Chapter 5
brIAN
Late on Tuesday night, my taxi stops outside Erin’s flat. I pay the driver and hoist my weekend bag over my shoulder.
It’s been almost a month since I’ve visited her.
I fucking hate being away from her for this long.
Control is the name of the game, and I can’t control her from Dublin when she’s in London.
Texts and phone calls only go so far. I should be pleased that my promotion has put me in charge of my division’s role in the Joint Agency Task Force, and I am.
But it’s come with a workload I’ve struggled to get a handle on.
Still, I’m here now. And even better is that she won’t be expecting me.
I like to surprise her every now and then.
Another tool in my arsenal of keeping her on the back foot.
Our official face-to-face check-in isn’t until Sunday and, as I have two days before I need to be back in Dublin, I intend to make the most of them.
I’m so close. So fucking close to the end game.
A few more chess pieces to move, and the Mahoneys are going down.
It’s taken years of careful planning to get to this point, but now, I can almost smell the sweet scent of victory.
Once their empire is destroyed, I’ll play my final card and send Erin, or Rowan as Liam Mahoney knows her as, back to him in pieces.
The waiting has killed me at times, but acting too soon is a fool’s errand, and I’m no fool.
It hasn’t all been painful. I’ve had some fun along the way, sending Mahoney chasing shadows all over the country and continental Europe, too.
A postcard here, a delivery of his favorite chocolates, a voicemail from an untraceable number with their song playing in the background.
Each one was designed to taunt him, yes, but also to keep his hatred for her alive.
Because when he finally learns the truth, all that hate he manifested in her name will devour his insides like a cancer.
Fucking his woman hasn’t been a chore, either. Every time I bury my dick in her, I get this wave of triumph knowing that I stole her from right under Mahoney’s nose and left him with a permanent reminder of her supposed betrayal.
Good times.
When I open her front door, the flat is in darkness.
She must be working the late shift. I flick on the living room light, and a flash of irritation rises in my throat.
She still hasn’t finished unpacking since I moved her here a few months ago.
Moving locations is all part of my play.
I manufacture evidence, tell her she’s in danger, and put her somewhere new.
It strengthens her reliance on me and stops her making close friendships with anyone.
I make a coffee and open the first box. If she won’t unpack, I will. I can’t abide slovenly behavior. My mother always said disorder was how the Devil got his foot in the door, and once he’d made himself at home, even God couldn’t evict him.
I empty a couple of boxes and pull another toward me.
Books, most tatty paperbacks that look like they’ve done the charity shop rounds a few times.
I take them out, frowning at a bunch of envelopes tied with a blue ribbon nestled at the bottom of the box.
I tug on the ribbon and sift through the envelopes, opening one at random.
I recognize Erin’s neat handwriting immediately.
I miss you. By now, you’ve probably moved on. I hope you have. All I want is for you to be happy. I just wish it could be with me.
I open another.
I saw someone today who looked like you. It wasn’t you, of course, but my heart skipped a beat anyway. I know this is for the best. I’d rather be alone and sad but know you are alive and well than consider the alternative.
A third.
I woke from a dream this morning, and for a second, I believed it was real.
We were together at the lake, and despite the cold, I was warm in your arms. Warm and safe and oh so happy.
I’ve forgotten what happiness is, but it doesn’t matter.
You’re alive and I’m alive and that’s something to be grateful for.
I wish there was an alternative, a parallel universe where we could be together.
I wish I’d never seen that murder, but I did.
I can’t change the past, but I can secure our futures, even if I’ll never see you again, never hold you, never be able to tell you how much I love you.
The letters aren’t addressed to anyone, but I know it’s him she’s writing to.
It took me three and a half years to break her addiction to Mahoney.
Years of feeding her propaganda, each piece of information meant to weaken the bond, to show him for the evil piece of shit he is.
She told me he meant nothing to her anymore.
Then again, she could have written these letters in the early days. Seeing them now doesn’t mean she lied to me.
I keep opening them, reading each one in no particular order. They all follow the same theme. Her swearing undying love, and how she’s prepared to suffer if it keeps him safe. Bless her fucking heart.
I scan another.
I have to start over. Again. This time, London. But if me moving and starting over and over again is the price for your safety, I’ll willingly pay it. I’ll play the part of Erin for the rest of my life because I love you, Liam. I will never stop loving you.
An icy blast slithers into my veins. I moved her to London three months ago, which means this letter was recently written. The fucking bitch played her fucking part alright, by playing me. She told me he meant nothing to her anymore.
Liar.
Fine. If that’s how she wants it to be, then I’ll happily oblige. The game is the same, but the order just switched up.
Liam Mahoney is about to get his woman back a little earlier than planned—in pieces—and while he’s mired in grief, I’ll have time to pull the final threads together to fucking bury him and his entire family.
I glance up at the ceiling. This is for you, Aisling.
Time’s up, Mahoney.