His Possession (Mafia Masters #2)

Chapter 12

CHAPTER 12

RORY

T he violence inside the warehouse was a maelstrom of gunfire and shadows, the acrid stench of smoke curling in the air. Rory moved with precision, his every action calculated. Each step he took was a promise: no one would lay a hand on Maeve, not while he was breathing.

He slid behind a stack of metal drums, bullets ricocheting off their surfaces, their sharp pinging a constant reminder of the stakes. From his vantage point, he could see Maeve crouched low behind Alexander. His chest tightened at the sight. Alexander’s broad shoulders shielded her, his gun raised in a white-knuckled grip, his eyes scanning the area for threats.

The irony wasn’t lost on Rory. A week ago, Alexander O’Connell was just another pawn in a web of betrayal, an O’Connell loyalist who couldn’t be trusted. Now, he was a wild card—one who stood between Maeve and danger. The tension that flared between Rory and Alexander earlier hadn’t disappeared, but for now, they shared a common goal: Maeve’s survival.

Rory exhaled, his focus narrowing to the Kelleher men clustered near the far wall. Their leader, Tadhg, barked orders, his voice sharp and guttural. The O’Neill Syndicate’s superior firepower pinned down his men, but desperation made them reckless. One wrong move could turn this fragile stalemate into a massacre.

He turned to Malachy, who had taken a position beside him. “Push left,” Rory ordered, his voice low but commanding. “Flush them toward the docks. We’ll pin them in.”

Malachy nodded, already signaling the others. Rory’s plan had taken shape the moment the first bullet flew—every move calculated, every risk weighed. But risk didn’t faze him. He thrived in the pressure-cooker environment, the sounds of crisis sharpening his mind like steel. Maeve was the single unpredictable element in his carefully constructed plan.

He glimpsed her as she peered around Alexander, her eyes darting between him and the enemy. Even in the dim light, she was radiant, fierce and defiant. Her presence here made his blood roar with a mix of primal protectiveness and raw desire. She didn’t belong in this world of blood and betrayal, but she was here, and she was his. He would end anyone who tried to take her.

“Rory,” Malachy hissed, drawing his attention back to the firefight. One of the Kelleher men was moving along the catwalk, his rifle trained on Maeve and Alexander.

The beast inside Rory surged, his panther clawing at the surface. He moved without hesitation, slipping into the shadows and scaling the metal supports with fluid grace. The adrenaline coursing through his veins sharpened his senses, every sound and movement heightened. The man didn’t see him coming until it was too late.

Rory’s knife flashed in the dim light, the blade slicing through the man’s throat with lethal precision. Blood sprayed across the rusted metal, and the man crumpled silently. Rory wiped the blade on the man’s shirt, his movements efficient, and slipped back down to the floor below.

When he reached Maeve and Alexander, his chest burned with the effort to contain his fury. “You’re in the open,” he growled, grabbing Maeve’s arm and pulling her behind a stack of pallets. His hand lingered on her wrist, the warmth of her skin grounding him for a fleeting moment.

“I’m fine,” she said, her voice steady despite the tremor in her hands. “Alexander’s got me.”

Rory’s jaw clenched. “That’s not good enough.” His gaze flicked to Alexander, whose expression was a careful mask. “Keep her out of the line of fire, or so help me?—”

“I’m not here to fight you,” Alexander interrupted, his voice hard. “We both want the same thing.”

Rory didn’t trust easily, but something in Alexander’s tone gave him pause. It wasn’t surrender—it was resolve. Rory nodded once—a silent truce forged in the heat of battle.

The roar of an explosion ripped through the air, the force of it rattling the building. Flames licked at the far end of the warehouse, and Rory knew Tadhg and his crew’s time was running out—his men were faltering, their movements disjointed as panic set in. This was their chance.

“Push now!” Rory barked a sharp command. His men surged forward, their firepower overwhelming the Kelleher resistance. He moved with them, his focus unwavering as he cut down anyone who dared stand in their way.

By the time the last of Tadhg’s men surrendered or lay motionless on the floor, the warehouse was a battlefield strewn with bodies and spent shells. Rory’s breathing was heavy, his muscles burning, but he didn’t stop. He scanned the room, his eyes finding Maeve immediately.

She stood with Alexander at the edge of the fight, her face pale but her posture strong. Alexander’s hand rested lightly on her shoulder, a gesture of protection that made Rory’s blood run hot. He pushed the jealousy aside, forcing himself to focus.

“Maeve,” he called, striding toward her. She turned, relief washing over her face as their eyes met.

“Are you hurt?” he asked, his tone gruff as he reached her.

She shook her head. “I’m okay. Alexander made sure of that.”

Rory’s gaze shifted to her brother, his dark eyes sharp. “This isn’t over. You know that.”

Alexander nodded, his jaw tightening. “I’m with you. Whatever it takes.”

Though trust didn’t come easily to Rory, he knew an ally when he saw one. Alexander’s defection was a blow to the Kellehers and the O’Connells, a crack in their foundation. But Rory knew better than to believe he had won the war.

“Then we finish this,” Rory said

The aftermath of the fight was a brutal tableau. Rory’s men moved with grim efficiency, securing the area and tending to the wounded. The fight decimated the Kellehers’ forces, weakening them, but Rory knew better than to underestimate them. Tadhg would retreat, regroup, and retaliate. The war was far from over.

As the adrenaline faded, Rory turned his focus back to Maeve. She stood amidst the wreckage, her arms wrapped around herself as she stared at the flames licking the edges of the building. She was strong, but even steel could bend under enough pressure.

He approached her, his voice low. “Maeve.”

She looked up, her eyes meeting his. For a moment, the surrounding pandemonium seemed to fade, leaving only the two of them in the stillness. Rory reached out, his hand brushing her cheek. Her skin was warm beneath his fingers, a stark contrast to the icy dread that lingered in his chest.

“You shouldn’t have been here,” he said, his tone softer now.

“I couldn’t let Sabella?—”

“I know,” Rory interrupted. “Malachy has her. As soon as he saw you were cut off and heading to Alexander, he intervened. They drugged her. She’s groggy, but fine, but seeing you in the middle of that...”

He didn’t finish. He didn’t have to. The intensity in his gaze spoke volumes, the unspoken promise that he would protect her no matter the cost.

Maeve stepped closer, her fingers curling around his wrist. “I’m not fragile, Rory. You don’t have to protect me from everything.”

“You’re not fragile,” he agreed. “But you’re mine.”

The words hung between them, their meaning clear. Maeve’s eyes softened, a flicker of something unspoken passing between them. She didn’t argue, and that was enough.

As the flames died and the wreckage settled, Rory knew the fight wasn’t over. The Kellehers would regroup, and the O’Connells were still a looming threat. But for now, Maeve was safe. And that was all that mattered.

They retreated to the abbey in Galway. Rory often smiled thinking that man like Con—gangster, smuggler, panther-shifter—owned and maintained two ancient abbeys. The one in Galway had been his original seat of power. After it had been almost destroyed, he had relocated a major portion of the clan to another abbey on a private island. The one in Galway still served as a safe house and fortress all in one. It was quiet except for the soft creak of the old wooden floors as Rory paced the large sitting room. His movements were restless, like a predator confined to a cage. Outside, the moon hung low over the forest, casting long shadows across the windows. The silence pressed against him, but it wasn’t the kind that brought peace. It was the kind that held too much unsaid.

Maeve was upstairs. Rory could feel her presence even without seeing her, the bond between them pulsing like a live wire under his skin. His panther prowled within, restless and hungry, demanding to be near her. She was his mate, his anchor in the storm, and yet the distance between them—even if it was only a floor—felt unbearable.

When the soft creak of footsteps reached his ears, Rory stilled, his gaze snapping to the staircase. Maeve appeared at the top, her dark curls cascading over her shoulders, her blue eyes shadowed but steady. She hesitated, gripping the banister as she looked down at him. For a moment, neither of them moved, the air between them heavy with the unsaid.

“Rory,” she breathed.

He didn’t answer. Instead, he closed the distance between them in long strides, meeting her at the base of the stairs. His hands went to her waist, pulling her down to the last step until they were standing eye to eye. Her skin was warm under his touch, her scent intoxicating—a mix of adrenaline, fear, and something uniquely hers.

“You shouldn’t have been there,” he said, his voice low and rough. “I shouldn’t have let you go.”

“You couldn’t have stopped me. I refuse to sit on the sidelines,” Maeve retorted, her chin lifting defiantly. “We’re in this together, Rory.”

Her words sent a flare of heat through him, a mixture of frustration and raw need. She was stubborn, reckless, and everything he couldn’t live without. His fingers tightened on her hips, pulling her closer as his gaze dropped to her lips.

“Do you have any idea what it does to me, seeing you in the middle of that?” he growled. “You’re my mate, Maeve. You’re mine to protect.”

“And what about me?” she demanded, her voice trembling but fierce. “Do you think I can just stand by and watch you risk everything? You don’t get to carry this alone, Rory.”

Her words were a challenge, and something in them broke the last of his restraint. He crushed his mouth to hers, the kiss a clash of anger, desire, and something deeper. Maeve responded instantly, her hands sliding up his chest and to the back of his neck to tangle in his hair. Their breath mingled, harsh and ragged, as the spark between them ignited into a consuming fire.

Rory backed her against the wall, his body pressing against hers as his lips claimed hers again and again. His hands roamed her curves, desperate to feel every inch of her. Maeve gasped against his mouth, her nails scraping against his scalp as she arched into him. The soft sounds she made only fueled the primal hunger roaring inside him.

“Upstairs,” he rasped, his voice thick with need.

Maeve nodded, her breath coming in shallow bursts as he scooped her into his arms. She clung to him, her lips brushing his jaw as he carried her up the stairs. The bedroom door swung open under his foot, and he set her down gently, his hands never leaving her as he pushed the door shut behind them.

The moonlight bathed the room, softly illuminating the sharp angles of Rory’s face as he watched her. For a moment, neither of them moved, the air between them electric. Then Rory stepped closer, his hands going to the hem of her shirt. He pulled her shirt over her head, his eyes darkening as he revealed her bare skin.

“You’re so beautiful,” he said, his voice rough with emotion.

Maeve reached for him, her hands trembling as she unbuttoned his shirt and slid it off his shoulders. Her fingers traced the scars on his chest, her touch light but reverent. Rory caught her hand, pressing it to his heart as his other hand cupped her cheek.

“You don’t know what you’ve done to me, Maeve,” he murmured. “You’ve torn down every wall I’ve ever built.”

Her eyes softened, and she leaned into his touch. “Good. Then maybe you’ll stop hiding from me,” she whispered, “and let me in.”

Something inside him shattered at her words, and he kissed her again, slower this time, but no less intensely. His hands slid down her body, stripping away the barriers between them until they stood bare before each other. Maeve’s gaze never wavered, her confidence and vulnerability both a challenge and a gift.

Rory guided her to the bed, laying her down with a tenderness that belied the fire burning in his veins. He joined her, his body covering hers as he kissed her deeply, his hands mapping her curves. Maeve’s breath hitched as he moved lower, his lips trailing down her neck, across her collarbone, and over the swell of her breasts.

She writhed beneath him, her body arching into his touch as he worshipped her with his hands and mouth. Rory’s control frayed with every soft moan that escaped her lips, every shiver of pleasure that rippled through her. He wanted to claim her, to mark her again as his in every way, but he also wanted to show her just how much she meant to him.

“Rory,” Maeve gasped, her voice breaking on his name.

“I’ve got you,” he said, his voice a low rumble that vibrated against her skin.

When he finally entered her, the connection between them was electric, a bond that went beyond the physical. They moved together in perfect rhythm, their bodies and souls aligning as the world outside faded into nothing. Rory lost himself in her, in the way she gasped his name, the way she clung to him like he was her anchor in the storm.

He fought back the need to give into the feral part of him that wanted to fuck her so hard she would be unable to leave their bed come morning, but she needed to know she meant more to him than that. He kissed her with reverence as he drew back and plunged back into her, allowing the nubs along his cock to rise before elongating into barbs as he dragged himself back.

Maeve’s nails dug into him as she arched her back and yowled. Over and over he possessed her in the primal way of their kind and she reveled in that possession. When her pussy clamped down and she called his name, he could restrain his need no longer and pounded into her until his release was a shattering rush of heat and light that left them both trembling and breathless.

Reluctantly, Rory rolled from her body, holding her close, his forehead resting against hers as they came down from the high. For a long moment, they stayed like that, their breath mingling as their hearts slowed.

“I love you,” he murmured, the words slipping out before he could stop them.

Maeve’s eyes widened, and for a moment, he feared he’d said too much. But then she smiled, her hand cupping his cheek as she whispered, “I love you too.”

The words filled him with a sense of peace he hadn’t known he needed. He kissed her again, slow and lingering, before settling her into his arms. They lay tangled together, their bodies still humming with the aftermath of their passion.

But the night wasn’t over. The war wasn’t over.

Rory pressed a kiss to Maeve’s temple, his voice steady as he said, “We need to talk about what’s next.”

Maeve nodded, her fingers tracing idle patterns on his chest. “Tadhg may be weakened, but he isn’t finished.”

“No,” Rory agreed. “And your father won’t stop, either. Not until he gets what he wants.”

“Then we stop him,” Maeve said simply, her voice fierce.

Rory tightened his arms around her, a grim determination settling over him. The road ahead was dangerous, but Rory didn’t care. As long as Maeve was by his side, he would face whatever came next. She was his mate, and he would fight to the ends of the earth to keep her safe.