Chapter 10
CHAPTER 10
RORY
T he tension in the room was palpable, the thick, simmering energy that could ignite at the wrong word. Rory leaned back in his chair, his expression cold as he scanned the faces around the conference table. These men, the so-called old guard, had built their power through tradition and blood. Their influence was undeniable, but their reluctance to adapt to the changing tides was becoming a liability.
“This isn’t a negotiation,” Rory said, his voice calm but laced with steel. “The Kellehers are escalating, and we need to respond.”
Cormac, ever the voice of reason, nodded from Rory’s left. “The docks, the warehouses, this latest attack—they’re not just testing boundaries. They’re challenging us.”
Across the table, Seamus O’Malley, one of the oldest and most vocal members of the syndicate’s council, leaned forward, his gnarled hands gripping the edge of the polished wood. “And who’s to blame for that?” he barked. “You bring outsiders into our world, make them part of your operation, and expect no consequences? This art dealer?—”
“Sabella’s gallery is an excellent place to launder our money. As for Maeve, you don’t get to say her name,” Rory cut in, his tone so sharp it silenced the room. His panther stirred beneath his skin, the beast ready to strike at the disrespect in Seamus’s voice.
Seamus’s eyes narrowed, but he held his tongue as Rory leaned forward, his hands clasped on the table. “Maeve isn’t the problem. The Kellehers are. Every second we waste on this bullshit is a second closer to them, taking more from us. If you can’t see that, step aside.”
The room fell silent; the council exchanging uneasy glances. Rory’s dominance filled the space, his control absolute, but the undercurrent of resistance was still there. He could feel it, a subtle shift in the air that prickled at the edges of his instincts.
Before anyone could respond, the door burst open, and Malachy stormed in, his expression grim. “We’ve got a problem,” he said, his voice tight. “It’s Sabella.”
Rory stood instantly, his chair scraping against the floor. “What happened?”
“Tadhg Kelleher,” Malachy said, his voice heavy with anger. “He’s taken her. Dragged her out of the gallery in broad daylight.”
The council room devolved into pandemonium; voices rose in a clamor of demands, orders, and heated debate over the consequences. None of it mattered to Rory. His focus was singular, his panther roaring to life at the news.
“Where is she now?” Rory demanded, his voice cutting through the noise.
“We’ve got a location,” Malachy said. “One of our men tailed them to a warehouse near the river. Tadhg’s demanding a meeting—he wants Maeve.”
Rory’s hands clenched into fists, his vision narrowing as rage coursed through him. Tadhg was playing a dangerous game, and he’d just made the ultimate mistake: threatening someone in Rory’s world.
“He can’t have her. If he’d like, I’ll be happy to give him a war,” Rory growled. “Get the men ready. We’re ending this.”
Before Malachy could respond, another voice cut through the room. “I’m coming with you.”
Rory turned to see Maeve standing in the doorway, her chin held high and her blue eyes blazing. Unwavering, she stood defiant, a figure of untamed strength. Yet, in the maelstrom of destruction, her very resilience ignited his wrath. The smell of smoke and blood filled the air.
“No,” Rory said firmly. “You’re staying here.”
Maeve stepped closer, her gaze unwavering. “This is about me, Rory. If Tadhg wants me there, I’m going.”
“You don’t get to make that call,” Rory said, his voice low and sharp. “This isn’t a negotiation.”
“And this isn’t just your fight,” Maeve shot back. “Sabella is my friend. I won’t sit here and wait while you risk everything to save her.”
Rory’s panther roared, torn between admiration for her courage and the overwhelming need to protect her. He took a step toward her, his towering frame casting a shadow over hers. “You don’t understand what you’re asking, Maeve. Tadhg won’t just hand her over. He’ll use this as an opportunity to take you. I won’t let that happen.”
Maeve didn’t flinch, her voice steady as she said, “I’m not afraid of him.”
Rory’s jaw tightened, his frustration mounting. “You should be.”
Their gazes locked. The anger between them felt like a live wire. Rory wanted to shake her, to make her see the danger she was walking into. But he also couldn’t deny the fire in her, the strength that drew him to her in the first place.
“If I don’t go, Sabella dies,” Maeve said, her voice soft but firm. “You know that, Rory. This isn’t just about me. It’s about doing what’s right.”
The truth of her words struck him like a blow, and Rory exhaled slowly, his anger giving way to something deeper. She was right, damn it. And as much as he hated the idea of putting her in harm’s way, he knew she wouldn’t back down.
“Fine,” he said finally, his voice tight. “But you follow my lead. No arguments, no heroics. You do exactly what I say.”
Maeve nodded. “I can do that.”
Rory turned to Malachy. “Get the cars ready. We move in fifteen.”
As the room cleared, Rory caught Maeve’s arm, pulling her aside. “Don’t do this to try to prove something to me or our men,” he said, his voice low. “This is dangerous, Maeve. Don’t forget that.”
“I’m not,” she said, her gaze steady. “But I can’t stand by and do nothing, Rory. She’s my friend and Tadhg is using her to get to me and then to you. Not anymore.”
Rory studied her for a long moment, the conflict in him threatening to boil over. Finally, he released her, his fingers brushing her skin as he stepped back.
“Then let’s end this,” he said, his voice cold but resolute.
As they walked toward the waiting cars, Rory’s mind raced with a thousand scenarios, each one more dangerous than the last. But one thought burned brighter than the rest.
Tadhg Kelleher had made a fatal mistake. And Rory was about to show him exactly what it meant to cross him and the O’Neill Syndicate.
The warehouse buzzed with quiet efficiency as Rory’s men moved in calculated synchronicity, preparing for the hellfire they were about to unleash. Under Rory’s watchful eye, his men checked their guns, tested their comms, and discussed their routes. His presence was a steadying force, commanding respect and precision with nothing more than a sharp look or a curt nod.
But inside, he was anything but steady.
Rory stood near a long table strewn with blueprints and photographs, the layout of the Kelleher stronghold etched into his mind. His panther prowled restlessly beneath his skin, its instincts sharp and unrelenting. It wanted blood—revenge for the insult of Sabella’s kidnapping, justice for the danger Maeve now faced. But more than that, it wanted to protect Maeve, to keep her safe no matter the cost.
He drummed his fingers on the table, his mind racing with possibilities. Every plan he devised felt insufficient, every contingency fraught with risk. Normally, he thrived in this kind of environment, his tactical mind calculating angles and outcomes with ease. But this wasn’t normal.
This was Maeve.
The thought of her in harm’s way made his chest tighten, his carefully maintained control slipping with each passing second. He glanced across the room, his gaze finding her instantly. With crossed arms and scanning blue eyes, she stood near the chaotic preparations, her determined gaze making his heart race.
She looked out of place here, in the middle of his world. And yet, she fit in a way he couldn’t explain. The fire in her gaze matched his, her defiance unyielding even in the face of danger. She wasn’t afraid to stand her ground, and that terrified him.
“You’re too close to this,” Cormac said quietly, his voice cutting through Rory’s thoughts.
Rory turned to face his second-in-command, his expression cold. “Don’t start, Cormac.”
“I’m not questioning your judgment,” Cormac said, his tone measured. “But you need to think this through. If something happens to her…”
“It won’t,” Rory snapped, his voice sharp enough to silence the other man. “Nothing’s going to happen to her.”
Cormac didn’t respond, his steady gaze a silent challenge. Rory exhaled slowly, forcing himself to calm the storm brewing inside him. He knew Cormac was right—he was too close. But it didn’t matter. This wasn’t just another operation. This was Maeve, and failure wasn’t an option.
“She stays by my side,” Rory said finally, his voice quieter but no less firm. “No risks, no heroics. I’ll handle it.”
Cormac nodded, his expression unreadable. “Understood.”
Rory returned his attention to the table, his mind shifting back to the task at hand. The layout of the warehouse was straightforward enough, with multiple entry points and a few key chokepoints. His men would flank the building, securing the exits while Rory and a small team breached the main floor. It was a clean plan, but it relied on precision. Precision wasn’t a Kelleher hallmark.
As he traced a line on the blueprint, he felt Maeve’s presence beside him before she spoke.
“You’re quiet,” she whispered.
Rory glanced at her, his gaze lingering on the curve of her jaw, the determined set of her shoulders. Even now, with danger looming, she looked unshakable. It made his chest ache in a way he couldn’t explain.
“Planning,” he said simply.
Maeve’s lips pressed into a thin line as she studied the map. “I want to help.”
“The best way you can help is by staying alive,” Rory said, his tone sharper than he intended.
Maeve’s eyes narrowed, her chin lifting slightly. “I’m not a liability, Rory.”
“I never said you were,” Rory said, his voice softening. “But this isn’t just about you. If something happens…”
“It won’t,” Maeve interrupted, echoing his earlier words. “I will not sit back and let other people fight my battles. I’m here. I’m your mate. That makes me part of this, whether or not you like it.”
Rory stared at her, his jaw tightening as he tried to rein in the surge of emotions she stirred in him. She was infuriating, reckless, and entirely too brave for her own good. And he’d never wanted anyone more in his life.
“You don’t make this easy,” he muttered.
Maeve’s expression softened, a faint smile tugging at her lips. “I’m not supposed to.”
The moment hung between them, the noise of the room fading into the background. Rory’s hand lifted almost of its own accord, his fingers brushing against her cheek. Her soft, warm skin was a comforting contrast to the surrounding turmoil.
“Maeve,” he whispered, her name a plea and a warning all at once.
She stepped closer, her gaze locking onto his. “We’ll get through this, Rory.”
Her certainty should have been reassuring, but it only made his chest tighten further. He couldn’t lose her—not now. And if this was their last moment before everything fell apart, he would not waste it.
Rory’s hand slid to the back of her neck as he pulled her closer, his lips capturing hers in a kiss that was both desperate and consuming. Maeve responded instantly, her hands clutching his shirt as she leaned into him. The heat between them flared, a fire that burned away the fear and doubt that had plagued him all night.
It wasn’t enough, but it was everything he needed. A reminder of what he was fighting for, of the life he refused to let slip through his fingers.
When they finally pulled apart, their foreheads resting together, Rory exhaled slowly, his hand still cradling her neck. “Stay close to me,” he said, his voice low. “No matter what happens.”
Maeve nodded, her gaze unwavering. “I will.”
The sound of Malachy’s voice cut through the moment, sharp and urgent. “We’re ready to move.”
Rory stepped back, his expression hardening as he turned to face his men. The calm, calculating leader was back, his emotions locked away behind an impenetrable wall. But as he led the team out of the warehouse and into the night, his thoughts remained on Maeve.
She was his now, in every way that mattered. And no one—not Kelleher, not O’Connell—would take her from him.
Not while he was still breathing.