It Hurts So Much
Deirdre was bewildered. His kiss came in so strongly, passionately, and hungrily that it felt like he had
swallowed the air around and between them. All she could smell was pheromones-his. They were all
over her, and yet… she did not necessarily hate it.
His fingers were usually cold, but they were set alight the moment they grazed her skin. Flames spread
across her body.
“M-Mm…” She let out a moan.
Brendan stiffened for a moment. Then suddenly, he amplified his strength, putting so much force into
his arms as if hoping to merge the woman into himself.
Suddenly, the young woman curled into a ball and hissed.
Alarmed, Brendan let go. His features were overcome with worry. “What happened?”
Deirdre’s face turned pale. She was still curling into herself.
Brendan looked and found stark bruises on her back. Anger pooled in his eyes, and as he reached out
to touch it, his fingers were nothing but featherlight. “Does it hurt?”
Deirdre let the worst pass for a moment and shook her head. “It’s better now.”
He bent and landed a kiss on her bruise, stunning her. She felt her skin burning again. “B-Brendan…”
“I’m sorry.” His black eyes were quiet, sad, and filled with guilt. “If only I knew it sooner… You wouldn’t
have to suffer.”
Deirdre fell silent. Then, she replied, “It’s okay. It’s not your fault. You can’t possibly know what the
police are up to at all times.”
She sounded so untroubled by her injuries. Brendan looked into her lifeless, glassy eyes and thought of
all of the things she had gone through back when she was incarcerated. The knowledge tasted bitter.
Brendan realized he could never clear the astronomical debt he owed her.
Enfeebled by his own thoughts, he drew the young woman into his arms. It was a little awkward, but
she did not resist him. Leaning against his arms, she even began to feel sleepy.
The sunlight sprayed all over her face. She was quiet, unperturbed. It was the kind of peace nobody
would want to disturb. As Brendan watched, the frigidity in his eyes-that always seemed perennial-
thawed.
“Sir!”
Shea pushed the door open… and found herself coming face to face with this. She froze, unsure if she
was coming at the right time.
Luckily, she did not wake up Deirdre. Brendan raised his head, and suddenly, the patina of ice in his
eyes had returned.
Shea lowered her head. “It’s Sam. He passed a message. The police have released the aggressors.”
“Tell him to round every last one of them. Let none escape!” ‘Yes, sir!” Shea nodded. “What do we do
with them?” “Send them to the organization.”
Shea was taken aback. She had believed Brendan’s intent, at most, was teaching the offenders a
lesson, but sending them to the organization? That meant a whole other level of gravity-and a clear
indication that Deirdre was the one line Brendan would not let anyone cross.
“Alright.”
Sam, as usual, got to work quickly. Half an hour later, Brendan received the news he had been waiting
for. He was careful not to rouse the young woman in his arms and slowly eased Deirdre away from him.
He then told Shea, “Watch her closely. Nothing happens to her, or else.”
He drove to the organization’s headquarters. There, on the floor, the offenders were cowering, their
entire bodies brutalized. It seemed that whatever Deirdre had suffered had been returned to them in
several folds.
Seeing Brendan immediately spurred them into begging, “Please, Mr.
Brighthall! We’re sorry! We won’t do it again! Please, please, please… Just let us live! It hurts too
much!” “Oh, does it now?” Brendan sneered. He walked closer and stared at the leader of the pack
from above, his visage cold. “Did any of you wonder if Deirdre might feel the same pain when you
gleefully beat her up?”
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