Chapter 28
LIAM
Usually, the part where I catch an adversary in a lie is a moment of triumph, of winning. But Rebel isn’t an adversary—far from it. Nor do I feel anything akin to triumph. Sweat dots her upper lip, and I can almost see the cogs in her brain turning, excuses developing as slow as evolution.
She can’t think fast enough, panic slowing her brain’s neurons. So what tactic does she deploy? She does what people cornered often do. She attacks.
“How dare you burst in here? I could’ve been naked or on the toilet.”
“Nothing I haven’t seen before.” I’m tired of pretending. She knows who she is. She knows that I know who she is. “Who’s Brian?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She turns her back to me and checks out her appearance in the mirror, smoothing both hands over her hair to tame the flyaway strands.
A trickle of disappointment runs through me.
It doesn’t matter which version of myself I show to her, she doesn’t trust me enough to tell me what the fuck is going on.
Is her silence to protect me, as Sorcha told me it was?
Or is it because Rebel doesn’t see me as capable of handling myself?
That whoever this Brian is, she believes, deep in her gut, that he’s more powerful, more able to solve her problems, than I am.
Fuck. That.
“Get your shoes and coat on. We’re going out?”
“Where?”
I don’t answer. Spinning on my heel, I leave the bathroom. “Five minutes. Don’t make me fucking wait.”
I stomp down the stairs, frustration warring with rage at whoever the fuck this Brian shithead is. He’s got Rebel in a chokehold, and if it’s the last thing I do, I’m going to break it. No, not break it. Destroy it, and him, too.
She had a phone. All this time, she had a phone and was in contact with this guy while she kept up the pretense that we’re strangers.
The way her voice cracked, though, when she said his name. He terrifies her.
“Who’s shoved a butt plug up your arse?”
I glare at Darragh. “Fuck off. Today isn’t the day.”
“Like every other day, then.” He flashes a grin, all perfect teeth and dimples. “What’s she done now?”
“Nothing,” I mutter. “I’m going out. Got some business to attend to.” I fling open the coat cupboard and snatch my jacket. Several other coats fall on the floor. I shove them with my foot and jam the door closed.
Rebel’s footsteps sound on the stairs. I look up at her, watching the way she moves, like she’s trying not to draw attention to herself. She’s so light on her feet that even the fourth stair, the one that always creaks, stays silent beneath her boots.
She’s used to making herself small. And now I have a name to blame, if not a face or a location. Yet. It’s only a matter of time. She thinks this fucker is scarier than me, that he has the power to take down a Mahoney. I’m about to prove her wrong.
Maybe then she’ll drop this fucking act and tell me why she left me all those years ago.
“Where are we going?”
“You’ll see.” I place my palm at the base of her spine and ease her toward the front door.
She doesn’t flinch or speed up to escape my touch.
As stupid as it is, I take a crumb of comfort in that.
I can’t help feeling that the wall she built to protect whoever stole her from me is crumbling.
Even if it doesn’t, I’ll take a fucking sledgehammer to it.
I’m done waiting for shit to happen. I’m the man who makes shit happen.
I open the passenger door for her, wait until she’s situated, then close it and march around to the driver’s side.
I keep my gaze on her through the windscreen.
If she bites that lip much more, she’ll need stitches to patch her up.
If I had to guess, she expected me to keep pushing and pushing until she spilled the Brian beans all over the bathroom floor.
That I haven’t has her off-balance, wondering what unhinged thing I’m going to do next to force the truth from her.
This could be a mistake.
By showing her who I am, of the fear I instill in people, the power I wield, it might just push her closer to him.
It’s a risk I’m willing to take. We can’t keep doing the same dance over and over while expecting a different result.
I caught her red bloody handed, and she still won’t give up the intel.
Something has to change.
I start the engine and drive up to the gates. Our security guard raises a hand in greeting and opens them. I nose the car through and turn left.
“Where are we going?” Rebel asks again.
“I have some business to attend to.”
“What’s that got to do with me?”
My eyes flick sideways. She’s doing it again, that lip caught between her teeth, worrying away at it. I keep one hand on the steering wheel and reach across, catching her chin between my thumb and forefinger. “Stop.”
“Is it that strange that I’m biting my lip? You’re obviously mad at me, and you won’t tell me where you’re taking me. For all I know, it’s to my death.”
That she’d even think I was capable of killing her is a blade to my heart. Then again, can I blame her? I haven’t exactly covered myself in glory since I took her.
“I could never harm you, Rebel.”
Surprise flickers across her face at how softly I spoke, how much sincerity I poured into every syllable.
“You kidnapped me.”
“True. But have I hurt you physically, even once?”
“You pulled me by my hair.”
My nostrils flare. “Okay, other than that, which was a mistake, have I hurt you physically?”
When she doesn’t answer me, I glance sideways again. Her teeth briefly graze her bottom lip, then she must think twice, and she stops, switching to fiddling with her scarf instead.
“No,” she eventually says, quiet enough that I have to strain to hear her. “Not physically. But emotionally? Psychologically? Yes, you’ve hurt me. You’ve scared me.”
Shame clings to every inch of my body, every hair follicle and nerve ending. It’s in my blood, my hair. It’s everywhere. I’m not sure I’ll ever wash it off. I can’t hide behind anger any longer. If I’d handled this differently, we might be a lot further along.
“I never meant to hurt you. When I saw you in that bar, I lost it. There you were, a woman I once loved with my whole heart, a woman I believed had betrayed me and almost got me killed. And what’s worse, you pretended not to know me. I reacted.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I catch her turn her head toward me. “Is that an apology?”
I shrug. “In hindsight, I should’ve approached things differently.”
I keep my attention on the road, but I swear she smiles. Barely, but a smile all the same. “Darragh was right.”
My skin prickles, jealousy circling my gut. I can’t bear to hear another man’s name on her lips, even if it is my brother’s.
“What about?”
“That you never apologize.”
I grunt. Fucking Darragh. Should’ve knocked his fucking teeth out. Wouldn’t be a pretty boy who has women circling him like flies round shite then.
Apologies are a weakness. Besides, anyone can spit out an “I’m sorry” and not mean it. I prefer to let my actions speak for me.
We lapse into silence, but that smirk stays on her lips as though she thinks she’s won a prize.
Except I’m the one who has won the prize.
Just to see her smile is like winning the fucking lottery.
I’ve missed it. Missed her. She was always laughing, smiling, having fun, taking risks.
Doing some kind of crazy shit like bungee jumping or diving into the water off a high cliff in the middle of winter.
I want that woman back. All I need to do is to get her to trust me and the dam will break.
The warehouse comes into view. I pull up outside the only entrance and cut the engine. Rebel isn’t smiling anymore. She’s frozen, wide-eyed, gaze locked on the formidable-looking building standing alone in the middle of nowhere. “Where are we?”
Slotting the keys in my pocket, I push down on the door handle. “Come on.”
She’s slow to follow. I wait, hands in pockets, expression smooth even though patience is something I have to work at rather than a trait that comes naturally. I hold out my hand. She stares at it for about five seconds then takes it.
Progress. I call that progress. “You’re not in any danger.”
“Then why am I here?”
“To witness something.”
She frowns. “Witness what?”
“That however powerful and frightening you believe this fucker Brian to be, I’m more powerful and more frightening.”
“I-I don’t understand.”
I suppose there’s no harm in relaying what Sorcha told me.
“Sorcha seems to have it in her head that you’re keeping up this Erin shite because you think you’re protecting me, and now I know about Brian, I’m gonna hazard a guess that it’s him you’re trying to protect me from.
I’m here to prove that it’s he who should fear me, not the other way around. ”
Her lips part and stay there, like she had the words but then they vanished.
“Shall we go?”
Her throat works as she swallows. Once, twice, a third time.
When she still says nothing in response to my revelation, I tow her inside.
The warehouse is dim save for a bare bulb hanging on a low wire on the far side, but there’s enough light from a couple of high windows for us to see without tripping over.
Three of our soldiers guard a man slumped over and tied to a chair.
They turn in succession, and one breaks away from the group.
“Boss.”
I’m not the boss. Patrick is. But in his absence, I represent my family and, as such, it’s an acceptable greeting. I never have liked underboss. “Domhnall. All good?”
“Yeah. No trouble.” He pays no attention to Rebel, his gaze on me. The man knows his place. He also knows I’d pluck out his eyes if he dared to look at her.
“Who is that?” Rebel presses closer to my side, her eyes fixated on Fergal sitting slumped in a chair.
“A traitor.” I slide an arm around her waist. Christ, that feels good.
“What’s going to happen to him?”
I level her with a stare. She immediately gets my drift. I watch her for signs she’s about to bolt, which would render my lesson moot.
“What did he do?”
“Grassed to the Garda about an incoming arms shipment and cost us millions.”
At the mention of the police, she stiffens.
Interesting. “Why don’t you take a seat over there?
” I point to a chair several feet away from the action.
It puts her far enough away from the soon-to-be dead man that she won’t get splattered with his blood.
I’m not worried about the violence she’s about to witness.
It’s all part of my plan to show her that I am a man that people fear. As they should.
My soldiers have already roughed him up. One eye is swollen and sealed shut, his nose is broken, and his lip split, and it looks as though he’s got a dislocated shoulder.
I crouch in front of his chair. “Fergal.”
His one good eye blinks.
“There you are.” I rest my forearms on my knees, keeping my voice conversational. “I was beginning to think you’d died already.”
Fergal’s good eye slides to Rebel. A mistake. He isn’t good enough to clean her shoes with his fucking tongue, let alone look at her.
“Eyes on me.” I click my fingers. His gaze snaps back to me immediately. Good. He’s still lucid enough to be afraid. “You know why you’re here.”
His split lip moves. “Liam. I swear to God, I didn’t—”
“Don’t.” I tilt my head. “Don’t fucking insult my intelligence by lying to my face. I’ve known you twelve fucking years, Fergal. I know when you’re lying. Your left eye twitches. Did you know that?” I stand slowly. “Why did you do it?”
“I had no choice. He said he’d kill my wife and kids.”
I flick my gaze to Rowan. I’d slaughter cities for her, yet this guy chose to rat us out instead. Wrong move. “And you couldn’t come to me with this? Couldn’t let me deal with it?”
“I should have. I know that now. Please, boss. I’ll never betray the Mahoneys again.”
I shrug out of my jacket, roll up the sleeves on my shirt, and take the toolkit from Domhnall, removing a pair of pliers. “No. You won’t.”
What follows isn’t pretty, and it isn’t meant to be.
I use violence like a scalpel. Precise, purposeful.
Without hesitation and without apology. His screams, loud at first, fade to whimpers and then…
silence. I toss the tools into the bag and take the wet rag Domhnall passes to me, wiping the blood off my hands.
I allow myself to look at Rebel. She’s pale, chin trembling. Her gaze flicks to Fergal slumped in the chair. I take a step toward her. She launches upright and beelines for the exit.
Fuck.
I race after her. She’s bloody fast, but I’m gaining.
“Rowan, stop.”
She glances behind her, loses her footing, and slams into the ground, face first and with a sickening thud. I skid to a halt beside her, crouching.
She doesn’t move. She doesn’t fucking move.
“Hey, mo rún.” Panic races through me. If she’s badly injured or worse, I’ll never forgive myself. This was supposed to be a lesson to help her trust me, to show her that I can handle my enemies and protect her and myself from harm. Instead, I’ve achieved the complete fucking opposite.
Don’t die on me. Dear fucking God, please don’t die on me.
She groans and a lightning bolt of relief shoots through me. “You’re okay, Rebel.” I keep my voice soft. “I’ve got you.”
Scooping her into my arms, I head for the car. It’s tricky balancing her while opening the door, but I manage it. I lay her down in the back seat and cover her with a blanket from the boot.
“I’m sorry.”
I tuck a lock of hair behind her ear. She’s bleeding from a cut on her forehead, but it doesn’t look too bad. I don’t like how sluggish she’s talking, though. “Shhh. You’re okay. You’ll be okay.” Physically, maybe, but emotionally? Mentally? I could have just ruined everything.
I dive into the driver’s seat and fire up the engine.
“Where are you taking me?” Every word is an effort, and she closes her eyes.
“To someone who’ll take care of you.” Because I sure as shite haven’t. I’m decisive, but this time, I’ve fucked up. How badly remains to be seen.
First, Rowan needs medical attention. Then… well, then we talk.