Chapter 33
THIRTY-THREE
MADS
I spot Moira instantly, when I walk into the dingy bar. I texted her after leaving Domhnall's. I didn't want to wait until tonight to talk to her. She's exactly where she said she'd be---perched on a barstool like she owns the place, a chaotic ball of energy in a leather jacket.
Before I can even approach her, she sees me and launches herself in my direction.
"Bitch!" she yells, wrapping her arms around me like a clingy octopus. I stand there rigidly, uncomfortable with the contact, my muscles tensing. Public displays of affection have never been my thing. Her grip only tightens at my resistance, squeezing the air from my lungs.
"Moira," I wheeze out, relief flooding through me when she finally releases me with a dramatic flourish.
"Look at you! Out and about in the daylight. I'm gonna start calling you Daywalker," she says with that typical Moira exuberance.
I snort at the vampire reference, then glance over my shoulder, scanning the bar carefully.
Old habits. I'm looking for Pavel's men.
I know they're watching me, tracking my every move.
The bar is dim, the kind of place where the wood is dark and sticky, the air smells like stale beer, and the neon lights buzz just a little too loudly.
Perfect for what I need to do---get Moira to break up with this Bane guy without drawing attention.
Moira narrows her eyes at me. "You got a stalker?"
"What?" I force out a laugh that sounds false even to my own ears. Deflect, deflect. "What do you wanna drink?" I head for the bar, then glance sideways at her, trying to slip into our normal banter. "Wait. Are you even old enough to drink yet?"
She rolls her eyes dramatically. "Ha ha. We're practically the same age."
I roll mine back harder. "Cute. I'm a hundred and seventeen years your senior in trauma years."
She winces, and I feel a flicker of guilt. It's an unfair advantage, bringing up my past. But I need her cooperative, and if making her uncomfortable helps, so be it. My mind stays laser-focused on my goal: get her to break up with Bane, keep Domhnall safe, keep us all alive.
"I'll take a beer," she tells the bartender, who's eyeing us both like we're the most interesting thing to walk in all day.
"You sure? Not more shots?" he asks, his gaze lingering on my cleavage longer than necessary.
Before I can tell him exactly what I think of that look, Moira shoves me aside. "Two beers," she says flatly.
He huffs but turns to grab them.
"You can close out her tab, too," I add, nodding toward Moira's earlier drinks. He brings the receipt for her to sign.
She grabs both beers and heads for a table.
I follow, watching her movements, trying to gauge her mood.
This would be so much easier if Moira wasn't so damn unpredictable.
If she were just a normal person with normal reactions, I could manipulate her easily.
But Moira's chaos makes her hard to control.
"Look at baby bear all grown up," I coo, ruffling her hair like she's a child. It's a calculated move to establish dominance and remind her of our age difference, even if it's minimal.
She bats my hand away and takes a long pull from her beer, meeting my gaze over the rim. "So, you just wanna hang, or are we actually gonna talk about the fact that you snuck back into your own damn house like a teenager past curfew?"
I wave a dismissive hand, my heart clenching at the mention of the night she caught me crawling in a window after sneaking out to go check my servers. Domhn's got a security system on the house that's intense, and the workaround on the windows was easier than the doors. "Oh, that was nothing."
Then I tip my head back and chug my beer.
I need liquid courage for what comes next.
Not a sip. Not a gulp. Just a long, steady pour down my throat until the bottle is almost empty.
The cold helps numb the ache that's been constant since I walked away from Domhn.
I slam the bottle back on the table with a sigh, elbows propped up, blinking against the slight burn in my eyes.
She just stares. "Right. Totally normal behavior."
I lick a drop of beer from my lip and lean in, deciding to go straight for the target. "It's you I wanna hear about. You still got something going on with that priest I met a while back?"
She freezes mid-sip. Good. I've caught her off guard. This is what I need---to unbalance her, find her weak spot, and press on it until she gives me what I want.
She sets her beer down, clearing her throat. "Yeah. We've got a little something going on."
I nod, feigning casualness. "Sure. Sure. But it's not serious, right? Isn't that, like, your whole thing? Not being serious?"
She takes another swig, avoiding my eyes. I can practically see the wheels turning in her head.
"Uh. It's... pretty serious," she finally admits.
I frown, a genuine reaction. This complicates things. I was expecting a casual fling I could easily persuade her to end. "But you don't do serious."
She tilts her head at me. "What the fuck, Mads? Why do you care?"
I exhale hard and glance toward the door, debating how to play this. The truth? A partial truth? A complete lie? I decide on something close to the truth---she'll sense if I'm completely bullshitting her, and I need her to believe me.
I lean in close, dropping my voice low, making each word sharp and precise.
"Look, I'm sorry, baby girl, but I need you to break it off with the priest. For your brother's sake."
Her expression changes instantly, eyes narrowing in suspicion. "What the fuck does that mean?"
I give her a hard look, frustration bubbling up. This would be so much easier if she would just do as she's told without questioning everything.
"Bad guy math," I say, improvising. "You had to go play hero at that dumb Christmas thing and drag your big dumb boyfriend into the spotlight with you and me. Well, guess what?"
I lean back, crossing my arms over my chest, the defensive posture helping me feel more in control. "Some not-so-nice people saw that photo. People I'd rather keep avoiding."
She blinks, looking confused. "We were only out there because of you!" She waves her arm wildly.
"I had it handled!" I wave mine back, matching her dramatic gesture.
In truth, I didn't have anything handled that night.
I was panicking, desperate to get away from the cameras.
But she doesn't need to know that. "Before you brought the fucking Avengers outside and made a front-page-worthy spectacle. "
"Who even are these people?" she demands. "And why the fuck would they care about me?"
I level her with a flat look. This is where I need to start spinning my tale. I need to make it convincing enough that she'll do what I want, but vague enough that I don't reveal too much about Pavel or the real danger.
"They don't care about you, dumbass. They care about him. Heir to the richest man alive? Ring any bells?"
I finally remembered why the name Blackwolf was so familiar. Okay, Google helped. But Jesus. Who knew Moira was sneaking around with the son of the richest man in the world without any of us noticing?
Her face tells me she's starting to understand.
"But he gave up his inheritance," she argues weakly.
I laugh, the sound harsh even to my own ears. "Is that what he told you? Because Daddy Warbucks apparently disagrees. Bane is still the heir apparent."
She shakes her head stubbornly. "Okay, fine. Still don't see what any of this has to do with me."
I exhale slowly, like I'm explaining something to a child. "I don't know, blackmail? Someone else wants you out of the way so they can marry their pet chess piece off to Bane? There could be a hundred reasons."
I lean in closer, dropping my voice even lower.
The next part is mostly true, and the fear coloring my words is genuine.
"All I do know is that the charming sociopaths my father used to make me work for have now tracked me down.
And they're working for someone who wants you out of the picture.
They've given me a nice little ultimatum: get you to dump the priest and disappear, or they kill me, Domhnall, and you. "
She stares at me, speechless.
I stare back, letting the gravity of my words sink in.
"I'm thinking we call it 'rehab,' and you go sip pina coladas on a beach somewhere. Maybe the Riviera. I hear it's nice in the spring."
She lets out a disbelieving laugh. "Kill us?"
"Did I fucking stutter?" I respond, not blinking. I need her to understand how serious this is. Because it is deadly serious, just not in the way I'm telling her.
I can see the realization dawning on her face as she processes what I'm saying. This isn't just some abstract threat; this is real life. Her life.
She slams her hands on the table. "What the fuck did you get us into?!"
I shake my head, my mouth set in a hard line. "Oh, you got yourself into this one all on your own, baby girl. You should be grateful for my connections. At least I've got a way to get us out."
She glares at me, her eyes searching my face. "You're not who I thought you were."
The accusation stings more than it should. I keep my face hard, unreadable. "I never am."
She sucks in a breath, and I can see her pulse racing at her throat. "Do you even love Domhn?"
Something snaps inside me at the question. My hand whips out before I can stop it, my forefinger pointed directly in her face. "Don't you ever question my love for that man. He's the only thing I've ever loved in this whole blood-fucked world."
The words tear from my throat, raw and honest. In this moment of pure emotion, I'm not calculating or manipulating---I'm just feeling the burning truth of it.
Domhnall is everything to me. He's why I'm doing this, why I'm here with Moira in this shitty bar, why I left him even though it felt like cutting out my own heart.
I push back from the table, the chair scraping against the floor. "Now come on. Time to go break up with your boy toy."
She stays frozen, seemingly overwhelmed by everything I've dumped on her. I don't have time for her to process---Pavel's men could be watching us right now. I grab her arm and haul her up, ignoring her resistance.
"Fuck," she hisses. "Why do you have to be so rough?"
I keep dragging her toward the front of the bar, my grip tight. "Sorry, kid. Not all of us were raised to live in cotton candy houses with peppermint dreams."
Once we hit the sidewalk, she yanks out of my grasp. "Wow, you really are a bitch. And there's just one little problem with your brilliant plan."
I cross my arms, irritation flaring. "Oh yeah? What's that?"
She smirks, and I notice her wiping sweat from her palms onto her jeans---a nervous tell. "We got married. The priest and me."
For once, I'm genuinely caught off guard. My mind reels, calculations and contingencies crumbling. "Well, shit."
Married? This complicates everything. Breaking up a relationship is one thing; ending a marriage is a whole different game. Pavel won't be satisfied with anything less than a complete separation. How the hell am I going to make this work?
But I don't have time to process this bomb she's dropped because a white van suddenly screeches to a stop right next to the curb. The doors fly open, and six men in black gear and face masks spill out like cockroaches.
My stomach drops as they grab us. I recognize Pavel's men immediately, the way they move, the efficient brutality of their grips.
I kick, instinct taking over. Moira screams beside me. We both fight like hell, but we're outnumbered and outmatched.
It doesn't matter.
We're dragged into the van, kicking and cursing, and the doors slam shut behind us.
I barely have time to breathe before the van takes off.
Fuck.
Pavel must have been watching the whole time and knew I was failing. Knew I couldn't convince her that easily.
And now we're both paying the price for my failure.