And worse than wanting her, I really fucking liked her.

I knew the way things worked: spend too much time with a girl and feelings arose, and where feelings arose, fucking arose.

“You’re only mentally undressing her in your head.”

am not,” I growled, glaring at him from across the table. I was. I so fucking was. Christ, was I that obvious? “Yes,

gesturing with his thumb to our right. “That

“She’s a frigit, you know,” Gibsie stated nonchalantly. “Or at least she was.” He gave me a pointed look. “You haven’t been sticking your tongue down her

throat, have you?”

“Like two minutes ago. I told you to stop staring at her like a creeper, and yet here you are, still fucking her with your eyes, and still looking like someone shit in your cornflakes.”

“Who’s the bitch with a vagina now?” “Apologize,” he ordered. “Get the fuck out of here, ya eejit,” I said, laughing.

“Oh really?” Claire leaned back in her chair and smirked. “And does Hotel Gibson come with good reviews?” “It comes with cock, Claire-Bear,” Gibsie announced—and not quietly. “An unlimited supply of five-star cock.”

“Say it louder,” she hissed, slapping his shoulder. “I don’t think everyone heard you.” “It comes with cock, Claire!” he taunted, accepting her challenge without an ounce of shame. “My cock.” “Fuck your cock,” Claire growled, looking mortified. “Of

“I’m good,” I breathed. “How are you?” He smirked. “I’m good.” Dammit, there was that word again…

My mouth fell open. “Huh?” “She-wolf can come, too,” he said to Claire. “If you promise to put a muzzle on her.”

Say yes, Shannon. Go with them. You want to. You really, really want to. But he’ll kill you. You’re a dead girl walking if he finds out.

“You’re a suicidal little fucker, aren’t you?” the boy was saying in an oddly light tone as he sauntered down the hallway with his huge hand cupping the back of Ronan’s neck, forcing him to double over and waddle to keep up with the boy’s long strides. He was dressed in the same attire: a black-and-white-striped jersey, white shorts, and boots that made clickety sounds against the floor as he walked, sods of muck and grass falling away from the studs. The only contrast was a number 9 on the back of Ronan’s jersey and a number 7 on the big guy. Immediate recognition hit

Lovd gib!!!!!!

Number 7. Gerard “Gibsie” Gibson. Claire’s crush. The cat walker. The strange one. Thank god!

“You know he’s going to kill you, don’t you?”

“That didn’t sound friendly, kid,” Gibsie taunted. “That sounded desperate—and a little rapisty.”

his fists against the glass. “Suck my balls—” “What’s going on?” a familiar male voice boomed through the air. Recognition immediately dawned on me. I knew that accent.

Lord, he was quite literally bursting out of the fabric.

He was almost too big. Too muscular. Too scary. Too beautiful. Too much.

“I’m going to give you a five-second head start, prickface,” he roared through the glass panel. “And then I’m going to cut your cock off and feed it to you.”

“Fuck you, Kavanagh,” Ronan shouted back, but his face was much paler than earlier. “You can’t touch me.”

“What are you waiting for?” Gibsie called out, waving his hands in the air encouragingly. “Get going, Forrest.”

I pressed my ear to the door and listened for a long moment. When no sounds of violence and shouting came from the other side, I opened the door and stepped out. Like a horrific case of déjà vu, I walked out of the bathroom and straight into a hard chest of muscle.

“Don’t lose your shit,” Gibsie said in a low tone. “I’ve got it under control.”

“You’re fucking kidding me!”