Chapter 3 #2
The realization settles over me like a suffocating blanket.
There's no way out. No escape. I can refuse, and be left to whatever fate awaits me—kidnapping, rape, forced marriage to a man who won’t be held to the Council’s rules and laws, who will do whatever he wants with me.
Or I can agree, and marry this terrifying stranger who looks at me like he wishes I didn't exist.
"I..." My voice breaks, and I have to swallow hard before I can continue. "What if he… what if we don't… what if it doesn't work?"
"It'll work," Brendan says with a nasty smile. "Sean here knows how to handle women. He'll have you broken in proper in no time."
“Kearney.” Connor’s voice is a sharp reprimand, but the words have already struck.
Broken in. Like I'm a horse. Like I'm an animal to be ridden and used.
I feel tears burning behind my eyes, but I refuse to let them fall. I won't cry in front of these men. I won't give them the satisfaction.
Connor takes a breath. “I’m sure you know that divorce is forbidden, Miss Connelly.
Not just by our laws, but by the Church.
Marriage is for life. There is no question of the union ‘working.’ You and Sean will marry.
You will produce children to inherit. And you will remain loyal to the needs of this Council. ”
"I need time to think," I say desperately. "Please, I just need—"
"There's nothing to think about, Miss Connelly." Sean Flannery speaks for the first time. "You're going to be my wife. That's decided. The only question is whether you make this easy or difficult, but either way, there is no choice in the matter.”
His voice catches me off guard. It’s deep, with a thick accent, rasping at the end of the words.
It sends a curl of an unfamiliar feeling through me, something tingling and unsettling, and I swallow hard.
I don’t know what it is, how he’s made me react.
I only know that I can’t marry this man.
That, out of everyone in this room, he’s the most dangerous one of them all.
It can’t be him.
I stare at him, at the absolute certainty in his face, and something inside me crumbles.
"I don't want this," I whisper.
Something flickers in his eyes—guilt? Sympathy? But it's gone so quickly I might have imagined it.
"Neither do I," he says flatly. "But here we are."
The words should be comforting—at least he doesn't want this either—but somehow they're worse. He doesn't want me, isn’t even trying to pretend to. I don’t know how he’s been forced into this, but it’s clear that he resents my very presence.
And I'm supposed to marry him, to let him into my life, my home, my bed—
I can't think about that. I can't let myself think about that, or I'll start screaming and never stop.
"The wedding will be in two weeks," Connor says, standing up and smoothing his suit jacket. "We'll handle the arrangements and contact you with any questions about your preferences, Miss Connelly. You just need to be ready."
Ready. As if two weeks is enough time to prepare myself to marry a stranger. To give up my entire life, my freedom, my future.
"Sean will remain in Boston with us," Liam adds. "We'll be staying at the Langham Hotel until the wedding. You'll have time to meet, to talk, to get to know each other a bit. We think it's best if you're not alone in the house together until after the ceremony. Propriety and all that."
Propriety. As if forcing me into marriage is proper. As if any of this is anything other than barbaric.
But I nod, because what else can I do? I nod, and I stand, and I numbly walk them to the door like a good hostess, like this is a normal visit and not the end of my life as I know it.
At the door, Connor pauses and turns back to me. "You're doing the right thing, Miss Connelly. I know it doesn't feel like it now, but Sean will take care of you. You'll be safe with him."
Safe. The word has lost all meaning.
Sean walked out first. I see him standing in the rain, his face hidden by the brim of his hat, before he walks to the waiting car without the rest of them. I can feel the anger radiating off of him. He’s a violent man; I can feel it.
And he’s going to be my husband.
I watch them walk to their car, a black SUV parked in the circular driveway, and I see Sean looking at the house from his seat by the window. Even from this distance, I can feel the weight of his gaze, cold and assessing.
Then they're gone, red taillights disappearing into the rainy darkness, and I'm alone again.
I stand in the doorway, the cold chilling me to the bone, but I barely feel it.
In two weeks, Sean Flannery will be my husband. He'll live in this house. He'll control my money, my life. He'll have rights to me that I can barely let myself think about.
I make it back to the staircase before my legs give out, and I sink down onto the bottom step, my whole body shaking. Mrs. Brady appears from somewhere, her face creased with worry.
"Maeve? What did they want?" Any attempt at formality on her part—the Miss that she’s always tried to tack onto my name and Siobhan’s—is gone. She’s far too worried for that, and somehow that makes it all feel so much more terrifying.
"I'm getting married," I hear myself say, and my voice sounds strange, distant. "In two weeks. To one of them. The tall one."
Mrs. Brady's face goes pale. "Oh, love. Oh no."
"His name is Sean Flannery," I continue, still in that strange, flat voice. "The Wolf of Dublin. They say he'll protect me."
"The Wolf of—" Mrs. Brady’s voice stops. I look up at her, and I see that her eyes are wide, as if she knows something I don’t.
“What is it?” There’s a note of something hysterical in my voice.
“I—” She swallows hard. “I’ve a nephew in Dublin. He’s mentioned that name before. He's... Maeve, he's a killer. A contract killer."
I press a hand over my mouth, whether to stop a sob or a hysterical burst of laughter, I don’t know. Of course he is. Of course they're marrying me to a killer. Why would it be anyone else?
My sister and brother were murdered, and I’m being married to a murderer. The irony would be hilarious if it weren’t so devastating.
"Maeve—"
"I need to be alone," I say, standing up abruptly. My legs are unsteady, but they hold me. "Please, Mrs. Brady. I just need to be alone."
She nods reluctantly, and I wait for her to disappear into another room. But I don't go to my room. Instead, I find myself walking down the hall to my father's office.
It’s unlocked, fortunately. Desmond must have left it that way the last time he was here, before he left to…
I can’t finish the thought. I still haven’t come to terms with what my brother did, who he really was. There’s so much I haven’t come to terms with, and now there’s something else. A marriage.
To a violent, angry man.
The room still smells like my father and Desmond—cigars and expensive cologne and old leather.
The desk is massive, dark mahogany, with stacks of papers on one side.
His computer sits dark and silent, probably password-protected.
There are bookshelves filled with first editions.
His filing cabinets line one wall, full of secrets I've never been privy to.
If there's information about Sean Flannery anywhere, it would be here. My father kept files on everyone important in our world. Surely he would have known about the Wolf of Dublin.
The filing cabinets are locked, and no matter how many drawers I dig through, I can’t find a key.
The computer is, as I expected, password-protected, and I can’t seem to guess it, although I try a few obvious choices—my and my siblings’ names, my father's birthday, variations of our family name—but nothing works. After three attempts, the system locks me out entirely. Feeling defeated, I go through the papers on his desk and the few files I find in drawers, but it’s not what I’m looking for.
There are some financial statements, lease paperwork for a building, and legal documents waiting to be signed, but nothing about Sean Flannery.
Nothing about the Irish Council's enforcers.
Frustrated, I slam my hand down on the desk, pain shooting up my arm. Wincing, I rub it, staring despondently at the meaningless paperwork.
I sink into my father's leather chair, suddenly exhausted.
The office is dark except for the desk lamp I switched on, casting shadows into the corners.
This room was always intimidating when my father was alive—his domain, his territory, where he conducted the business I was never supposed to know about.
Now it's just empty. Another ghost-filled room in a ghost-filled house.
I think about Sean Flannery, trying to remember every detail of his face, his bearing, his presence.
He'd looked to be in his mid-to-late thirties, maybe. Tall—well over six feet. Broad through the shoulders and chest, muscular in a way that I found frightening, though I suppose I have no idea what it would feel like to be attracted to a man. I’ve never experienced it.
I picture the scar through his eyebrow and down his cheek. The stubble on his jaw. Those cold, cold green eyes.
The Wolf of Dublin.
A killer.
Very soon, my husband.
I think about what Brendan Kearney said—about needing a strong hand, about being ‘broken in properly.’ The words make my skin crawl, but they also terrify me because I don't know if that's what Sean is.
I don't know if he's the kind of man who would hurt me, who would force me, who would treat me like property to be used.
Connor said he'd keep me safe. But safe from whom? From outside threats, surely. But who will keep me safe from him?
I'm going to have to let him touch me. The thought hits me suddenly, viscerally, and my stomach churns. He's going to be my husband. He'll have rights to my body. He'll expect… he'll want…
I can't finish the thought. Can't let myself imagine it. The idea of that cold, hateful man touching me, of being vulnerable and naked with him, of having to submit to whatever he wants—
I'm going to be sick.
I barely make it to the bathroom attached to the office before I'm retching into the sink, my whole body shaking. There's nothing in my stomach to come up, but my body heaves anyway, trying to purge the fear and horror that have no physical form.
When it finally stops, I sink down on the cold tile floor, my back against the wall, and for the first time in days, I can’t stop myself from crying.
Not quiet, dignified tears, but ugly, gasping sobs that tear out of my chest like something dying, like I want to howl and scream for everything I’ve lost. I cry for my father and Desmond and Siobhan, for my absent mother, for the possibility of anything better than what I’ve been left with.
For a life that could have had the barest hope of happiness.
All of that is gone now.
In two weeks, I'll be Maeve Flannery. Wife of the Wolf. A prisoner in my own life.
And there's nothing I can do to stop it.
When the tears finally dry up, I feel hollow again.
Empty. I drag myself up, rinse my face with cold water, and look at myself in the mirror.
My eyes are red and swollen, my face blotchy.
I can’t imagine any man wanting me, but I suppose that doesn’t matter.
Sean Flannery doesn’t have to want me. He just has to marry me.
Once again, I think about running. Going somewhere the Council can't find me, somewhere Sean Flannery can't reach me. But the same obstacles are still there. I didn’t find any identification that I could use to function in the world in the office.
No documents to prove who I am, rent an apartment, get a job.
No information about the accounts so I could access any of the fortune I keep getting told that I have.
And anyway, now that I know what their plan is for me, it’s even more impossible. Where would I go? How would I hide? The Council has connections everywhere, and Sean is a professional killer. They'd find me. And when they did…
No. Running isn't an option.
Neither is refusal. I can’t fight this. I can’t hide from it. I can’t get away.
All that's left is acceptance.
I walk slowly back to my room, Fluff meowing plaintively when I enter. I pick her up, burying my face in her soft fur and letting her purrs vibrate against my chest. She's warm and alive and uncomplicated, and for a moment, I envy her so much it hurts.
"It's going to be okay," I whisper to her. "We'll figure it out. We'll survive this. We have to."
But I don't believe the words even as I say them, because I saw the look in Sean Flannery's eyes when he looked at me, and it wasn't the look of a protector.
It was the look of a man who'd been given a burden he resented, a job he didn't want, a wife he already hated.
In two weeks, I'll belong to him.
And I have no idea if I'll survive it.