Chapter 4

Once Sullivan leaves, I go upstairs. I am filled with bitterness after Darragh literally dragged me back by my hair. My long hair has been a symbol of beauty for most of my life. Men comment on how beautiful it is, how they like to tangle their fingers between the silky strands. Well, today helped to cement the fact long hair is overrated.

I stare at myself in the mirror through my tears. Wiping them away is useless, and they cause my mascara to smudge and run. Picking up the scissors, I hold them between my fingers as the tears cascade down my face. I bring the metal blades beside my head and nestle them within my long blonde hair, poised around a thick chunk.

Snip

Now tell me my hair is beautiful.

Snip

Now wrap it around your fist.

Snip

Now drag me back against my will.

My golden locks fall around my feet. Fuck them all. Maybe now I will be so hideous I can walk away. Beauty led me here in the first place, but I no longer see the Harper everyone else does. I'm not beautiful, I'm not happy, I'm not fun loving. I'm ugly, used up, and broken.

"Oh shit," comes a masculine voice. The hairs on my arms stand on end as his manic laughter fills the en suite.

I pivot and see Darragh leaning against the door frame, his arms across his chest and a huge fucking grin on his face.

"That's a good look," he says, amusement flashing in his eyes.

A strangled cry vibrates through my chest as I launch myself toward him, scissors in hand. He steps back, catching me around the wrist and spinning me so my back is flush with his front. The scissors that were in my hand are now pressed against my neck.

"Don't tempt me, whore. We all know how I feel about you, but I don't think killing you would end well for me. Get your ass dressed—we're going to see Cian. I'm sure your pathetic ass will cheer him up."

"What if I don't want to?" I snap.

His chest rattles against me as he laughs. "It's cute you think I was asking. You have ten minutes, or I will drag your ass downstairs—hair or no fucking hair."

"No!"

He smirks at me. "You could have done this the easy way."

Apparently, Darragh can drag me around without hair, and he pulls me into the walk-in closet. I don't know why he bothers, as all my shit is in a plastic bag beside the bed. Ronan moved me into this room, since I live here now and need privacy, and he bought clothes to fill the space.

It's laughable. What privacy do I have? My every move is monitored.

I balk at the closet, containing row upon row of women's clothes on hangers, an array of shoes... you name it and I'm sure it's in here.

Darragh chuckles at my reaction. "Your pussy must be good. Even I have to admit, I would have loved to see Celia's face when she was asked to purchase clothes for the whore they have moved in. She isn't your biggest fan."

I scoff. "It's obvious she just wants Cian's cock," I say with a roll of my eyes.

"Correction—she wants his cock again. I would get used to that situation if I were you."

I don't know why, but I laugh. Of course Cian has fucked lots of women, but the irony is I'm the one who is labeled a whore. All because I got paid for sex.

"What's so funny?" Darragh asks as I look through the racks of clothes. Everything is things I would have chosen—it's all me—and that sends a chill down my spine. I let my guard down enough that these men know me well enough to shop for my clothes.

Turning to look at him, objectively I have to admit Darragh is sinfully hot—it's a pity his entire personality ruins it for him. "I'm laughing at the fact you call me a whore and yet Cian is no different, he just doesn't get paid. So if I were to give it out for free, would that make it better?"

"No man wants a washed-up whore. They are fun for what they are—to fuck and forget."

I roll my eyes at his persistence with that angle of insults. "I get it, and lucky I'm not looking for long term. I never have been. So maybe go ask why I'm being held captive."

Pulling down a pair of jeans and a nice tight-fitting T-shirt, I then open a drawer and also pull out a sheer thong.

"Being held captive is a bit dramatic, don't you think? Fuck, they have paid for everything your grandma needs until she dies, they paid out your lease, Ronan bought The Range so your fucking friends have better protection, new clothes, a roof over your head, and I could keep going. Your ungrateful ass doesn't really want to leave, so stop acting like a brat. Cian is giving you your Pretty Woman moment, and you can't even get over yourself for two seconds to see it. I get what happened to you sucks—it will take time to process—but they are willing to give you that and more."

My mouth falls open. I have nothing to say.

He isn't leaving, and if I don't go with him willingly, I know he will use force. Besides, I would be lying if I said I don't want to see Cian. I wasn't leaving because I don't like them—well, besides Darragh—I just never wanted a forever or to have feelings involved. It seems as soon as I feel a sliver of happiness, the universe rips it all out from underneath me. It's the second time in my life—Ransom being the first—and my heart can't do it again.

I feel Darragh's eyes on me. He doesn't comment on my naked body like I thought he would, instead standing there quietly. The more I talk to this man, the more I realize we are not that different. We close ourselves off to everyone except the people we are closest to.

Once I'm dressed, Darragh moves out of the closet doorway. I grab a pair of heels and follow him out. Neither of us says a word as he leaves the room, and like an obedient dog, I trail behind him.

He stops at his room while I wait outside the door. As he exits, he places a cap on my head, with no mean comments and no calling me a whore. I send a silent thank you to him with my eyes because there is no way in hell I will ever verbally thank the man.

Sadie and Eloise run down the hall yelling my name and both cling onto my legs.

"Uncle Ronan said we're going to see Uncle Cian and you're coming with us," Eloise says with a hopeful smile.

"We are. But we have to remember Uncle Cian is hurt, so we need to be careful to not hurt him when we touch him."

"Darragh said it's your fault he is in the hospital. That you ran away, and so he chased you."

I glare over at the culprit himself, but he only shrugs his shoulders in response. "It's the truth. Why would I lie?"

I raise a brow at him. I'm sure he hasn't been honest about their mother—not that I blame him—but he knows exactly what I'm trying to convey with my icy look.

"Uncle Cian was a little silly and tried to do something he shouldn't have. But he is okay now and you get to see him. I bet he is going to be so excited."

Sadie turns to her father and scowls at him. "You should be nice to Harper. Maybe if you were nice, she wouldn't run away."

Ugh, my damn heart. How the hell are these girls so damn cute, especially with the DNA they inherited?

"Well, she's staying, even if I'm not," he says, moving himself further down the hall. He expects us to follow him, and luckily for him, we do.

The girls take my hands and chat my ear off as we walk. As we come down the stairs, I look around, hoping to see Sullivan or Ronan, but neither is anywhere to be seen.

Darragh dangles his keys. "Let's go."

I open my mouth to argue that he has nothing packed for the girls. Don't kids need things when you leave the house? I know they are not babies, but they are still only small. Shouldn't we at least pack them water bottles and snacks? The asshole has money, so I'll make sure he buys them something to eat when we get there.

Stepping into the garage, Darragh presses the key fob and lights flash on a car I have never seen before, and I laugh. "That's a mom car. This is the best day ever."

He glares at me as the girls climb into the dark-green mom van and I'm so here for it.

"It's the safest car for parents with kids," he replies indignantly as he steps up to buckle Sadie into her booster seat. Though she loudly protests that she is too grown up to need one.

"Who told you that, Darragh? Because I'm pretty sure at least one of the many other cars already in here is plenty safe enough."

He steps back and closes the door on Sadie's side. "Because," he hisses, "the Jeeps are well known as our vehicles and the SUVs we use for runs. You might hate me, but I take being a dad and the girls' safety seriously."

I'm taken aback by the fact he thinks I hate him. Hate is a strong word, and much too intense for what I feel for Darragh.

"You think a lot of yourself. I don't hate you—I don't know you well enough to form that kind of opinion. Hate is a really strong word. I hate the men who took advantage of Dolly her entire life. I hate her mom for not keeping her safe. I hate lots of things, but you're not one of them."

His eyes connect with mine and for the first time, he isn't looking at me like gutter trash. He looks at me like I'm a person, just like him.

"We have to make a stop before the hospital," he says, and the look is gone.

The girls have forced Darragh to play Taylor Swift. He tried to overrule Sadie, but she put up such a good argument, he couldn't fight back. So for the last twenty minutes, the girls and I have been singing at the top of our lungs and laughing. Darragh hasn't sung, but like Sadie suggested, it is probably because he doesn't know the lyrics. He does, however, tap away on the steering wheel.

Darragh pulls the car into suburbia; this place is nice, upper middle class. As much as I want to question him, I don't. I would chew him a new asshole if he were here on business with his girls in the car, but my gut is telling me he wouldn't involve them in the life. Not after taking so much care when picking a car to drive them in and transforming the mansion to make them feel more comfortable.

He finally pulls into a driveway and shuts off the car. The girls unclip their buckles just as a woman steps out of the front door and smiles—who would have thought the sight of this asshole could even make a woman smile? He must notice the look of surprise on my face.

"This is my cousin's house. She's the only family I talk to."

I nod. Is it possible Darragh has pulled the stick out of his ass? The girls scramble to get out of the van, clearly having met this woman before if their shrieks are anything to go by.

The girls give the woman a hug and run inside. Darragh also wraps her in a hug, and she punches him in the stomach.

"So who do we have here?" she asks, looking me over.

"This is the whore who belongs to the others. She had a breakdown and hacked at her hair, and I figured I better make her look decent before being seen in public with her."

"Good to know you're still an asshole. Jude is inside with the kids—go play nice."

Darragh steps around her and walks inside, leaving me standing out here awkwardly.

"Come on, let's go fix your hair. I'm Iris, by the way. Please don't judge me based on that asshole. We are nothing alike."

I chuckle. "I'm Harper, and I really am a whore. Or was, since Ronan now owns where I worked."

That makes her laugh. "That sounds like Ronan—throwing his money around to get his own way."

Iris leads me into her home, and while it's new and everything looks pristine, it has a homely feel with framed photographs on the walls as we walk down a hall. She opens a door, and we step into a home salon.

"I stopped working when I met Jude. He is in real estate and getting pregnant after knowing him for a month was a shock. Ten years, and three children later, I started up a home salon for all the school moms."

Removing the cap, I put it down onto the counter.

Iris pulls out the chair in front of a large mirror, and as I look at myself—for the first time in my life—I hate what I see.

Iris stands behind me. "I was thinking we go with a pixie cut. You have the perfect bone structure to pull it off. Maybe we go a little darker underneath and keep the blonde on top."

"Whatever you think is best, I didn't exactly think this through, I just..."

Tears well in my eyes because in the moment I hadn't thought past removing the source of the problem.

"I get it. I once shaved my head. I had a shit home life just like Darragh, and I shaved mine for the same reason he grew his out. Let's do this."

Iris gets to work on cutting my hair and fixing the mess I created, and after almost two hours, she declares me done and spins me back around to face the mirror. Leaning forward as if it will help me get a better look, I tilt my head at different angles.

"Do you like it?"

A smile which feels so good extends across my face. "I love it. Wow, I never imagined I could pull off short hair. It's sexy but badass."

I really love it.

Darragh steps through the door.

"Are you done?" he snaps, but his mouth falls open as his eyes lock with mine. It's only a few seconds until he looks away. "Cian is driving me crazy. If we leave him unattended any longer, he will get kicked out."

"How much do I owe you?" I ask her.

"Don't be silly, it's on the house," she says with a wink.

"Thank you, but I was going to make him pay anyway, since this is partly his fault."

Iris laughs, and Darragh narrows his eyes at me.

"How is this my fault?" he asks as we follow Iris out of her home salon.

"Because when you pulled me by my hair, it was the last straw," I whisper. "I won't let another man weaponize my hair against me."

"It suits you," he says, as he walks away from me to round up the girls.

"We don't want to go," they whine.

"You know they're safe here. Go see Cian—you can swing by and get them later. It will be good for them to spend time with family."

Darragh looks torn, but he nods. "Fine, but I will be back in a few hours. Do not let them out of your sight."

The girls squeal, racing over to hug his legs. Darragh looks down at them and puts a hand on both their backs.

"Thanks, you're the best," Sadie says with a smile, and Darragh freezes. But whatever it was, he recovers quickly.

"Make sure you are good. Listen to Aunt Iris and use your manners."

I doubt the girls hear the last part because they have already run off. I wave goodbye to Iris, and Darragh and I leave. Neither of us speaks—Darragh turns on the stereo while I look out the window and try to imagine what it could have been like growing up around here, among the middle class. My life could have turned out so very different.