27. Don’t Feed the Captives
27
DON’T FEED THE CAPTIVES
RORY
I wake to an empty bed.
Blinking against the bright light of the morning, streaming in from the many windows in the room, I realize I slept in.
After having early coaching sessions for almost as long as I can remember, I’m usually up before the sun every day.
If the clock in Aidan’s room is to be believed, it is 9:45 a.m.
Sitting up, I shift my feet to the floor. Taking it slow, in case of any lingering vertigo. Once I realize I’m no longer dizzy, I breathe out a sigh of relief. Only a mild headache remains—like the kind you get when you’ve cried too many tears.
Looking around, I can see the bed is not the only thing empty. I’m alone in Aidan’s room.
It’s peaceful. The warm sun of the late morning streams through the glass ceiling and windows, the sounds of birds chirping from the courtyard below. I notice Aidan’s room also overlooks the private garden.
The light of day reveals a surprisingly neat bedroom. Decorated in dark greens and charcoals, it reminds me of the man who calls it home.
My stomach growls, reminding me that basic needs exist. Glancing around the room, I don’t see a tray or any food left out; only a bottle of water by the bed. My attention slowly slides to the hall door. It’s closed.
I chew my bottom lip and stare at the door. It’s probably locked. But before I lose my nerve, I slowly cross the room to test the handle.
Unlocked.
I suck in a breath and blink at the door I’ve cracked open in disbelief. Opening it just enough to poke my head out, I find the hallway empty, and the rest of the loft quiet. Except for the distant drone of a tv further down the hall.
Where is everyone?
Aidan told me the exterior doors are code locked, and we are twenty stories up. Does that mean I have free rein in the loft? Though dressed in only Aidan’s sweatshirt and boxers, I’m not too keen on leaving this room and strutting about the O’Rourke family stronghold.
Maybe he didn’t mean to leave this door open... or think I’d have the balls to leave it.
My stomach growls again, and either way, I’m not about to look a gift horse in the mouth. I step over the threshold and pull the door shut behind me, deciding just as my heart threatens to pound right through my chest.
Escape is on my mind, but my stomach growls again, and food becomes priority. My stomach—and a newfound defiance I didn’t have last night—propel me forward. As I tiptoe down the long hallway.
Should I stay in the room like a good little captive and wait to see what the Irish have planned for me? Probably . Was I going to? Nope.
The sight of Koen on the couch nearly sends me running straight back to Aidan’s room. Though smaller than his brother, something about Koen is far more terrifying. I can’t quite put my finger on it, but I’m pretty sure it’s the complete lack of emotion he shows on his face. A sociopath if I’ve ever seen one..
I pull back so I’m out of sight, pressed against the wall, listening.
Nothing.
Before I can think better of it, I peek out again at the eldest O’Rourke. He’s sprawled out on the sectional—his attention solely focused on the phone in his hands. The TV flashes from above the fireplace, airing the latest hockey highlights.
There’s only a couple of feet I need to cross out in the open. If he doesn’t look up, I might pass through the room without being caught. But that’s a big if…
One foot after another, I’m staring so hard at Koen he might just look up from the invisible force of my gaze alone.I swing into the kitchen, nearly collapsing with relief, pressing my back against the wall separating the eldest O’Rourke from me. Clinging to it like it’s a lifeline. I don’t dare peek out to see if he saw me. Instead, I close my eyes and listen, trying to hear over the sound of my panicked heart’s beating for any movement in the living room.
When the sound of Koen storming across the room doesn’t come, I open my eyes. Nearly letting out a scream at the sight of the smiling redhead right in front of me.
I have to clasp a hand over my mouth to keep quiet.
Reagan.
My eyes dart around her, taking in the space. Momentarily relieved to find it empty, except for the youngest O’Rourke grinning at me.I can handle Reagan, I think.
She must see the fear in my eyes because she moves slowly, careful to keep her hands where I can see them. Like she’s interacting with a wild animal. She touches a single finger to her lips before motioning with the other hand for me to follow her deeper into the kitchen.
Green eyes, so much like her brother’s, sparkle with mischief.
I hesitate, stealing a glance behind me at where Koen still lounges out of sight.
Reagan shoots me a reassuring smile, and even though I’m still apprehensive, I follow.
Worst case scenario… She’s smaller than I am. I could probably take her if she tried anything…
Reagan leads me past the island, down a half stair and out a gorgeous set of French doors. Right out into the beautiful little garden I’ve only seen from my window. She shuts the doors behind us carefully before speaking.
“Hungry?” She points to a long wooden table. Nestled in a little grove of climbing roses and set full of delicious looking breakfast options.
My mouth waters at the sight.
“C’mon.” She motions me over and I follow obediently. “Help yourself.” She takes a seat at the middle of the table and hands me an empty plate.
I take it and plop my ass in the seat across from her, wasting no time loading up on delectable looking French toast and eggs. There’s also bacon, hash browns, a few large crumbly muffins and a pitcher of juice, along with a large carafe of coffee.
The first bite of the fluffy French toast nearly sends me sliding out of my chair. It’s so damn good. Reagan smiles knowingly, taking a bite of her own.
“Oh my God, this is amazing!” I get out between bites, practically shoving it in. Afraid someone might take it away before I can get enough of it. “Did you make this?”
She grins at me.“Me? God no, I’d sooner burn the house down trying...” She laughs like it’s the most ludicrous thing in the world.
Recovering, she tucks a red strand behind her ear before schooling her face. “No, I’m not the domestic type, this—” She gestures to the food, “—this is all Koen.”
I freeze mid bite, nearly choking on what’s already halfway down my throat.
“ Koen cooked this?” I stare at the piece of egg on my fork with newfound suspicion.
Reagan shrugs.“Yeah. He can cook like… anything.”
I force a swallow, gathering up my nerve. “And—where is everyone else this morning?” I ask, cautiously.
She taps pretty gold painted nails against her chin, thinking... “This time of day? Aidan and Liam are usually still at the rink, but they should be back any minute. Koen usually has breakfast ready for when they have early skates. They’re pretty ravenous after practice.”
The idea of Koen, a hardened Irish mob boss, cooking up a five-star breakfast to keep his hockey-playing younger brothers fed is a strange thought.
“And what about Alexe—err—Alex?” I correct, eyeing the garden doors warily.
Reagan is focused on pouring herself a steaming hot cup of coffee. “Back with the Russians, I think.” She waives the carafe at me. “Coffee?”
I nod absently, lost in my thoughts as she fills the mug. When she comes back into focus, she’s studying me. Close up, her green eyes are lighter than her brothers, with more hints of amber and gold mixed in.
“Are you really the Bratva Pakhan’s daughter?” she whispers like the words themselves are dangerous. The youngest of the notorious Boston Irish family is looking at me with a mix of curiosity and fascination. Not a trace of hatred or ire in her expression.
“Unfortunately,” I mumble, cramming in another bite of eggs while keeping a watchful eye on the door.
Reagan raises two perfect eyebrows at my response before letting out a little sigh. “Sounds like being the Bratva princess is about as much fun as being the Irish one…”
Taking my eyes off the door, I study her again.
We’re about the same age. Unlike her brothers, an overwhelming sense of goodness surrounds her—warmth. Uncommon in this world we were born into.
“I suppose so,” I say, agreeing with her, feeling a tentative bond forming between us as we find common ground. I take a sip of my coffee and my shoulders sag in relief. The dull pounding in my skull lessens as I fill my stomach with food and caffeine.
Very few people could understand the way I was raised and the lifestyle I was compelled to follow. While it had been easy to make friends while I was away at school, I couldn’t keep up with them. Couldn’t visit friends or have them come to me. Not without putting their lives at risk. The danger was too great.
After a while, I slowly started isolating myself. Aside from Elle, Alexei, and my coaches, there are very few people I interact with daily.
“To mafia bullshit!” Reagan raises her coffee mug, a little smirk on her face. Dimples apparent on her lightly freckled cheeks.
I let out a laugh despite myself. “To the bullshit!” I clink my mug against hers and we both laugh a little harder.
The conversation between us flows from there. I fill my stomach and sit back, enjoying the warmth of the sun on my face, the fresh air, and Reagan’s smart mouth. She’s unassumingly funny. I liked her immediately. Growing up in the mob hasn’t yet tainted her with its dark, ugly claws.
Not like me.
Hanging out with Reagan almost makes me forget the personal hell I’m trapped in.
The sound of a throat clearing has both our heads whipping around, falling silent. Even the birds have the good sense not to chirp under Aidan’s predatory gaze.
He stands in the doorway, furious green eyes locked on me.
Nope. Definitely wasn’t supposed to leave the bedroom…
He does a quick pass over Reagan, as if checking to see if any harm has come to his little sister by my hand.“What the fuck is this?” He finally fumes after confirming Reagan appears just fine.
I’m rigid in my seat, but Reagan leans back in her chair, the picture of nonchalance, rolling her eyes at her brother.
Aidan’s own eyes narrow at his sister.“Where is Koen?” he demands, his voice loud enough to summon Koen himself. The eldest O’Rourke’s confused expression hardens as he takes in the sight of the two of us sitting together in the garden.
“What the fuck is this?” His Irish accent is the strongest I’ve heard it. Seeming to come out of the O’Rourkes more so when they’re angry.
“Asshole number one already said that,” Reagan points out, and I stare at her in horror. Shocked by the boldness of her attitude. Thinking of all the ways Niko would have killed me dead if I ever spoke to him like she just did. “Would you guys like to join us for breakfast?”
“Reagan, for God’s sake,” Aidan lets out, pinching his nose, clearly exasperated. “Get away from her.” He motions to me, but I narrow my eyes, stealing a bit of my new friend’s attitude.
Reagan sinks deeper in her chair and folds her arms across her chest. “You guys act like you have a Bratva soldier in this house.” She shakes her head and her eyes lock on mine. “Rory’s a girl. She didn’t choose to be born to the Russian Mafia any more than I want to be part of the stupid Mob.”
Both brothers stare at their little sister, rendered speechless. Both of them watch me with a warning in their eyes and so I sit very still. Fearful the slightest little movement from me might end with a bullet in my head.
The two brothers fall forward unsteadily as someone pushes through the middle of them.
Liam strolls in, head held high, taking in the tense scene in the garden before shooting me a wink. “Rory, good to see ya.” He struts forward, dropping into the seat next to Reagan and reaches for some French toast.He eyes the red little minx next to him with feigned disappointment. “Reagan, Reagan, Reagan, didn’t Aidan and Koen ever teach you not to feed the captives?” He mocks, grinning at me.