Chapter 13
CHAPTER 13
MAEVE
T he first rays of dawn spilled through the wide windows of the small sitting room on the main floor of the abbey, casting a pale golden hue over the rugged vista in the distance. Maeve stood by the glass, her fingers brushing the chilled pane as she watched the sunlight stretch across the horizon. The contrast was striking—the serenity of the morning sky, unmarred and endless, against the swirling turmoil of her thoughts.
She’d barely slept, her mind spinning with the events of the past day. The memory of Rory’s touch, his words, lingered in her like a warm ember amid the cold reality of their circumstances. For a fleeting moment, she allowed herself to lose focus, to get lost in the sunrise's beauty. But the world outside wouldn’t allow her to bask in that peace for long.
Behind her, the faint sound of movement pulled her from her thoughts. Alexander’s familiar, hesitant footsteps echoed through the abbey, his gait as unsteady as they were noticeable. She turned, watching as her brother approached, his face lined with worry and exhaustion. The bags under his eyes a testament to what his time in Galway had cost him.
“Couldn’t sleep either?” she asked, her voice soft.
Alexander shook his head, leaning against the doorframe. “Not with everything that’s happening.” He paused, his gaze flicking to the sunrise behind her before settling back on her face. “Maeve, we need to talk.”
The tightness in his voice sent a ripple of unease through her. “What is it?” she asked.
Alexander hesitated, his jaw tightening before he spoke. “Our father isn’t just after you because of pride or revenge. He’s unraveling, Maeve. Worse than I’ve ever seen him.”
Maeve’s stomach knotted. Her father had always been a looming shadow in her life—cruel, calculating, and dangerous. But this was something new, something more insidious. “What do you mean?”
Alexander crossed the room, running a hand through his dark hair. “He’s not thinking rationally anymore. Paranoia, fits of rage, delusions. He’s convinced you’re the key to everything—his reputation, his legacy, his empire. And when someone like our father spirals, everyone around him becomes collateral damage.”
Maeve’s fingers tightened on the windowsill, her nails pressing into the wood. “That’s why you came with me,” she said, the realization dawning on her. “Not just because of Rory or the Kellehers. You wanted to protect me from him.”
“Of course I did,” Alexander said, his voice sharp. “I’ve seen what he’s capable of, Maeve. I couldn’t let him drag you back into that madness. Tadhg convinced me if I sided with them, I could protect you from both the O’Connells and the O’Neills.”
A lump formed in her throat, but she pushed it down, forcing herself to focus. “And now? What do we do?”
Alexander’s expression hardened, his jaw clenched as he considered her question. “That’s something Rory and Cormac are better equipped to answer. But Maeve, you need to understand—if we’re going to stop our father, we can’t hesitate. He won’t.”
The certainty in his voice sent a shiver down her spine. She knew Alexander was right. Their father wouldn’t rest until he had her under his control, no matter the cost. The thought of him spiraling further, becoming more dangerous with every passing day, was enough to make her chest tighten.
“Maeve?” Rory’s voice cut through the air, low and steady, helping her find her footing.
She turned to see him standing in the doorway, his broad frame casting a shadow over the room. He didn’t look like a man who had spent the night embroiled in violence and then in the throes of passion—he looked unshakable, his presence commanding. But she knew him well enough now to see the strain in his shoulders, the way his gaze lingered on her before shifting to Alexander.
“Cormac’s ready,” Rory said, his tone clipped. “You both need to see this.”
Maeve nodded, casting one last glance at the sunrise before following Rory and Alexander to the abbey’s main gathering room. Cormac was waiting, his laptop open on the table, the screen displaying a series of documents and images. He looked up as they entered, his sharp eyes glinting with grim satisfaction.
“Good timing,” he said. “I’ve got enough here to burn Michael O’Connell’s world to the ground.”
Maeve took a seat beside Rory, her pulse quickening as she scanned the files on the screen. Photographs, financial records, audio transcripts—each piece more damning than the last. Cormac clicked through them methodically, his voice steady as he explained.
“O’Connell has been laundering money through multiple fronts—shell companies, offshore accounts, art sales. But that’s just the tip of the iceberg. There are records tying him to weapons deals, human trafficking, and assassinations. This isn’t just a syndicate boss with dirty hands. He’s a liability to anyone who does business with him.”
Maeve’s stomach churned as the scope of her father’s crimes came into focus. She’d known he was dangerous, but this was something else entirely. “How did you get all this?” she asked.
Cormac’s lips twitched into a brief, humorless smile. “A little digging, a few favors. Let’s just say your father’s paranoia isn’t entirely unwarranted.”
Rory leaned forward, his gaze fixed on the screen. “How solid is it?”
“Rock solid,” Cormac said. “We’ve got enough to expose him to his enemies, his allies, and every law enforcement agency from here to the Continent to the States and back again. He won’t be able to recover from this.”
Maeve glanced at Rory, her chest tightening at the look in his eyes. It wasn’t just determination—it was something colder, sharper. This was the Rory who had helped the O’Neill build his empire and kept it running, who had fought tooth and nail to protect what was his. And now, she realized, that included her.
“What’s the plan?” she asked, her voice steadier than she felt.
Rory’s gaze shifted to her, his expression softening slightly. “We use this to cut him off at the knees. Take away his leverage, his allies, his power. He’ll have nothing left.”
“And then?” Maeve pressed, her heart pounding.
“Then we make sure he can’t come after you or Alexander again,” Rory said, his voice low and final. “No matter what it takes.”
The enormity of his words settled over her, heavy and inescapable. She knew what Rory was capable of, what he was willing to do to protect her. And while part of her wanted to push back, to demand a less violent solution, another part—the part that had survived her father’s control—understood.
“This isn’t just about me,” she said, meeting Rory’s gaze. “If we take him down, it has to be for everyone he’s hurt. Everyone he’s used.”
Rory’s eyes darkened, a flicker of pride and something deeper flashing across his face. “It will be,” he said. “But I’m not letting anyone use you as collateral damage, Maeve. Not your father, not the Kellehers, not anyone.”
The intensity in his voice sent a shiver down her spine, but she didn’t look away. “Then let’s finish this,” Alexander said, his voice quiet but firm.
Rory reached out to her, his hand covering hers on the table as he looked at her brother. “We will,” he promised.
Maeve nodded, her resolve hardening as she looked back at the screen. The sunrise might have marked a new day, but she knew the darkness wasn’t gone. Not yet. But with Rory by her side, and Alexander’s loyalty now certain, she finally felt like she had a chance to fight back.
And this time, she wouldn’t stop until the shadows that had haunted her for so long were finally gone.
The late afternoon sun slanted through the windows of the abbey, its golden light brushing the stark lines of the room with an almost cruel softness. Maeve sat on the edge of the couch, her elbows on her knees and her hands tangled in her hair. Her breath came in slow, shallow pulls as she fought to calm the storm raging inside her.
Michael O’Connell wasn’t just a monster—he was her father. That truth had never been simple, but now it felt suffocating. She had spent years trying to escape the shadow he cast, only to find herself back in its grasp, this time as the linchpin in a dangerous game she never wanted to play.
Maeve’s panther instincts churned, a restless energy thrumming beneath her skin. It clawed at her to act, to fight, to run. But there was nowhere to run—not this time. She was tired of fleeing, tired of being hunted. The idea of confronting her father made her throat tighten, her breath coming faster, but it also lit a small, fierce fire in her chest. This wasn’t just about her anymore. This time, it would end for good.
The soft sound of footsteps drew her from her thoughts. She looked up to see Rory, his dark eyes searching her face, and even in the dimming light, the power he exuded was palpable. He didn’t speak right away, just crossed the room in a few long strides and knelt in front of her.
“You’re spiraling,” he said, his voice low, calm.
Maeve wanted to argue, to tell him she was fine, but the knot in her throat made it impossible. Instead, she nodded, her hands clenching into fists on her knees. Rory’s hands covered hers, his touch grounding her in an instant.
“We’ve got this,” he said, his voice steady. “It’s not you and Alexander alone. This time the two of you have the O’Neills behind you.”
The sincerity in his words pierced through the haze of fear, and Maeve exhaled shakily. “I don’t know if I can face him,” she admitted, her voice trembling. “He’s not just dangerous—he’s unrelenting. He’ll never stop.”
Rory’s jaw tightened, and a flicker of something primal darkened his gaze. “He’ll stop,” he said firmly. “Because I’ll stop him.”
There was no hesitation in his tone, no room for doubt. Rory didn’t make promises lightly, but when he did, they felt like unshakable truths. Maeve felt a pang of something she wasn’t ready to name, something that stirred deep in her chest and left her feeling raw and exposed.
“What if I can’t do this?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
“You can,” Rory said, his hands tightening over hers. “And you will. Because you’re stronger than him, Maeve. You’ve already proved it by surviving him. And if you can’t do it for you, do it for Alexander. We’re going to finish what he started.”
Maeve swallowed hard, dropping her gaze to their entwined hands. His touch was warm, his fingers calloused, a tangible reminder of everything he’d been through, everything he’d fought for. She could feel the steady beat of his pulse beneath her fingertips, and it anchored her in a way she hadn’t realized she needed.
When she finally looked up, her eyes met his, and for a moment, the world seemed to narrow to just the two of them. Rory’s intensity wasn’t just intimidating—it was magnetic, a force that drew her in even when it frightened her, and she wasn’t afraid anymore.
“Thank you,” she whispered, her voice steady now.
Rory’s lips curved into a faint smile, but his gaze didn’t waver. “Never thank me for protecting you. You are my mate and nothing will ever change that.”
The words settled over her like a balm, soothing the raw edges of her fear. For the first time in what felt like hours, she let herself breathe. She didn’t know how long they sat there, the silence between them heavy with unspoken words, but eventually, Rory rose to his feet and extended a hand.
“Come with me,” he said.
Maeve hesitated for only a second before placing her hand in his. Rory led her through the house, his grip firm but gentle, until they reached their bedroom. The space, like the rest of the abbey, had hundreds of years of stone, tapestry, and polished wood softened by muted tones, but it undeniably felt like his.
As the door clicked shut behind them, Maeve felt her pulse quicken. Rory turned to face her, his dark eyes sweeping over her with an intensity that made her breath catch. He stepped closer, his hand rising to brush a strand of hair from her face, and the tenderness in the gesture made her heart ache.
“You don’t have to be strong right now,” he said, his voice low. “Not here. Not with me.”
Maeve’s chest tightened at the vulnerability in his tone. It was so rare to see Rory like this—his walls lowered, his guard down. She reached up, her fingers brushing his jaw, and the roughness of his stubble sent a shiver down her spine.
“I don’t know how to let go,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.
“Let me show you,” Rory said.
Before she could respond, his lips captured hers in a kiss that was slow and deliberate, each movement unhurried yet filled with purpose. Maeve melted into him, her hands sliding up his chest as she let herself be consumed by the moment. Rory’s hands traced the curve of her waist, his touch firm but reverent, as if he was memorizing every inch of her.
The kiss deepened, and Maeve felt the tension in her body begin to unravel. Rory guided her backward until her knees hit the edge of the bed, and she sank onto the mattress, pulling him down with her. The heat between them was undeniable, a slow-burning fire.
Rory’s lips left a trail of kisses down her neck, his hands sliding under her shirt to brush against her skin. Maeve gasped at the sensation, her body arching into his touch. He took his time undressing her, his movements deliberate, as if savoring every moment. By the time she was naked beneath him, her skin felt like it was burning, her panther prowling and purring with anticipation.
Rory leaned back, his gaze raking over her with an intensity that made her feel both exposed and cherished. “You’re beautiful,” he murmured, his voice rough with emotion.
Maeve reached for him, her hands tugging at his shirt until he relented and pulled it over his head. The sight of him—broad shoulders, chiseled chest, the faint scars that told stories of battles fought and won—stole her breath. She traced her fingers over his skin, marveling at the contrast between his strength and the tenderness in his touch.
When Rory joined her on the bed, their bodies fit together as if they were made for each other. His hands explored her with a reverence that left her trembling, his lips finding every sensitive spot until she was a mess of gasps and moans beneath him.
He took his time, drawing out her pleasure until she was begging for more, her nails digging into his shoulders as she urged him closer. When he finally entered her, the connection was as much emotional as it was physical. Maeve clung to him, her body moving in sync with his as they found a rhythm that felt both primal and intimate.
Their lovemaking was unhurried, each touch, each kiss, a silent declaration of everything they couldn’t put into words. Maeve felt herself let go, her fears and doubts melting away in the face of Rory’s unwavering presence. He didn’t just touch her body—he touched her soul, touching her in a way she hadn’t known she needed.
As they reached their climax together, Maeve felt a sense of peace she hadn’t known in years. She lay tangled in Rory’s arms, her body still humming with the aftermath of their passion, and for the first time in a long time, she felt safe.
Rory pressed a kiss to her temple, his voice a low rumble in her ear. “Whatever comes next, we face it together.”
Maeve closed her eyes, letting the words wash over her. She knew the battle ahead would test them in ways they couldn’t yet imagine, but in that moment, she believed him. They would face it together. And they would win.