Chapter 6
CHAPTER 6
RORY
T he cemetery was quiet, the soft rustle of the wind through the trees the only sound as Rory stood before the simple headstone. His mother’s name was etched into the granite—elegant and understated, just like she’d been. A bouquet of blood-red roses rested at the base, their petals stark against the cool gray stone. Rory stared down at the grave, the memories clawing at the edges of his mind.
He’d been twelve when his mother died. Twelve when the last scream echoed through the house, cutting through the darkness like a blade. Twelve when his father’s rage finally consumed her, leaving Rory to bear the burden of the aftermath. He remembered the bruises, the silences, the moments she’d tried to shield him from a horror she couldn’t escape.
Now, standing here, Rory felt the ghosts of his past pressing in. His father’s voice echoed in his head, sharp and cruel, demanding obedience, control, submission. Rory clenched his fists at his sides, the old anger and shame rising like bile in his throat. He’d sworn never to be like that man, never to let his dominance turn to destruction.
And yet, he could feel the beast inside him, restless and wild. Every time he thought of Maeve, it roared to life, demanding more. He wanted her in ways he couldn’t name—wanted to possess her, to claim her, to protect her from every threat that dared approach, but who would protect her from him? The intensity of it frightened him, though he’d never admit it aloud.
“Am I him?” Rory muttered under his breath, his voice low and bitter. “Is this what I’ve become?”
The wind carried no answer, and he hadn’t expected one. His gaze lingered on the headstone for a moment longer before he turned and walked away, the scrunch of the fallen leaves under his shoes rooting him to the present. He had too much to do to get lost in memories.
By the time Rory arrived at the club, the sharp edge of his emotions had dulled, replaced by the cold clarity that always guided him in times of crisis. Cormac was waiting in his office, a glass of whiskey in hand and a stack of documents spread out on the desk.
“We have a problem,” Cormac said, his tone grim.
Rory shrugged off his coat, draping it over the back of his chair as he sat down. “Tell me something I don’t know.”
Cormac slid a file across the desk, his expression serious. “The Kellehers are moving faster than we anticipated. They’ve been meeting with new suppliers, expanding their reach into areas that should be ours.”
Rory opened the file, his eyes scanning the reports and photos inside. Grainy images of Kelleher men shaking hands with shadowy figures at the docks, crates being unloaded under the cover of darkness, maps marking key locations. The pieces were falling into place, and the picture wasn’t a good one.
“They’re testing us,” Rory said, his voice calm but laced with steel. “Pushing to see how far they can go before we push back.”
“Exactly,” Cormac said. “And there’s more. Michael O’Connell’s men have been spotted in Galway. He’s asking questions about Maeve.”
“Men other than her brother?”
“I’m afraid so. A couple of O’Connell’s higher placed goons.”
Rory’s grip on the file tightened, the mention of Maeve’s name sparking a surge of protectiveness he struggled to contain. He’d known this was a possibility, but hearing it confirmed set his nerves on edge.
“What questions?” he asked, his voice dangerously quiet.
“Nothing direct yet,” Cormac said. “But he’s watching. And you know O’Connell—he won’t stop until he gets what he wants.”
Rory’s jaw clenched, the thought of Maeve in Michael O’Connell’s sights igniting a fire in his chest. He couldn’t let that happen. Whatever it took, he’d keep her safe.
“There’s one more thing,” Cormac said, hesitating slightly. “David Foster. He’s working with the Kellehers.”
The words hung in the air like a dark cloud. Rory leaned back in his chair, his expression unreadable. David had been a trusted associate, his connections in the art world invaluable to the syndicate’s operations. The betrayal cut deep, but it also made a twisted kind of sense.
“He’s been feeding them information,” Cormac continued. “About our shipments, our operations... and Maeve.”
Rory’s gaze darkened, the storm inside him threatening to break loose. “And you’re sure?”
Cormac nodded. “We have surveillance. Photos, audio. It’s him.”
Rory didn’t need to see the evidence. Cormac wouldn’t have brought this to him unless it was airtight. He exhaled slowly, forcing himself to think rationally. David Foster had made his choice, and now he’d have to face the consequences.
“Handle it,” Rory said, his voice cold. “Quietly.”
Cormac gave a curt nod, draining the rest of his whiskey before standing. “What about Maeve? If Michael’s getting closer, we need to decide how to proceed.”
Rory leaned forward, his elbows resting on the desk as he laced his fingers together. “Maeve doesn’t need to know. Not yet. But double the security surrounding her. I don’t want her going anywhere without someone watching her back.”
“And if she pushes back?” Cormac asked.
Rory allowed a faint, humorless smile. “She will. But I’ll handle it.”
Cormac studied him for a moment before nodding and leaving the room, the door clicking shut behind him. Rory stared at the empty glass on the desk, his thoughts drifting back to Maeve.
She was fire and steel, a woman who refused to be tamed. And that was what terrified him most. Because as much as he wanted to protect her, to keep her safe from the dangers closing in around her, he knew she’d never allow herself to be caged. Not by him, not by anyone.
His panther growled, restless and unsatisfied. It wanted Maeve in every way possible—to claim her, mark her, make her his. But Rory knew better than to let the beast take over. He had to tread carefully, or he’d risk losing her before he ever truly had her.
As the city lights flickered outside his window, Rory made a silent promise. He would protect Maeve, no matter the cost. Even if it meant confronting the darkness within himself.
And if Michael O’Connell or the Kellehers wanted to challenge him?
He would make sure they learned what it meant to cross the O’Neill Syndicate in general and Rory McMahon in particular.
He stood by the window, his gaze fixed on the city lights below, but his mind was miles away. Thoughts of Maeve consumed him—her sharp wit, her defiance, the way she looked at him as though she could see through every layer of armor he wore.
He wasn’t used to feeling exposed. Vulnerability had no place in his world, and yet with her, it wasn’t something he could avoid. Maeve had broken through his defenses, not with force but with something far more dangerous: truth. She was like a magnet to his steel, and she made him feel alive in a way that scared him as much as it thrilled him.
The soft sound of her footsteps pulled him from his thoughts. He turned, and there she was, standing just inside the doorway of his office. Her dark curls framed her face, her blue eyes steady despite the tension humming between them. She hadn’t bothered to announce herself, but Rory didn’t mind. Her presence filled the room, pushing back the shadows.
“Come for your shoe Cinderella?”
She smiled, though he couldn’t say if she was amused. “I haven’t seen you for a couple of days. I’m not sure if it’s a good thing when you’re quietly skulking around,” Maeve said, her voice low. “I have to wonder what’s going on in that head of yours?”
Rory exhaled slowly, his lips pressing into a thin line. She seemed to know when something was brewing, pushing him in ways no one else dared. It was maddening, but it was also why he couldn’t stay away from her.
“Thinking,” he said, his voice rough. “About you.”
Her brow arched, but there was no humor in the expression. She stepped closer, her eyes searching his. “You rarely let people in, do you?”
Rory didn’t answer right away. He wasn’t sure he could. Instead, he crossed the room, closing the space between them with measured steps. When he stopped just inches from her, he could see the pulse in her throat, the way her breath hitched as she held his gaze.
“I don’t,” he admitted, his voice quieter now. “But you’re not just anyone.”
Her cheeks flushed, and she looked away, her hands fiddling with the edge of her sleeve. Rory reached out, his fingers brushing against her chin, tilting her face back to his. The softness of her skin under his touch sent a surge of heat through him, but he held himself in check.
“You see things in me no one else does,” he said, his voice almost a growl. “Things I don’t want to admit even to myself.”
Her eyes softened, and for a moment, the fire in her gaze dimmed, replaced by something gentler. “Maybe because you’re more than what you pretend to be.”
The words struck deeper than he expected, and Rory felt the tight knot in his chest loosen, just slightly. He leaned closer, the scent of her filling his senses, and for the first time in a long time, he let the walls around him crumble.
“Maeve,” he murmured, her name heavy with emotion.
She looked up at him, her lips parting as if to say something, but before she could, his mouth captured hers in a kiss that was as much a confession as it was a surrender. It wasn’t gentle—he didn’t know how to be gentle when it came to her. It was fierce, raw, and consuming, a clash of desires that had been building from the moment they’d met.
Maeve’s hands slid up his chest, her fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt as she pulled him closer. The heat between them flared, their instincts colliding in a way that felt both primal and electric. Rory’s panther stirred, its presence coiling through his veins as his need for her deepened.
He backed her against the wall, his hands tracing the curve of her waist before gripping her hips with a possessiveness he couldn’t contain. Maeve met his intensity with her own, her nails digging into his shoulders as their kiss deepened, spiraling out of control.
The clothes between them were an unwelcome barrier, one that Rory quickly remedied. His hands moved with purpose, slipping beneath her shirt to explore the soft heat of her skin. Maeve shivered under his touch, her breath catching as his lips left a trail of fire along her jaw, down the column of her throat.
“Rory,” she gasped, her voice trembling with a mix of need and hesitation.
He pulled back just enough to meet her gaze, his dark eyes searching hers. “Tell me to stop, and I will.”
Her answer came not in words but in the way she kissed him again, her body arching into his as if she couldn’t bear the distance between them. The world around them blurred, fading into the background as they gave in to the fire that had been smoldering for too long. Rory’s touch was both demanding and reverent, his movements guided by an instinct as old as the beast inside him. Maeve matched him at every turn, her strength and passion igniting something inside him he hadn’t known he was capable of. Their connection wasn’t just physical—it ran deeper, a bond etched into their very souls.
MAEVE
Rory towered over her, his sharp gaze calculating and dangerous. But despite the danger he exuded, she couldn't help but feel drawn to him like a moth to a flame. She met his challenge with defiance, her stance unwavering as she stared back at him.
His rough hand cupped her jaw as he leaned in to capture her lips in a searing kiss. She melted against him, her fear mingling with longing as his hands roamed over her skin. For a moment, they found solace and salvation in each other. In that fleeting moment of intimacy, they found a sense of hope, a spark that promised both destruction and redemption in equal measure.
When Rory ripped her blouse and bra open to expose her naked breasts beneath, she gasped.
He pressed her against the wall, his touch sending shivers down her spine as she arched into him. The urgency of their union fueled the flames of desire between them, igniting a passion that burned brighter with each fleeting moment.
“Rory,” she moaned against his lips. “We can’t do this, not here. What if someone walks in?”
“They won’t,” he assured her, his mouth dropping to her collarbone. Then lower until he sucked a hard nipple into his mouth. “You belong to me. I am taking what belongs to me.” He groaned against her.
His hands reached for her skirt, pulling it up over her hips. He ripped her panties off and tucked them into his jacket pocket.
When he dropped to his knees before her, the first time he saw her naked pussy, his groan helped get rid of her shyness. She wanted his mouth there. She wanted him to taste her. Before she could think any further his mouth closed around her clit, sucking hard.
“Rory,” she cried out, her hands going to his hair, pulling.
The sound of her voice, raw and needy, reverberated through the room and seemed to awaken something primal in Rory. He knew what he wanted, what they both craved in that desperate moment, and he was more than willing to take it.
As his fingers probed her entrance, she quivered with anticipation. Rory continued his relentless assault on her sensitive flesh. Her moans grew louder, her body arching towards him in response to his touch.
She gasped as Rory inserted one finger, then two, deep within her. His fingers worked in sync with his mouth, driving her closer and closer to the edge. Her heart pounded in her ears, drowning out the music coming from below. She forgot everything but Rory and the overwhelming pleasure he brought her.
Just as she felt herself on the brink, Rory stopped, withdrawing his fingers and his mouth. "Rory, please," she begged, her voice hoarse. "I need you."
He stood up, his eyes locked onto hers, filled with a burning intensity that made her heart race even faster. With that, Rory lifted her onto his desk, sweeping away the papers and other paraphernalia and positioning her against its cool surface. She stared into his eyes, her breath coming in short, ragged gasps. There was no turning back now.
Rory's hands were everywhere at once, exploring her body with fiery intensity. His fingers found her pussy again, rubbing, teasing, driving her wild with need. Her hips bucked against him, begging for more.
And then, without warning, he unbuckled his belt and opened his fly. His cock sprang forth and before she could register what was about to happen, Rory was inside her. The sensation was both shocking and exquisite, filling her completely in a way that she had never felt before. Her hands clenched the edges of the desk, wanting to hold on to something, to ground herself in the midst of this overwhelming experience.
“What about birth control?” she asked.
“I’m willing to bet we’re both clean and if you’re not on birth control, so be it,” he growled in a way that made her pussy quiver.
He moved inside her, slow and steady, his strokes deep and firm. His mouth found hers again, their kisses as passionate as the rest of their encounter. She could feel the urgency in his movements, the fierce desire that threatened to consume them both.
And then, just when she thought she couldn't take anymore, Rory thrust once more—deep and hard—his hips pounding into her with a force that sent shockwaves through her entire body. She cried out, her voice hoarse with pleasure, her body convulsing around him as she reached the peak of her ecstasy.
Rory continued to move inside her, his own release close at hand. The sound of their bodies mingling, the steady beat of their hearts, created a symphony of desire and danger. With a primal snarl, he pounded into her until with a final, brutal thrust he ground against her.
When Rory finally stilled, his body pressed against hers, she felt a sense of completion that she had never experienced before. It was as if they had become one, their hearts beating in unison, their souls intertwined in the most intimate of ways.
RORY
When the storm finally subsided, Rory held her against him, his forehead resting against hers as their breathing slowed. The vulnerability he felt at that moment was both terrifying and liberating, but he didn’t pull away. Instead, he let himself savor the quiet, the feel of her skin against his, the steady rhythm of her heartbeat.
“I won’t let you go,” he said finally, his voice low and raw. “You’re mine.”
Maeve pushed him away, smoothing down her skirt and pulling her blouse together. Shaking her head, she backed away from him. “No,” was all she said before she fled his office and made her way to her studio.
What had happened between them settled something inside him, and solidified his resolve. The threats circling them—the Kellehers, Michael O’Connell, even the shadows of his own past—he wouldn’t let them touch her.
Maeve was his. And he would destroy anyone who tried to take her from him.