Chapter 42
ROWAN
The house feels wrong without him. It’s too quiet, like the walls are holding their breath. Or maybe that’s just me.
Liam left for the safe house an hour ago. I watched out the window as the car disappeared past the security lodge. I’m still standing at the same window, looking at the same view when Patrick finds me.
“You’ll wear a hole in the carpet if you stand there much longer.” It might be a joke, but it’s hard to tell with this one. He always sounds stern.
“I’m fine.”
He makes a noncommittal sound that probably means he doesn’t believe me. Do I even believe myself?
Brian will go to the safe house. Liam will be waiting for him, with security. Everything is set up, controlled, and not reactive. So why does my skin feel like it’s been turned inside out and dipped in vinegar?
The walls are closing in. I don’t care how big this place is, its presence is stifling, and yes, even intimidating. I need to do something other than stand here and wait for my man like a sad, old country song.
“I’m going out.”
There’s probably a two percent chance this behemoth man is going to let me (a) leave the house at all or (b) leave without protection, but hey, I woke up today and chose violence. It’s worth a shot.
“Out.” Patrick’s pause is subtle.
“Yes. Out.” I gesture at the window. “Maybe I’ll wear out the concrete instead of your fancy carpets.”
“That wasn’t phrased as a request.”
I sigh. The three of them are all the fucking same. “Because it wasn’t a request, Patrick.”
His eyes narrow slightly. He’s always calculating, assessing. I bet his brain hurts when he goes to bed at night. “You think this is wise?”
“I think standing here imagining every possible way this could go wrong is not wise. It’s driving me to distraction.
I need something to take my mind off what’s happening.
Brian thinks I’m hiding waiting for him to come and rescue me like Rapunzel.
” I flick my hair over my shoulders. “I’m his priority right now.
Ironically, that also means he won’t be out on the street looking for me, not when he thinks he knows where I’ll be. ”
Patrick studies me for a long moment.
“And he certainly won’t come looking for me in a spa.”
“A spa?”
“Sorcha brought it up once.” I roll my shoulders. I’m not lying about needing a treatment or three, the stress in my shoulders and lower back needs seeing to. “Think I can convince her to come with me?”
His lips barely twitch. He’s harder to get a smile out of than his brother. “Aye. I think you might be able to persuade my wife to go to the spa. If you twist her arm, I mean.”
Yup. This man is terrifying even when he’s being sarcastic.
“You’ll take security.”
Terrifying dialed up to eleven when he’s giving orders.
“Fine.” It feels like a victory, like I got one over on the mafia boss, but from the way he’s staring at me, it’s almost as if he expected this discussion to go exactly the way it has.
And I didn’t fight his terms, so maybe he’s the one who’s won. Dammit.
Patrick’s idea of security was a full team of four.
We negotiated him down to two—and by we, I mean his formidable wife—a driver and a floater.
One to stay outside the spa and keep an eye on the goings on near the car, and one to come in the spa and look grossly out of place with all his clothes on while the rest of us strip down for beauty services.
The Mahoney men don’t give a fuck about blending in or being subtle. It’s going to take some getting used to.
The spa is all muted lighting and soft music, eucalyptus and artificial calm. It’s quiet, which makes me wonder if that’s artificial too? Did Patrick buy this place out for a couple of hours?
Nah. He couldn’t have. There’s a group of three women in the waiting area; one’s wearing a white veil attached to a hairband and a sash that says bride.
Relief unfurls in my stomach. I don’t want these overprotective men to steal my freedom again the way Brian did.
I want to be able to do things like a normal person.
I don’t want them closing out a business just for us to attend.
Sorcha squeezes my hand as we step inside. “This is good. You need this. Something to take your mind off what’s going on with Liam. He’s a big boy. He can take care of himself.”
I know this. I also agree that I need a different focus from what’s happening at the safe house but, weirdly, I feel guilty.
The security detail charged with coming into the spa with us positions himself near reception, pretending to scroll through his phone.
A woman in a crisp white uniform pressed into sharp edges and efficiency leads us to the changing rooms. She hands over plush robes and slippers, then leaves us, her soft-soled shoes silent on the tiled floor.
We get changed and I put my phone in the left pocket of the robe.
I want it close in case Liam calls. Sorcha insists on a selfie, her arm wrapped around my waist. I force myself to smile into the camera, repeating over and over that everything will work out.
Liam will come back to me safe, and Brian will be neutralized.
We get manicures first. Sorcha chatters about something inconsequential, something she’s seen on TV, the weather—it’s Ireland, we always talk about the weather—everything that isn’t her brother-in-law out risking his life again because of me.
I try to join in the conversation, but my phone sits heavy in my robe pocket, distracting me.
No messages. No updates. No word. It’s driving me up the wall. Every second stretches until a minute feels like a day.
Halfway through having my nails filed, I need to pee. I excuse myself and go to the loos in the changing rooms.
When I come out of the stall, there’s a woman in her mid-fifties standing by the rows of sinks.
She’s immaculately turned out in a tailored coat, string pearls hanging around her neck, and her hair looks like she just walked out of the blow dry bar.
It screams “I’d like to talk to the manager.
” There’s something vaguely familiar about her, but I can’t put my finger on it.
Her eyes land on mine, cold, assessing. “Rowan.”
The polite smile you give to strangers in the bathroom slides off my face. I jam my hand in the pocket of my robe, the phone providing comfort that I’m not alone. I neither confirm nor deny that I am, in fact, Rowan.
“I’m Brian’s mother.” Her gaze drags over me in the same way her son’s did from time to time. “My Brian was always too soft on you.”
The air leaves my lungs at a hundred kilometers an hour. “That’s not possible.”
“I’m afraid that it is.” She tilts her head. “I told him five years ago that stealing you was just the beginning, but the real fun comes when Liam Mahoney has nothing left to love. Brian thought keeping you in a gilded cage would be enough, but it seems I was right.” Her smile is sinister.
My pulse spikes. Ice floods my veins. I open my mouth to scream, to call out for the security guard I thought was a foolish addition to our trip, now wishing I’d agreed to Patrick’s full team after all.
She holds up her well-manicured hand. “I wouldn’t if I were you. Let’s just keep this civilized. Quiet, between us, okay? For your friend’s sake.” The threat is quiet, surgical, almost casual, like she didn’t just threaten Sorcha’s wellbeing.
My stomach twists. Going it alone for everyone’s safety really isn’t working out well for me, is it? “Wh-what do you want? And how did you find me?”
The woman steps closer, lowering her voice.
“What do I want? I want my daughter back, but that’s not going to happen now, is it?
” She sneers at me as if I personally had a hand in killing her daughter.
“After five years of being deprogrammed, you still insist on making bad choices.” She shakes her head like I’m a petulant child.
“If you would like Liam to survive tonight, you will come with me. Alone. Now.”
“What?” My stomach’s in knots, hands shaking, and indescribable rage courses through my body. I’m so fucking tired of being a victim, of being told to jump and asking how high. If I ever get out of this mess, I’m changing all of it. I’ll be the one who tells people to fucking jump.
“How did you find me?” I need to know. I need to know how easy it was for her to locate me, follow me, and approach me in public.
Her expression doesn’t change. “My Brian thought you’d pull a fast one.
He likes to believe he’s in charge of his own ideas, a bit of an idiot like his da, that one.
” She rolls her eyes like he’s a naughty boy who just tipped over the sweet jar.
“Thought that Mahoney monster would get back in your knickers. All I had to do was watch and wait for you to leave. You could have tried to make it a little more challenging.”
I’m not a violent person, but the taunting in her voice makes me wish I was. My heart slams against my ribs as I look around the room, searching for a way out. An escape route.
“Don’t bother. You’re coming with me, or your red-headed friend is going to…” She taps her lips. “How should I say this? Make her husband a widow.”
“I have security.”
She waves a hand like she’s an international criminal mastermind. It does nothing to help my molten insides. “Security is guarding the front.”
Ice slithers down my spine. She’s right, there aren’t enough people to cover the front and back, and they’re both sitting round the front. If there’s a back door out of this place… it’s just that simple.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
“There’s a staff corridor through there.” She nods toward a door marked private. “Laundry, deliveries, fire exit. You will walk beside me like a sensible girl, and we will leave.”
“And Sorcha?” My voice cracks despite my best effort.
Her gaze sharpens. “If you scream, if you run, if you fight, if you alert that man guarding reception, my son will interpret that as escalation.” There’s something in the way she says “my son” that makes me want to vomit.
“That’s not an answer.”
“It’s the only one you’re getting.”
My heart is beating so hard it feels like it’s bruising my ribs.
If Liam is walking into something else… If there’s a chance Brian is outside and might hurt the two men trusted to protect me, or if Sorcha…
I swallow the panic swirling in my body.
Sorcha. The only person who’s been truly nice to me since I got here.
If something were to happen to her, her sick brother would be all alone.
And that’s not even thinking about Liam walking into a trap.
I can’t risk it. Brian is police. He has access to all kinds of resources.
He can make terrible trouble for the entire Mahoney family if I don’t do as I’m told. There is no choice.
I square my shoulders. “Fine.”
“Good.” Her head tilts. “You really thought this was your happily ever after, didn’t you? That you’d survived? Silly girl, you were specially chosen.”
Chosen. Used. A pawn without a sliver of agency over anything.
I despise this woman. She opens the staff door like she fucking owns the place.
My mind’s racing, throwing up all kinds of ludicrous scenarios.
The truth is, though, that I’m trapped. Once again, I’ve put Liam in danger, and there isn’t a thing I can do about it.
Not without risking something happening to Sorcha.
The corridor beyond the door smells of bleach and clean towels. It’s nothing like the dim serenity out front. My slippered feet slap softly against the polished tile floor as I follow her.
“Walk normally.” She keeps her voice to a murmur. “You look like you’re being marched to your execution.”
“Aren’t I?”
She gives a soft laugh. “Oh, my goodness. So dramatic. How has my son dealt with you all these years?”
We reach a metal fire door, and she pushes it open. Cold air hits me in the face. Do I try to use my phone? Do I leave behind a slipper? Something to tell them which way I’ve been taken?
We step out into the rear car park. A dark saloon idles near the bins. Brian’s sitting inside looking like the cat who got the cream. One-upping the Mahoneys must be his idea of winning gold at the Olympics.
My stomach plummets. This wasn’t impulsive. It was as arranged as Liam having me bait Brian to the middle of nowhere. Except he’s right here.
I stop.
Brian’s ma grabs my wrist. “Don’t.”
My gaze flicks toward the street beyond the car park. If I run, if I scream, the security guard out front might hear. I open my mouth.
Her grip tightens. “Silly girl. I wouldn’t if I were you.”
“Go to hell.”
I inhale ready to sing like a canary when something sharp presses into the side of my neck.
“Don’t worry, love, this time we’ll finish what we started.”
“What?” I blink at her, but she’s wearing the same smirk her son’s wearing.
We know where he got it from. My words slur before they fully form in my mouth. That bitch has drugged me.
The world tilts sideways. I try to wrench out of her grip, but my limbs feel disconnected from my brain, they aren’t working right. My knees buckle.
He catches me. When did he get out of the car? He smells the same.
“Miss me?”
Rage flares, bright and fucking useless because my body’s getting less responsive.
I try to spit at him, but it dribbles down my own chin, making humiliation burn hotter than the drug spreading through my veins.
“Sleep.” Are the drugs making Brian’s ma’s voice sound kinder?
The sky above me blurs. A car door opens. I try to focus. To fight.
Liam. I need to warn… I force my eyes open one last time. Brian’s face hovers above me, triumphant.
Darkness rolls in before I can complete the thought, devouring the edges of everything.
The last thing I register is the car door slamming, the engine firing, and the agony searing through my chest at losing Liam for a second time.
The devil stole me again. And this time, it’s for good.