Chapter 15
MAEVE
R ory’s lips pressed into a thin line, his expression softening just enough for her to see the emotion beneath his control as he entered the room, but the moment was fleeting. He straightened, his hand reaching for hers before he turned to his men.
“We need to secure the area,” he said, his voice sharp and commanding. “Tadhg’s dead, but his men will regroup if we don’t act fast. Cormac—” He barked the name, and his second-in-command appeared from the shadows, his face grim but determined.
“We’ve got teams sweeping the perimeter,” Cormac reported. “I think it’s safe to assume that Kelleher senior and Michael O’Connell will know what Tadhg planned. The families are shaken, but they suffered no casualties on their end and are now safely on the private jet returning to Boston. Looks like Alexander’s making his move.”
Rory’s gaze flicked to Maeve, something unreadable passing through his eyes. “Stay with her,” he ordered Cormac before turning back toward the remnants of the main table.
“I don’t need babysitting,” Maeve protested, taking a step forward.
Rory’s expression darkened as he turned back to her. “You do now,” he said, his tone leaving no room for argument. “This isn’t over, Maeve. Until it is, I’m not taking any chances.”
She opened her mouth to argue again, but the resolve in his gaze stopped her. Instead, she nodded, the tension between them an unspoken acknowledgment of the stakes. He was protecting her the only way he knew how.
As Rory strode away, his presence commanding even amid the chaos, Maeve turned to Cormac. “What did he mean about Alexander?”
Cormac’s expression shifted, a flicker of something close to respect crossing his face. “Your brother handed us the final nail in your father’s coffin.”
Maeve followed Cormac through the building, her mind racing with questions as they entered a smaller conference room. The atmosphere inside was taut, the air buzzing with a mixture of urgency and unease. Alexander stood near the center, a slim folder clutched in his hands.
His face was pale, but his posture was resolute. When he saw Maeve, something softened in his expression—an echo of the boy she’d grown up with, the brother who had once been her protector.
“Maeve,” he said, his voice low but steady. “I’m glad you’re okay.”
She nodded, her throat tight with emotion. “What is this, Alexander? What have you done?”
He glanced at the folder in his hands, his jaw tightening. “I did what I should have done a long time ago.”
Alexander stepped forward, placing the folder on the table between them. Rory entered the room then, his presence a silent force that drew every eye. He stood beside Maeve, his hand brushing her lower back, a grounding touch that steadied her as much as it unsettled her.
“This,” Alexander said, opening the folder, “is everything. All the evidence to prove what Cormac laid out for us at the abbey—every bribe, every payoff, every crime our father has covered up in the last decade. Bank statements, offshore accounts, names of officials on his payroll. It’s all here.”
The room was silent as the weight of his words settled over them. Maeve stared at the folder, her chest tightening as she realized the magnitude of what her brother had done.
“Why now?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
Alexander’s gaze met hers, a flicker of guilt and resolve in his eyes. “Because I couldn’t live with myself if I let him drag you back into his hell. But this entire plan of McMahon’s only works if the Boston families act. And given what I saw in that meeting, they will.”
Rory nodded. “They will because they know what happens if they don’t. Alexander is going to take your father down and dismantle his business.”
Maeve watched the interplay between them, the uneasy alliance forming before her eyes. Her brother’s betrayal of their father was a line that couldn’t be uncrossed, but it was also the lifeline they needed. The cost of it settled heavily on her, but she pushed the doubt aside.
“What happens now?” she asked, her gaze shifting to Rory.
He looked at her, his expression softening just enough for her to see the promise behind his words. “Now, we end this.”
The rest of the night passed in a blur of planning and preparation. Alexander’s revelations solidified the Boston families’ newfound alliance with the O’Neill Syndicate, even though the families had been rattled. Maeve stayed by Rory’s side, her presence a steadying force as they navigated the volatile landscape of mob politics.
As dawn broke over the city, the first rays of sunlight filtered through the windows of the abbey. Normally, it was a peaceful place. They had survived another battle, but the war was far from over. They would face whatever came next, and they would do it as one.
Maeve leaned against the counter in the quiet kitchen, her fingers tracing the rim of a cooling cup of tea. The muted lighting cast shadows that seemed to dance across the room, a stark contrast to the chaotic energy of the past few days. The faint, rhythmic sounds of hammering and hushed commands reached her from upstairs—Rory’s men were augmenting their defenses, a stark contrast to the heavy, almost suffocating silence downstairs, where time seemed to stand still.
Her body ached with exhaustion, but her mind refused to rest. Images of Alexander’s haunted eyes swirled in her thoughts. Everything had changed, and yet the path ahead felt sharper, clearer. Their enemies were falling, one by one, but it wasn’t over.
The sound of steady footsteps pulled her from her thoughts. Rory entered the room, his presence like a force of nature that shifted the very air around her. He had unbuttoned his shirt at the collar and rolled up his sleeves, revealing grime-streaked forearms. The sight of him, battered but unbroken, sent a rush of heat and gratitude through her chest.
“You should be resting,” he said, his voice rough but warm as he crossed the room to her.
“I could say the same to you,” she replied softly, meeting his eyes. The aftermath that had carried them through the last few days still lingered, but so did something deeper, steadier.
He reached for her tea, lifting the cup from her hands and setting it on the counter. His touch lingered on her fingers, a wordless reassurance that cut through her swirling thoughts. “Rest can wait. I needed to see you.”
Maeve tilted her head, searching his face. Rory rarely allowed his vulnerability to show, but today, there was no armor between them. The raw honesty in his gaze made her breath catch.
“We made it,” she whispered, the words carrying more weight than she expected.
Rory nodded, his hands sliding to her hips as he drew her closer. “We did.”
Her lips parted as she started to say something, but Rory silenced her with a kiss. It was slow, deliberate, as though he were grounding himself in her. Maeve melted into him, her hands finding their way to his chest as the warmth of his body chased away the lingering cold from the earlier events.
Rory’s grip tightened, his hands sliding to her back as he lifted her onto the counter. The cool surface pressed against her thighs, but the heat between them burned away everything else. His lips claimed hers again, this time fiercer, hungrier, as though he needed to feel her, to remind himself she was real.
Maeve met his passion with her own, her fingers tangling in his hair as she pulled him closer. Their movements were a clash of urgency and reverence, each touch a declaration of survival and desire. Rory’s hands found the hem of her shirt, his fingers skimming her skin as he pulled it over her head.
“You’re beautiful,” he murmured, his voice rough with need. His gaze roamed her body, dark and intense, as though he were memorizing every inch of her.
Maeve’s cheeks flushed, but the fire in his eyes banished her self-consciousness. She reached for him, unbuttoning his shirt with shaking fingers, her breath hitching as she revealed the hard lines of his chest. His body was a testament to strength and resilience, each scar telling a story she wanted to learn.
Rory’s mouth found her neck, his teeth grazing her skin as his hands explored her curves. Maeve arched into him, her body responding instinctively to his touch. He made her feel powerful and vulnerable all at once, a heady mix that left her trembling.
“Rory,” she gasped as his lips traveled lower, leaving a trail of fire in their wake.
He paused, his eyes meeting hers as he cupped her face. “You’re mine,” he said, his voice low and commanding.
Maeve’s heart swelled, the truth of his words sinking into her very soul. “I’m yours.”.
The words seemed to unleash something in him. Rory lifted her from the counter, carrying her to the couch in the small sitting room off the kitchen. Their clothes fell away in a blur of motion, their bodies tangling in a fierce, unrelenting rhythm.
Maeve lost herself in him, in the way he made her feel alive and whole. His touch was both demanding and tender, his movements deliberate as he drove her closer to the edge. She cried out his name as the tension between them snapped, her body arching against his as waves of pleasure crashed over her.
Rory followed moments later, his release a raw, primal sound that sent a shiver through her. He collapsed against her, his weight grounding her as their breathing slowly returned to normal.
They lay there for a long time, tangled together in the quiet aftermath. Rory’s fingers traced idle patterns on her skin, his touch soothing in its simplicity. Maeve rested her head against his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart as the world outside faded away.
“We’re not done fighting,” she whispered, breaking the silence.
“No,” Rory agreed, his voice a rumble beneath her ear. “But we’re ready.”
And they were. Michael O’Connell’s fall came with a speed and severity no one but the five families in Boston had seen coming. With the backing of the O’Neill Syndicate, Alexander established himself as the new head of the organization and the other families accepted him.
As Rory predicted, Lorcan Kelleher had distanced himself from his son’s overreaching ambitions and had sued for peace with the O’Neills. Con had been far more generous than Rory had thought he would be, and Rory attributed that to Con’s mate, Katie. Rory now well understood what having a mate could do to a man’s priorities.
When the dust settled, Rory and Maeve retreated to the abbey for some well-earned solace.
The first light of dawn painted the sky in shades of gold and rose as Maeve and Rory stood on the cliff side overlooking the city. The old abbey rose behind them, its crumbling walls a stark contrast to the vibrant life stretching out before them.
Maeve took a deep breath, the salty breeze filling her lungs as she looked out at the bay. A hush fell over them, the world's usual clamor silenced by the peaceful beauty of the moment.
Rory stood beside her, his hand resting on her lower back. The simple touch was enough to anchor her, to remind her they had survived.
“Are you ready?” he asked, his voice soft but steady.
Maeve turned to him, a smile tugging at her lips. “I am.”
Rory nodded, his eyes darkening as his panther stirred just beneath the surface. Maeve felt her panther respond, her instincts sharpening as her body shifted, fur replacing skin as her form melted into that of her animal.
Rory shifted beside her, his panther sleek and powerful as he nudged her shoulder with his muzzle. Maeve let out a low purr, her instincts surging as she took off along the cliff side. Rory followed, his powerful strides keeping pace with hers as they raced together.
The wind whipped through Maeve’s fur, the ground steady beneath her paws as she ran. With every step racing along the precipice, the stress of the past few weeks melted away like snow in the spring sun, replaced by a lightness in her chest and a feeling of freedom she hadn't known in years; the seabirds sang sweetly, and the air smelled fresh and clean. With a shared glance, Rory kept pace with her, his movements perfectly in sync as they bounded down the cliff, the sound of their feet galloping from the loose stones onto the smooth, cool sand of the beach below.
The sun climbed higher, casting a warm glow over the sand and waves as they slowed to a stop. Maeve stood, her breath coming in soft gasps as she turned to Rory. He stood before her, his dark eyes locking onto hers. And as they stood there, the world spread out before them, Maeve knew they were ready to face whatever came next.