Chapter 36
THIRTY-SIX
DOMHNALL
The doorbell rings, jolting me from my spiral of panic and fury. For the past three days, I’ve been existing in a special kind of hell—the kind reserved for men whose lives are crumbling beneath them while they’re powerless to stop it.
It started with that text from Mads about an hour after she left: You were right. We’re toxic. I need space to breathe and think. Goodbye.
But everything about it felt wrong. The wording.
The timing. Mads doesn’t just “need space.” When she wants to go somewhere, she tells me where.
When she’s upset, she confronts me directly, usually with fire in her eyes and choice words about whatever I’ve done wrong. She doesn’t vanish without explanation.
I’ve called every contact I have. I’ve checked our usual places. I’ve hacked into security cameras on the street by our house, scanning footage for any sign of her. Trying to follow her trail after she left. But I lose track of her in a couple of blind spots in the city.
I’ve barely slept, existing on black coffee and the gnawing fear that something terrible is happening. Every time my phone rings, I lunge for it with desperate hope, only to have it crushed seconds later.
And then Moira disappears too.
At first, I thought they might be together—a spontaneous girls’ getaway they planned without telling me as some sort of twisted little bit of revenge for me being an asshole to both of them.
I think that’s still what I’m hoping for now, days later, even as I alternate between pacing the floor, punching walls, and staring at my phone, willing it to ring with news—any news—of either of them.
I’ve been replaying my last conversation with Mads over and over, searching for clues I might have missed.
Did she seem scared? Preoccupied? She definitely seemed intent on pissing me off.
And fuck if it didn’t work. She’d been talking about Moira right before we got in the fight. Did that mean something?
Part of me wants to burn the city down to find them.
Another part, the cold, calculating part I try to keep buried, knows that making a scene could put them in more danger.
If it’s danger that they’re actually in.
I’m a wealthy man, and not without enemies.
Fuck! I tear my hands through my hair at the possibility of them being at risk.
I fucking hate that there’s nothing to do but wait, a tiger in a cage, planning what I’ll do to whoever’s responsible when I find them. Even if it’s just the two of them who ran off without telling anyone.
The doorbell cuts through my thoughts like a blade.
I jog to the door, my heart hammering against my ribs like it wants to break free.
When I see Moira through the peephole, relief crashes through me for half a second before it’s replaced by something darker. Where there’s Moira, there should be Mads. But Mads isn’t here. I shoot off a quick tex, then yank open the door.
I plant my arm against the frame, blocking her way even as my eyes scan her for injuries.
A different brother would throw his arms around her.
A different man. Especially when I see that she also looks like she’s been through hell—clothes wrinkled, hair a mess, a bruise forming on her cheek.
My chest constricts, but I can’t let her see it. Fear has always made me cold. And mean.
“Where’s Mads?” I demand, my voice coming out sharper than I intended, edged with the fear that’s been eating me alive. Guilt immediately bites at me. Twenty seconds into seeing my little sister after she’s clearly been in danger, and I’m already bollocking it up.
She rolls her eyes, and I see a flash of hurt beneath the bravado. “Lost your fiancée?”
Every muscle in my body tenses. I want to grab her shoulders and shake her and demand answers, but I force myself to stay still, to stay in control. “Mads sent me a message saying she was leaving me. Then you go missing. Do you know where she is or not?”
“Yes. That’s why I’m here.” She shoves against my arm, pushing her way past me.
I barely move, sighing in relief at the press of her body against my arm.
I’ve spent my whole life protecting my little sister, apart from the last year.
I’ve been cold and cruel to her. I cut her off, telling myself it was for her own good.
I don’t know if that’s true, or if I was just being a selfish prick.
But fuck if I don’t love the little hooligan, and there’s a weight that lifts off my chest at having her here, safe. “Jesus, Moira.”
I watch as she flops onto my couch, stretching out in that deliberately provocative way of hers—always taking up space and demanding attention. The way that used to drive me mad but now just reminds me of how young she still is. How much she’s been through.
“Nice to see you too, big brother,” she quips. “Got anything to eat? Because I’m starving. And also, maybe, just maybe, you could show a little concern for your only sister who just escaped a goddamn hostage situation?”
Her words hit like a punch to the gut. Hostage? Oh fuck. It was everything out of the worst-case scenarios my head has been playing out over the last few days.
“Start talking,” I demand as I head for the kitchen. I should be checking if Moira’s okay, not interrogating her. But fear for Mads chokes out everything else. Why the fuck isn’t she here if Moira is? “And don’t leave anything out.”
I grab leftover lasagna from the fridge, my hands shaking slightly as I put it on a plate. I know I should apologize. I do want to tell Moira I’m sorry for how I’ve treated her and that I’m sorry for blaming her for what happened with Anna’s father. Sorry for not being the brother she deserves.
But the words stay locked in my throat.
First, Mads.
“Napkins, too!” she calls, and I grab some paper towels.
I drop the plate in front of her with none of the care I should show. I’m too fucking impatient. “Talk.”
She takes a big, dramatic bite, and I know she’s doing it to wind me up. Even in crisis, she has to push back, has to test the boundaries. “You sure you don’t want to ask me how I am first? Maybe offer me a hug, a ‘glad you’re alive, sis?’ No? Cool, cool.”
Shame burns in my stomach. But I can’t care about being a fucking failure of a brother right now.
“Moira,” I manage, my voice strained.
She sighs, dragging her fork through the sauce. “Fine. Short version? Mads and I got snatched off the sidewalk, stashed in some abandoned warehouse by the river, and left to marinate in our own panic.”
Her words hit me like a freight train. The fear I’ve been battling erupts, white-hot and all-consuming. Mads—my Mads—kidnapped and held in some warehouse. Every protective instinct in my body roars to life, drowning out reason.
I shoot up from my chair, fists slamming on the table.
“WHERE IS SHE?”
Moira sighs again, looking exhausted. “Someone with serious connections is pulling strings, and Mads thinks it’s too big for you to take on. That it’s someone with more money and power than you.”
Anger and helplessness wage war inside me. My throat tightens around the question I have to ask. “You got out. Why the fuck didn’t you get Mads out with you?”
The moment the words leave my mouth, I regret them. The accusation in them. The implication. But I can’t take them back, or stop the fear from making me cruel.
Moira grips her fork tighter. “Because she wouldn’t let me, Domhnall. It wasn’t an option. If I’d tried, neither of us would’ve made it.”
Her eyes flash up at me, defiant but also wounded. “And she thought they’d come and kill you. She wasn’t willing to risk it. The guys who had us were people she said she knew from—” She gestures with her fork. “Before.”
Before. The word sends ice through my veins. The Librarian. The organization. The dark world Mads was part of that I’ve been willfully ignoring because it’s easier to pretend we’d left it all behind for good.
Even thinking of it all makes his face flash in my head, and with it, memories of him shoving me down to the floor—
My hands ball into fists, rage and terror and shame twisting together in my gut. “That’s even more reason to get her the hell out of there! You should’ve—”
“What? Magically turned into a Navy SEAL and busted her out between kidnappers with guns?” she snaps. “I did what I had to do. The only way to fix this is by playing their game.”
I want to scream. And break something. And give myself fifty lashes.
I want to hunt down every single person who dared touch what’s mine. But beneath the fury is another emotion—deeper, harder to face.
Guilt.
Mads was carrying this burden alone. These were her secrets. She’s been trying to protect me all along. And I didn’t notice the signs or press even when I did, too wrapped up in my own stupid happiness. Until now that I’ve lost it all.
“What game?” The question comes out rough, my control hanging by a thread.
Moira takes a deep breath. “They want something from me. Something I have to give them. And when I do, they’ll let Mads go.”
I shake my head, rage bubbling up again. “That’s not a fucking plan.” It’s a surrender. It’s giving these bastards what they want. It’s letting them win.
“It’s survival,” she says, voice flat. “And if I do it right, everyone—including Mads and you—comes out of this alive.”
My jaw clenches so tight it aches. “What do they want?”
She hesitates, and I see genuine fear in her eyes for the first time. “I have to break up with Bane.”
I blink, caught off guard. Of all the things I expected, this wasn’t it.
Rage slams back into place almost immediately.
“This is about Bane? They’re threatening my fiancée because of your goddamn husband?
Who the fuck cares that much about a feckin’ priest?
Is he in witness protection or something? ”
Even as the words leave my mouth, I hate myself for them. For the venom in them. For being so accusational instead of trying to show my sister I care and I’m listening.