Chapter 29
LIAM
“Why is it that you Mahoneys only ever darken my door when you need medical attention and can’t risk going to a hospital like normal fucking people?”
I shift Rowan in my arms and glare at my brother’s best friend. “Are you gonna let us in, or do I have to force my way through and put a gun to your head to treat her? Because I will.”
Cillian shakes his head and stands back. “You’re a fucking liability. Care to tell me who she is?”
“Kidnap,” Rowan murmurs, which, I admit, does not show me in the best light. Patrick mustn’t have told Cillian we had a houseguest because his eyes flare.
“Jesus Christ. Another one?” He beckons to me, then strides down the hallway and into his dining room. Flashbacks of Patrick bleeding out on that table assault me. Not sure I’ll ever forget that night, no matter how much time passes.
“What the hell is wrong with you Mahoneys? Can’t you just meet someone in the pub and ask them on a date like normal people?” He pulls out a chair. “Put her down here. Gently,” he adds as though he thought I’d toss her on the table like a sack of spuds. “I’ll get my medical kit.”
He disappears, returning a few seconds later. “Move.”
Only my brother’s best friend could get away with barking instructions at me and not end up with his head blown off. Doesn’t mean I won’t give him a pair of black eyes, though. Jury’s out. Let’s see how well he fixes up Rowan.
He opens the kit and removes a packet of sterile gauze. He presses it to the cut. “What’s your name?”
I almost answer on her behalf. Almost. Stop myself just in time. Let’s see if a bang to the head loosens her tongue.
“Row.” Her head lolls and she yawns. “Tired.”
Bingo.
“I know, but I need you to stay awake for me, Row. Open your eyes.”
“It’s Rowan,” I interject.
Cillian doesn’t even acknowledge me, his attention solely on her. Exactly where I want it to be. He peels away the gauze and peers at the wound, then presses the gauze down again.
“How did she injure herself?”
“Running from me.”
“Can’t say I blame her,” Cillian drawls. “What with you kidnapping her and all.”
“It’s more complicated than that.”
“Well, you would say that,” Cillian murmurs.
Fuck, he’s an annoying bastard, but he’s also an incredible surgeon and a trustworthy partner to us.
He saved my brother’s life. That and the fact I need him are the only things keeping me from smashing his head into the wall and giving him a concussion of his own.
“Did she lose consciousness?”
“I don’t think so. She did close her eyes on the way over here, though.”
He finishes cleaning the wound and tapes a clean square bandage over it, then gives her a tetanus shot. He asks her a barrage of questions, some of which she answers and some she just shrugs. Eventually, he snaps the medical kit closed and turns to me.
“She’s got a mild concussion. She needs rest and quiet for the next forty-eight hours.
Give her paracetamol every four hours. No screen time.
Someone needs to stay with her for the next twenty-four hours.
If her headache worsens, she starts vomiting, is extremely drowsy, or suffers from decreased coordination, then I don’t give a fuck what trouble it brings to your door, you take her to the hospital. Got it?”
I grind my molars. “Yes.”
“Good. Wait here. I’ll print off a concussion care sheet.” He picks up the medical kit and strides from the room.
I crouch beside her chair. “You hanging in there, Rebel?”
She looks at me with hooded eyes. “Sleep.”
“Soon. We’ll get you home and settled and then you can get some sleep.”
Cillian returns and thrusts a piece of paper at me. “Here you are.”
“Thanks.” I fold it in quarters and shove it in my pocket.
I slide one arm around Rebel’s shoulders and hook my other beneath her knees, lifting her easily into my arms. She rests her head on my shoulder and makes this contented sound that seeps into the gaping hole she gouged in my chest when she left me.
Maybe I haven’t fucked up as badly as I thought.
I can’t bear the idea that she thinks I’m a monster, even if that’s precisely what I am.
But not with her. Never with her. “I’ve got you,” I murmur. “You’re safe with me.”
Cillian snorts. If I wasn’t cradling Rebel in my arms with my soul begging me to never let her go, I’d take out my gun and shoot the fucking arsehole.
I secure her on the back seat again and drive home.
She dozes off, but now that she’s seen Cillian, I’m more inclined to let her nap.
I carry Rowan up to bed, grateful that my brothers and especially Sorcha don’t appear to be here.
Sorcha will try to do that motherly woman thing and barge me out of the way so she can care for Rowan.
Not fucking happening. I’m not letting this woman out of my sight.
I pause outside her room. Don’t fucking ask me why, because I haven’t a clue, but rather than take her in there, I carry on down the hallway to my bedroom. It has a bigger bed. Yeah, that’s it. That’s the reason. Good enough. A bigger bed.
Gingerly, I sit her on the mattress and peel back the covers.
I lay her down and remove her coat and scarf, then her shoes and socks.
She’s wearing leggings and a t-shirt, which works well enough for a sleeping outfit.
If I’m to prove I’m trustworthy, taking off her clothes, if only to put her in a nightgown or pajamas, won’t achieve my aim.
Besides, seeing her naked will only torture me, and I’m tortured enough already simply by my memories.
She promptly falls asleep. I sit on the chair in the corner of my room, pinching the bridge of my nose. Rowan’s eyes move beneath her lids, a sign she’s dreaming. At least what happened with Fergal hasn’t given her nightmares.
She mutters something underneath her breath, and then she, clear as day, says Brian’s name. Jealousy is a fiery blaze in my chest. Who the fuck is that guy and what does he have over Rowan that’s made her fucking terrified of him, enough that she refuses to admit her true identity?
I hoist myself out of the chair and lie on the bed, staring at the ceiling while Rowan sleeps peacefully beside me. I’ve made such a fucking mess of everything, and in a rare moment of weakness, I admit I don’t know how to fix it.
An owl hooting wakes me. I blink, waiting for my eyes to adjust to the dark. I’m wrapped around Rowan’s body like vine, one leg jammed between both of hers, and my hand clamped to her stomach, pressing her against me.
I should move. Should. I don’t. Never have been one to conform to what I should do. If Rowan wakes and tells me to get off, I will. Until then, I’m staying right here.
Sleeping feels like wasting this moment, one I don’t know whether I’ll ever be afforded again. I bury my nose in her hair and inhale deeply. Strawberry, just like I remember. So she used the shampoo I had Maeve buy.
Gradually, dawn breaks, a slice of sunlight flirting with the wooden blinds covering my window.
Rowan stirs, and as she shifts, her bum grazes my morning wood.
Fuck. Fuck. The temptation to circle my hips, to grind against her like I used to, one that back then would result in her rolling on top of me and taking what she needed is all consuming.
I can’t. I don’t have the right.
It kills me. It fucking kills me. The fire in my belly burns hotter than ever, the violent need to get to the truth, to unpick every stitch until the entire thread unravels. I’m getting closer, but it’s moving too slow. Too fucking slow.
“Liam?”
“Yeah,” I rasp, my voice sleepy even if the rest of me is wide awake. Including my dick. Especially my dick. I untangle myself and roll to the side. “How are you feeling?”
“Okay, I think.”
“Any headache?”
“No. It’s a little fuzzy, but it doesn’t hurt.” Her breath hitches. “You stayed with me.”
“Yeah.”
The mattress shifts as she pivots. “Do I snore?”
“You talk in your sleep.”
A flash of trepidation crosses her face. “What did I say?”
“You mentioned Brian again.” A muscle in my jaw leaps. I grind my teeth. “Who is he, Rowan?”
She gnaws on the inside of her cheek. “Please.” A whispered plea for me to drop it.
She’s concussed, and I should be letting her rest, but I’ve had enough.
“I need you to understand something, to hear me. Truly hear me. Whatever you think you’re protecting me from, whoever you think is so terrifying that you would rather lie to my face than tell me the truth.
” I hold her gaze. “They’re the ones who should fear me. Not the other way around.”
Her throat moves, her eyes flicking to me, then away.
I reach out and uncurl one of her fists, finger by finger, until her hand lies open in mine, moon-shaped indentations in her palm. “I handle my enemies, Rebel. All of them. Including the one you’re so determined to hide from me.”
Her tongue flicks over her lips, the internal struggle she’s waging evident. “I witnessed a murder.”
I flinch, guilt tripping over remorse for first place. “I’m sorry about yesterday. I should have found a different way to prove to you that I can protect you. Fergal got what was coming to him. We let one traitor survive and more will test the boundaries. It’s just how it is.”
She shakes her head. “No, not that. I admit, I was shocked at the violence and was desperate to get away, but that’s not what I’m talking about.
” She swallows. “Years ago. Before I left. I saw a young guy get stabbed to death. The murderer looked right at me. I was terrified. Brian…” She breaks off.
Finally. Finally we’re getting somewhere. “Go on,” I encourage, even though hearing his name on her lips is a knife to my gut.
“I was in a blind panic, terrified. I didn’t know what to do.
I sprinted back to my car, but before I got there, I bumped into Brian.
Literally. I rounded a corner and there he was.
I knew him from school, although he was a few years above me.
I told him everything. He said they were very bad people who wouldn’t rest until they’d killed me and anyone associated with me.
I had to leave, Liam. For my safety and for yours. ”
I frown, the smell of bullshite strong enough to fell a cow, and they live surrounded by shite. Bit convenient for this Brian fucker to be right where this murder supposedly took place. “When did this happen?”
“January twelfth, five years ago. It’s a date that’s burned into my memory.”
Mine, too. That’s the day before I was in the hospital fighting for my life.
“Where?”
She reels off an address.
“What did the murderer look like? I know it was a long time ago, but anything you can recall.”
“He was just an ordinary guy. Late teens or early twenties maybe, similar age to the man he killed. Dark hair, average height and build.” She sighs. “I’m sorry. It was dark.”
“And this Brian? What’s his part in this?”
“He got me into the witness protection program.”
My eyebrows fly up. “So he’s Garda?”
She nods.
Fuck. That changes things. If Garda forked out for security, then they must have believed there was a credible threat to her. Even so, my internal radar fires. Something still feels off.
“He’s kept me safe. He’s been the one constant in my life this entire time.”
Bollocks. My radar isn’t just firing now. It’s declared a national fucking emergency.
“What’s his full name? Tell me everything.”
She averts her eyes. “Please, let me handle him. He’s… challenging. I know how to deal with him. Just let it lie, Liam. You’ll make things worse. He told me he has leverage on you, that if I ever made contact with you, he’ll ruin you all.”
He can fucking try. We have more than enough leverage of our own, including inside the Garda. Still, I’ll need to tell Patrick.
“Let me deal with Brian. I’ve been dealing with him for five years. In his own way, he cares for me.”
The way she says he cares for her sours something in my stomach. Alarm bells jangle and my eyes narrow. “Did you fuck him?”
She dips her chin. The answer is clear as day on her face.
My vision turns red. I can’t breathe, my ribs crushing my lungs, a vise that keeps getting tighter and tighter.
“Looking back,” she continues, oblivious to the war ripping apart my insides, “I think I slept with him out of a sense of gratitude.” She drops her voice. “Like I owed him something for saving my life. He liked playing the part of savior, and I was so tired of being alone.”
My nostrils flare. I stare at her for a long time, processing.
“Please don’t be mad. I never expected to see you again.”
I should reassure her that I’m not mad, except I am. Not at her, but I can’t trust myself to speak right now. I need intel, and I need it fast. I get out of the bed and stuff my feet into my boots, bending to lace them up.
“You’re leaving?”
“Yeah.” My voice is gruff. A streak of hurt races across her face. “I have some things to take care of.”
I click the door shut behind me and make for the stairs. Time to get some answers.