Chapter 19
Mia
I stood there, stunned into silence, unable to process what I was hearing.
It was Connor’s voice.
He stepped into the headlight beam, and that’s when I saw the dried blood caked along his temple and the determined set of his jaw. His eyes, those piercing blue eyes I’d come to know so well, were fixed on me with an intensity that made my heart race.
“Connor?”
I whispered. Was this real, or some cruel hallucination born from desperation and exhaustion?
“It’s me,”
he said, his voice rough with emotion. “I’m here, Mia.”
My legs moved before my brain could catch up, carrying me across the distance between us. I crashed into him, my arms wrapping around his solid frame as if he might disappear if I didn’t hold on tight enough. The familiar scent of him—pine, leather, and something unique to him—enveloped me, and I buried my face against his chest, feeling the steady thump of his heartbeat beneath my cheek.
“I thought—”
My voice broke, tears streaming unchecked down my face. “He said you were dead.”
His arms tightened around me, one hand coming up to cradle the back of my head. “It’ll take more than this bastard to keep me from you,”
he murmured against my hair. “Bulletproof vest. Standard protocol for clan business. The shot to my temple just grazed me— but I’m okay.”
I pulled back just enough to look at his face, my fingers gently tracing the wound at his temple. The bullet had carved a shallow furrow along his skin, missing anything vital by mere centimeters. Blood had dried in his hair, making it stick up at odd angles, but his eyes were clear and focused.
“How did you find me?”
I asked, my voice trembling as I tried to wrap my head around the fact that he stood before me.
He rested his arm against the truck door and leaned on it, a wry smile playing at the corners of his lips. “I slipped a tracker in the inside pocket of my jacket before handing it over to you. Just in case things went sideways.”
I furrowed my brows, still puzzled. “I mean here, in the middle of nowhere with no leads. How did you even know where to start looking?”
He shifted his weight, crossing his arms over his chest. “Well, it was a stroke of luck, really. The hotel got some good shots from their security cameras of their faces and a business beside the alley where they parked got the plate of the van. Rory and I paid him a little visit at his home then brought him to the barn at the estate.”
“What happened then?”
I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.
His eyes darkened. “We had a little chat after a water boarding session.”
He pushed off from the truck, taking a step closer.
I nodded. That was an effective method.
“At first he played dumb,”
he continued, his voice eerily calm. “But Ryan, one of the reapers, has a particular way with stubborn people. After about an hour, your kidnapper was singing like a damn canary.” He paused, studying my reaction. “Told us everything—who hired him, where they took you, what they planned to do.”
“Did you—”
“Kill him?”
He shook his head. “I should have, but I didn’t. We just made sure he understood the consequences of breathing a word about you.” His smile returned, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “He’s probably halfway to Mexico by now.”
“And that’s how you found this place?”
“GPS coordinates straight from his phone. Your location was buried under layers of encryption, but...”
he shrugged, “my tech guy is better than theirs.”
The realization hit me like a wave. He had gone to extraordinary lengths to find me. The question was—why?
“You didn’t have to do all this,”
I said quietly but secretly glad he did.
He moved closer, meeting my gaze. “Yes, I did. Nobody takes what’s mine.”
The possessiveness in his voice sent a shiver down my spine, but before I could respond, a groan from the ground reminded us we weren’t alone. Craven was trying to push himself up, his movements sluggish but determined. Blood pooled beneath him, black in the moonlight, but somehow, he was still conscious.
“You fucking bitch, I’ll kill you for this,”
he snarled, his voice garbled through what was likely a mouthful of broken teeth.
Connor’s body tensed beside me, and I felt rather than saw the shift in him—from concerned husband to lethal predator. He moved with fluid grace, placing himself between me and Craven.
“You won’t touch her again,”
he said, his voice eerily calm. “You won’t even look at her.”
Craven laughed, a wet, choking sound. “You have no idea what she is, do you? What she was sent to do to your family?”
Connor’s eyes flicked to me briefly, uncertainty flashing across his face before hardening into resolve. “I know exactly who she is,”
he said firmly. “She’s my wife.”
Craven’s bloodied lips twisted into a grotesque smile. “Your wife? She’s an assassin you dumbshit. Sent to kill your brother and now you. To dismantle the MacGallan Clan from the inside.”
The words hung in the air between us, heavy and damning. I felt my breath catch, unable to look at Connor, to see the moment when belief turned to betrayal in his eyes.
“I already know,”
Connor said quietly.
My head snapped up, shock reverberating through me. “What?”
Connor’s gaze remained fixed on Craven, his stance unwavering. “I’ve known since Niagara Falls. When you started to tell me who you really were. ‘I’m an ass—’ You were going to say ‘assassin,’ weren’t you?”
I nodded mutely, my mind reeling. “How...?”
“I’m not an idiot, Mia. The way you handled that car chase, your reflexes, those ‘hits’ you mentioned... you’re not part of any mafia, and the pieces started falling into place.”
His voice was steady, emotionless. “Rory confirmed it. He has connections in intelligence circles.”
Craven laughed again, blood bubbling from his lips. “And yet here you are, saving her. Pathetic.”
Connor stepped forward, looming over Craven’s broken form. “The only pathetic one here is you. A man who gets off on terrorizing women, who follows orders without question because he lacks the spine to think for himself.”
With lightning speed, Connor’s boot came down on Craven’s hand as he reached for something in his jacket. The crunch of bones breaking punctuated his howl of pain.
“That’s for touching my wife,”
Connor said coldly, kicking away the small pistol Craven had been reaching for.
He turned to me, his expression softening slightly. “Get in the truck, Mia.”
I hesitated, looking between Connor and the prone form of my tormentor. “What are you going to do?”
“What needs to be done,”
he replied, his eyes conveying a message I understood all too well. “Please, go to the truck.”
“Connor,”
I whispered, “I can explain—”
“Later,”
he said, his voice softer than I expected. “Right now, we need to deal with him.”
Craven laughed again, blood dribbling down the sides of his mouth. “You’re a fool, O’Brien. She’ll slit your throat in your sleep. It’s what she’s trained to do.”
Connor’s finger tightened on the trigger. “Last words?”
“You think killing me solves anything?”
Craven spat. “Matheson will send others. You’ll never be safe. Neither of you will—”
The gunshot split the night, echoing through the trees and sending a murder of crows scattering from their perches. Craven’s head snapped back, a neat hole appearing between his eyes, and then he was still.
Connor lowered the gun, his face expressionless. “Get in the truck,”
he said quietly. “We need to move.”
Before I did that, I had something that I needed to do. I took the gun from Connor’s hand and emptied the chamber into Craven.
Passing it back to him, I walked to the truck, every muscle in my body screamed in protest as I climbed into the passenger seat. Connor slid behind the wheel, tucking the gun away before starting the engine. The headlights illuminated Craven’s body, already looking smaller in death, before he turned the truck around and accelerated down the road.
We drove in silence for several miles, the only sound was the rumble of tires on asphalt and my own ragged breathing. I stared straight ahead, unable to look at him, terrified of what I might see in his eyes.
“You’ve known longer than you're admitting, haven’t you?”
I finally asked, my voice barely audible above the engine.
Connor’s hands tightened on the steering wheel. “I started to put it all together the first night in Niagara Falls.”
I swallowed hard. “And you didn’t say anything.”
It wasn’t a question.
He shook his head slightly. “I wasn’t sure what to say. Or what was real.”
The implication hung between us like a physical presence. He’d known my cover was fake, that I wasn’t who I claimed to be, and yet, he married me, and he’d still come for me when it mattered.
“Matheson will send others,”
I echoed Craven’s warning, my voice hollow. “He wasn’t bluffing about that.”
“I know.”
His profile looked like it was carved from granite in the dashboard light, jaw clenched tight. “Technically, I’m not the captain of the clan until I have my swearing in ceremony.”
We passed through a small town, its streetlights casting intermittent shadows across his face. In those brief illuminations, I caught glimpses of something I couldn’t quite read— anger, certainly, but also determination. And beneath it all, hurt.
“I need to know,”
he said finally, “did you feel anything? Between us or was it all fake too?”
The question struck me like a physical blow. I’d been prepared for his rage, even disgust. But not this raw vulnerability.
“Yes of course! With every fiber of my being. It started at Wren and Declan’s wedding,”
I whispered, the words clawing their way out of my throat. “That’s why I couldn’t—why I failed to—” I broke off, unable to finish.
“Is she even your sister?”
“That part is true. Wren and I are half sisters. That’s why they sent me to take care of Declan.”
Connor nodded once, processing. “Your real name. Give me that much.”
“Amelia,”
I said after a moment’s hesitation. “Amelia Sutton.”
We lapsed into silence again as the truck ate up the miles, putting distance between us and what we’d left behind. The adrenaline was wearing off, leaving me bone-weary and trembling.
“There’s a motel up ahead,”
he pointed out the windshield towards the neon lights. “We’ll stop for the night, regroup. Figure out our next move.”
As he pulled into the parking lot of a run-down motel, I finally found the courage to ask what I’d been dreading.
“Are you going to tell Declan and Rory about me?”
Connor cut the engine and turned to face me fully for the first time since we’d fled. His eyes searched mine, and I forced myself not to look away, to let him see whatever he was looking for.
“No,”
he said at last. “But when we’re safe, you’re going to tell me everything. No more lies, Mia. I need to know exactly what we’re up against.”
I nodded, relief and dread mingling in my chest. “Everything,”
I promised.
What I didn’t tell him was that “everything”
might be the very thing that would make him walk away for good.