Chapter 35
ROWAN
I haven’t slept. Rage fuels my every breath.
And it’s taken all night to try to tamp down the white-hot fury that’s charging through my body.
You’d think I’d be used to keeping my shit together by now.
Five years of making myself small because a man told me I had to for my own safety… I’m a pro at compartmentalizing.
But sue me if I can’t quite box up all the rage when the man who betrayed me came inside my fucking body when he knew the fear I’d carried with me for so long was fake. Was put there by a master manipulator.
It feels like a brand. Like he stamped his ownership inside me before I knew the full truth.
I stay under the shower longer than necessary, scrubbing like I could erase the evidence of my own stupidity.
But no amount of suds can wash this away.
Unprotected sex with my ex. I shake my head as I rub the shampoo into my scalp under the scalding water.
I need to find my chill, to ease off the accelerator on the rage pedal and locate my inner ice queen.
Liam Mahoney knows rage. He lives rage; he’s comfortable with rage. I bet he’s downstairs waiting for me to scream and break shit.
I admit, it’s what I want to do. And I’d even contemplated slashing his tires or keying his car to make me feel better.
Ice. I need to be ice.
Rage is loud. Ice is lethal. And lethal is harder to punish, harder to understand, harder to predict. Liam needs to be on the back foot for a while because I’m stepping forward.
I draw in some slow and calming breaths while I towel off and braid my wet hair.
I don’t want to be late for breakfast and risk everyone else not being there.
I can probably keep my cool with a buffer—or buffers—but a one-to-one meal with Liam…
there’s no guarantee I won’t slice his throat with a fucking bread knife and use his blood to butter my fucking toast.
Would his brothers try to stop me? Would they get to me before I did real damage?
Bastard. Who the hell does he think he is? Deciding what information I can and can’t have about my own situation? Keeping secrets from me until after he’s wet his dick?
Arsehole.
It’s painfully hard to compose myself as I walk downstairs to the dining room. To my overwhelming relief, Liam’s not the only one at the breakfast table. Shooting up some gratitude to the big man upstairs for saving me from murder before 8:00 a.m., I make eye contact with Sorcha and smile.
She must read something on my face, probably the heavy, black rings underlining my eyes from not sleeping. “Morning.”
“Morning, Sorcha. How goes it?”
Liam’s head snaps up from staring at his phone, a mug of coffee and plate of food untouched in front of him. I don’t look at him to see if he’s as tired as I am, if what he did last night kept him up like it did me.
Partly because I’m afraid if he is pale and bedraggled, my resolve will waver, and partly because there’s a sharp knife in front of him on the table, and the urge to stab him with it is increasing the closer I get to him.
“All good here. You?” Her voice is cautious, strained. She glances at Liam, then flicks her gaze to Patrick who almost imperceptibly arches an eyebrow and a shoulder in a half shrug, as if to say “No fucking clue.”
“Grand, aye.” I squeeze Darragh’s shoulder as I make my way toward the coffee. “Darragh.”
“Rebel.” Darragh’s eyes dance with delight when our gazes collide. There’s a reason I touched him in front of his brother, and he knows it. He’s an absolute shit stirrer, hence using Liam’s nickname for me. “Sleep well?”
“Like a baby.” The lie falls easily from my lips, but Sorcha’s eyeroll tells me I haven’t fooled her. “Anyone need a top-up?” I lift the coffee pot from the machine and offer it around.
Darragh chugs from his mug and holds it out in invitation. Oh, I like him a lot. Underneath it all, he’s loyal as fuck to his brothers, but he’s not above twisting the knife when he wants to wind someone up.
I brace my hand on Darragh’s shoulder again while I refill his mug, the heat from Liam’s glare warming my skin from a couple of feet away.
“Anyone else? Liam?” I force a saccharine tone into my words and white-knuckle the handle, fighting the urge to pour steaming hot coffee into my ex-boyfriend’s crotch.
I don’t make eye contact with him, though, which Sorcha doesn’t miss. She tips her head to the side, her gaze dancing between me and Liam, a million questions in her eyes.
The air is tense, as though Liam’s geared up for a fight, expecting it, almost inviting it from the way his posture is straight, rigid, and poised. But I don’t give it to him, in fact, I just get nicer as Maeve comes into the room. “Breakfast, love?”
“Please, Maeve. I’m absolutely starving.”
Her face lights up like I’ve told her Santa’s coming early. “Sit yourself down, and I’ll bring you a feed fit for a queen.”
The tug of everyday warmth, normality, family and, damn it, even belonging pulls hard in my chest. A lump rises in my throat.
How fucking stupid of me to think I might be inching my way inside this family, his family.
I thought… What? What did I think? That we could maybe pick up where we left off now everything’s out in the open between us?
I almost laugh out loud.
That’s not my destiny. It would seem my path is be controlled, isolated, used as a fucking chess piece in whatever war games the Neanderthal menfolk deem necessary.
A bitter taste fills my mouth.
There’s no happily ever after for this Rebel. No family, no children, no place or people that feels like home.
Last night, when I put on the dress, invited Liam into my bed, I foolishly imagined what life might be like without the constant battle of flight-fight-freeze that consumes me every day.
And he doused those daydreams with ice cold water, and a side order of betrayal.
“I’d like a car today.”
All eyes are on me as I stir milk into my coffee.
“A car?” It’s Patrick who speaks first.
I look directly at him.
“Yes. I’d like to go out.” I sip my coffee. “I need to stretch my legs.”
Patrick holds eye contact, his intense irises brimming with curiosity. Does he think I’m going to run? To find Brian? To run Liam over with his car? Do I care what he thinks?
“No.” Liam’s snarl almost makes the mugs vibrate on the table.
Maeve, God help her, walks in as he spits the word out at me, a hot plate clutched in a tea towel in her hand.
“Liam Mahoney, it’s not even seven o’clock.
Could you let us all caffeinate before you throw a wobbler?
” She clips him on the back of the head once she puts my plate in front of me.
“Here you go, Erin, love. Eat up before it gets cold.”
I clear my throat. “Actually, Maeve, my name is Rowan.” I pick up my cutlery and cut off a piece of egg. “And I prefer my eggs to have a hard yolk, if that’s okay with you?”
Liam grunts, or snorts. I’m not sure what the sound that comes from him is. Can you make a victorious snort? Because it almost came across like a wordless “I fucking knew it.”
Her eyes sparkle. “Aye, so I hear, but until you tell me to call you something else, I figured I’d stick with Erin.” She pinches my cheek like I’m a child. “And Liam requested the soft yolks. Good for you for taking control. It’s nice to see you settling in a bit.”
My face heats. Her words are a barb to my heart, because that’s what it felt like, as though I was starting to settle in here, with these people. And, dare I say it, even making friends.
“You were saying, about a car?” Sorcha points her almond croissant at me from across the table as I shovel too-hot food into me, not giving a crap that it’s scalding the roof of my mouth. Maeve makes a fucking good fry.
I shrug. “Yeah. I want to go… shopping? Joy riding? Exploring? Whatever. I just want to go out.” I take a bite, taking my time to chew and swallow. “I haven’t been home in so long I’ve forgotten what it looks like.”
I haven’t. I remember every field, every country lane, every town within a fifty-mile radius, many of which Liam and I visited to stay out of his family’s sight when we were in the “keeping our relationship a secret” phase.
Liam wanted to keep me away from his world, and I was happy to go along with it. Sneaking around is kind of hot.
But he doesn’t need to know any of that.
“I can show you around, if you want.” Darragh elbows me, and I swear Liam growls, an actual, honest-to-God growl.
I hide my smile behind a round of toast.
“Thank you, but I’d like some time by myself, away from…” I gesture at the table.
Sorcha picks my meaning. “Aye. The Mahoneys can be a lot. Not that it matters why you want a break. You don’t owe any of us an explanation.”
Patrick side-eyes her, so she wags her almost-finished pastry at him. “Don’t look at me like that, Boss Mahoney. You know as well as anyone how ‘extra’ this family can be.”
Liam thumps the table. The cutlery and crockery jump. It takes everything I have not to let out a squeal. I’m not letting him see how rattled I am. Cool. Calm. Collected. And an absolute delight.
Not the unhinged, murderous woman I’m struggling to contain under the surface.
“You’re not getting a car.”
I don’t even fight the huge sigh that takes over my body. Another man who thinks he can control my every move, manipulate me. I turn with glacial slowness to face him, tipping my head to the side, challenge carved into my features, finally making eye contact with him.
He flinches. It’s barely visible, but it’s there. Good. He was expecting rage, but instead, I’ve dished up a healthy dose of detachment and indifference.
Fuck ye, arsehole.
“Am I in prison here, Liam?” My voice is calm, level, full of sweetness. But everyone around the table goes silent. I can’t even hear Titan’s heavy breathing at our feet. There’s a clock out in the hall, but it sounds quieter than normal, too.
Darragh eventually hisses out a breath beside me.
“Is this a prison for women you abduct?” I guide a forkful of food to my mouth, not breaking eye contact. I don’t even blink. And for the first time since I’ve known him, Liam looks away first.
There’s a storm brewing in his eyes, unpredictable, dark, and it has the potential to destroy me if I let it. But I see his stormy eyes and raise him a fucking hurricane.
One way or another, I’m leaving this house. Fuck him, fuck his brothers, hell, even fuck Sorcha and Maeve if they get in my way or take their side.
His nostrils flare, but he remains quiet. At his thick silence, I swallow. Letting a lick of bravery lap at my spine, I sit up straighter.
“We’ve established I’ve done nothing wrong.
” I run my fingertip around the rim of the coffee mug.
“In fact”—I pause—“if anything, I’m the victim here.
And I’ve lost enough of my life being confined by walls out of fear, don’t you think?
” I direct that question to Sorcha who rolls her lips together to swallow a smile or a laugh.
Darragh pulls out his wallet and throws twenty euros on the table. “Twenty on Rebel.”
Liam’s eyes darken.
“Make it forty.” Patrick slides another note across the wood when I don’t flinch.
My lips twitch, a potent rush of something that feels like agency surging through my body.
“You’re not going out without me.” It’s not concern. He doesn’t sound protective; he sounds possessive. And right now, he can possess a fucking thistle bush and use it as a toilet seat for all I care.
A snicker escapes my mouth. “Did you not learn boundaries and consent in school, Liam? No means no.” I roll my eyes. “Has he always been this needy?”
Darragh crams a knuckle into his mouth around a chuckle.
I turn to Patrick, folding my hands on the table so they can all see I’m not angry. I’m not clenching my fists, nor are my hands shaking. “I haven’t tried to run. I have no intention of running. If I did, you’d only find me and bring me back.” Or worse, Brian might find me and take me back.
A shudder slithers up my spine. I can’t believe the man I once thought was my savior now makes me feel this uncomfortable. No. Worse than uncomfortable. Fearful. “But I think I’ve earned enough trust, given enough information to be allowed some freedom from Mahoney Manor, wouldn’t you agree?”
Sorcha leans over, reaching toward the floor. I think she’s giving food to Titan until a glint of metal in her hand gets tossed at me over the table. Liam’s hand jerks out to intercept, but I’m too fast for him.
From the unmistakable clink of metal on metal, I know without looking that she sent me her keys. God bless Sorcha Mahoney, she’s a girl’s girl at heart. When I do look, there’s a Saab logo on the car key.
“The fuck?” Liam glares at her.
Patrick glowers at his brother but covers Sorcha’s hand with his own, giving her a gentle pat. “Don’t get involved, mo mhuirnín.”
She waves a dismissive hand at him. “Sisters before misters.” She eyeballs her husband and then his fuming brother who’s vibrating so much the air around him has a shimmer to it.
“Especially when the misters are being unreasonable.” She looks at me.
“Enjoy driving my baby.” She reaches down again, pulling out her purse and sliding a card from its holder.
She makes a big show of getting up and handing it to me while staring at Liam like he’s a fucking idiot.
A wave of embarrassment crashes into me.
I hadn’t even thought about money. The reminder of not having a single euro on me to buy a cup of tea prickles at my skin.
Five years of being “protected,” and I don’t even have a fucking bus fare to my name.
I give her a grateful smile. “Thanks.” I flex the card at her. “In case of emergencies.”
She rolls her eyes. “Fuck emergencies, Row. Treat yourself.”
Her supportive, almost exciting grin is the only encouragement I need to know that I’m not being unreasonable in wanting some time alone from Liam the Betrayer.
“Thank you.” I turn around when a single barked word makes me stop.
“Wait.”
I glance back, eyes locking on Liam. “What?”
He scribbles something on a piece of paper and hands it to me. “My number. Also in case of emergencies.”
I almost tell him to shove it, but not only is that petty, it’s also stupid. Without saying a word, I take it from him and walk out of the kitchen, plugging the number into my phone before I step outside.
I take a deep breath in. Freedom. And now I have it, I have no idea what to do with it.