Chapter 37
ROWAN
For the first time in years, there isn’t a red dot on a map following me. No check-ins. No digital breadcrumbs. Sorcha gave me more than a car; she gave me my privacy back.
I have nowhere to be, no one telling me where to go or what to do. I left the dregs of my fucks back in Mahoney Manor with a man who looks like a kicked puppy. A kicked puppy with a temper and a kingdom.
Good.
I wish I had kicked him.
It doesn’t happen all at once, but as each mile passes, the blur of green countryside out the window becomes less of “yay freedom” cry and more “what the fuck am I doing?” Where am I going?
After five years of being controlled, the world being my oyster feels chest-crushingly overwhelming. Okay, not even the world being my oyster. County Kildare. All this wide-open space, a car, a black credit card with who knows how high a limit, and all I feel is… Fuck. Is that fear?
Should freedom really feel like standing in the middle of a motorway with an eighteen-wheeler barreling toward me?
I swing into the first petrol station I come across and pull into a parking space on the forecourt. I sit in silence, staring at the steering wheel. What does a person do with nothing but time and open road and five years of thoughts to revisit and analyze one by one?
A quick glance in the rearview shows a dark Land Rover that was behind me on the country roads about fifteen minutes ago.
I know for sure because I’m in the middle of nowhere, and I can recall each vehicle I’ve seen since I’ve left the manor.
A Mini that looked like a regular-sized car on the narrow, winding country roads, a tractor, a pick-up truck, and this guy.
Is he following me?
Or am I so used to being watched I feel weird without eyes on me.
I blink the thought away. It’s an area without much life about it. There aren’t many shops or garages or places to stop. It’s paranoia, that’s all. Which, let’s face it, is probably a rational reaction to my life right now.
I go inside the SPAR, use the bathroom, fill a shopping bag full of sweets, chocolate, and crisps—upcoming period, anyone?—grab a Club Lemon for the drive, and by the time I’m sitting in my car, the Land Rover is gone.
A tightness in my chest loosens. I toss a coin to decide which direction to go in and set off. Maybe it’s okay that I don’t know where I’m going, or where I should go.
Ten minutes later, something dark cuts across my peripheral vision as I drive through an intersection. My heart rate spikes. The Land Rover. Shit. Shit. Is it the same guy from the garage? Is he following me?
Fuck.
I used to know these roads like the back of my hand but with panic rising up inside me, everything looks the same.
I take a couple of turns, double back on myself, and remember a dead end Liam and I used to visit when we wanted some alone time on the way home from a date night. I turn around so I’m facing the only way in.
Immediately, I have regrets. What has possessed me? If he comes this way, I’m trapped.
Okay, fine. I square my shoulders. Let him think that’s true.
Whoever’s following me doesn’t know I have nothing left to lose. Sorcha would rescue me, right?
Right?
I touch the burner in my pocket. I’m not a complete idiot. Breaking down in rural Ireland without a phone and only miles of rolling hills, sheep, and cows for company would be minus craic.
It takes a few minutes of staring, waiting, and convincing myself I’m not losing my grip on reality to feel a little more stable. But just when my heart rate returns to the normal range, the car appears.
Gotcha.
Except, now what?
My stomach drops. I grab the phone and, with shaky hands, dial Sorcha.
“Rowan?”
“I know it sounds a bit out there, Sorcha, but I swear someone’s following me.”
She takes a breath like she’s going to say something, but I keep going.
“I kind of backed myself into a corner to test my theory, and I’m right. There’s a man in front of me.”
“Rowan?”
I pause for long enough to take a breath.
“Yeah?”
“Black Land Rover?”
Suspicion creeps up my spine. “Yeah.”
“Guy in the front seat look late twenties, dark hair?”
I swallow hard. I can’t really tell from this distance, but I’ve seen him a few times on my drive. “Yeah.” I pinch the bridge of my nose, already knowing the answer to the question I’m about to ask. “Sorcha?”
“Mm-hmm?” She knows what I’m going to ask, too. But I think we both need her to tell me.
“How do you know?”
“Well. Would you fuck off.” She slaps something in the background. “Yes, I’m telling her, you arsehole.” Another slap. “Liam sent security after you.” She goes quiet for a beat, and there’s a muffled sound against the microphone. “For your protection.”
“For… my… protection?”
Aren’t those the same words Brian used every single time he made me check in, or locked a door behind me?
“That’s what he said.”
I purse my lips, slowly nodding though she can’t see me. That’s what he said. Not “that’s right” or “that’s what we do,” but “that’s what he said,” like it’s a crock of shit.
“Is he there?”
“Rowan?” Liam’s voice is almost instantly on the line.
“Call off your guard dog, Liam. I’m tired of driving around the countryside in circles. And you owe Sorcha a tank of diesel.”
I hang up and wait for Liam to tell the man in front of me to fuck off out of my space. He does. Is he going to keep following me? I guess only time will tell.
I’m still not sure where I want to go or what to do, but I know I need to keep moving, I’m not ready to go back to Prison Warden Mahoney yet. I might, in fact, drive over him with Sorcha’s car.
The more I drive, the more I remember. There’s a place a couple of towns over from Mahoney Manor that has the best hot chocolate I’ve ever tasted.
It’s been fucking years, and now I’m this close with nowhere else to be, it feels like maybe it’s time.
It’s rich, has depth but isn’t too sweet, and they will add syrups if you want different flavors.
They’ll even add a massive, toasted marshmallow on top if you’d like.
My mouth waters. Yeah. That’s where I’m going.
Liam used to love the place too. We came often. It’s far enough away from his home that his family or one of their men wouldn’t stumble across us. That prick doesn’t deserve the best hot chocolate in the world, and telling him I went without him will be another “fuck you” with a smile.
When I get there, it’s busy, but there’s a little two-seater table tucked into the corner out of sight. I can hide here until the hot chocolate eases my blood pressure and rage levels down to an acceptable level.
The bell over the door jingles. Something in my spine flexes.
“Ah, Brian, how’s it going? It’s been… well, it’s been a while.”
A bolt of terror strikes straight into my chest. Surely be to God, it’s not the same man. Brian’s a common name. It’s not him. It can’t be. Coincidences happen, but this would be the cruelest twist of fate.
I shrink lower in my seat and curl my hands around the giant mug, watching my knuckles turn white, my palms heating.
“Aye.”
My stomach plummets to the parquet floor. It is him.
I bolt out of my chair and dart behind a jutting wall. Part of me wants to storm up to him and dump a scalding hot drink over his head, but the other part of me… the terror-filled part, knows that would be a bad fucking idea.
Did he follow me here?
Shit. I left my phone on the table. I look at it forlornly before I risk peering around the edge of the wall. There he is. The man who’s held me in his special brand of captivity for so long I’ve forgotten what freedom tastes like. And he’s smiling like he’s on holiday.
While he waits for his order, he scrolls on his phone. I contemplate sending a picture to Liam, but my phone’s out of reach, and I don’t want to draw his attention to me.
The woman behind the counter charges him for his order, hands him two paper cups and a brown bag of tray bakes, and asks after his ma before Brian turns and leaves.
I wait a beat, grab Sorcha’s keys and my phone, and walk to the door—watching which car Brian gets into before I step out into the street.
I’m done being the girl who gets stalked, captured, and held in a fucking cage.
Today, I’m the stalker.