20. Maeve
MAEVE
The wound heals nicely—of course, because Linwood stitched it—but my body takes longer to recover.
It’s days before I can move without constant shooting pains along my hip—due to the fractured bone—or for the room to stop spinning every time I stand.
Most of the correspondence I do is through Hayes, or from my bed.
Have you ever tried to look imposing as a five-foot-nothing woman propped up with big pillows, to a bunch of hardened criminals? It’s not easy.
It helps that Linwood is at my side, glaring from the shadows. He’s a steady presence of strength as I command my men, and unfortunately, I can rely on him for that comfort. He changes my bandages and helps me bathe.
There are a few times I pass out from not eating enough. It’s an old habit. He doesn’t say anything—but he does take to eating his meals in my room. I’ll never admit it, but Killian is a damn good cook, and every plate looks better than the last.
Because I have no control—confined to the bed and weak—I take it out on him by stealing his food. He puts up a small fight, but ultimately, I win. I like winning.
He lets Collins check my wounds—but only when he’s there, and I’m fully covered. I can’t explain how thankful I am for such a simple act. I’m not ashamed of my scars—I’m a survivor, those are my marks that I fucking earned, but I don’t want Collins or anyone else seeing what I went through.
If they know, they’ll see what I did to give them a sliver of happiness. I don’t think I can handle the pity—the disgust if they knew.
A horn to my left causes me to jerk, my heel slipping on an icy patch. Being outside for the first time in almost a week, the winter air burns my lungs. I embrace it because it’s better than the stale heat of the oppressive mansion.
As a child, being outside was my saving grace.
I learned to adapt to the cold, to let it fill me and soothe the rage that always seemed to live inside of me.
It still does—still waits to be unleashed.
But here, the frigid temperatures give me peace—it numbs the voices and allows me to think, free of their torment.
Glancing at the overhead sign, lights flash. An old theater, they play classic films on the weekends. Movies aren’t my thing—they’re loud, claustrophobic, and completely unrealistic—but the films in black and white, full of heart? I can sink into those and disappear.
But that’s not why I’m here. I set up this date with Reese last night, and had to sneak out, avoiding Linwood to do it. He’s worse than a shadow now, and it’s only a matter of time before he finds me.
I’m not here because I miss Reese. I knew—somewhere—Reese was an outlet, a way to experience normalcy. He was never anyone important to me. No, I’m here for a more nefarious purpose than our date.
Something Linwood said burrowed deep into my brain, a carrion beetle consuming decaying flesh. I’ve been stuck on it since the attack—replaying the café scene from new angles. Fresh eyes.
Why would someone invite another person to a new establishment and then leave early? Not unless you had something planned.
Fucking Linwood. He might not have meant it, but he solved everything.
I won’t admit it to him. I’m having a tough enough job focusing on the pain of his absence, and not the blooming, reigniting love in my heart. All because the Reaper refuses to leave—refuses to let me scare him off.
He’s been there. Holding my hand when the nightmares take me. Shielding me when I was unconscious. Directing my clan while I recovered. Protecting me when I didn’t see the hits coming. Words are beautiful things—but I’ve always put more stock into being shown.
And Killian Linwood has shown me he cares by handing me his blood heart on a plate with his actions.
I’m hesitant to allow it—him, us—to fully.
I want to believe in what he says. My heart, the soul that’s been branded by his touch, wants to desperately believe he means what he says.
That’ll he’ll be here until the days grow dark and the sun dies out, but there is still a small part of me that won’t give in.
It’s not a matter of attraction—or chemistry. But the final deed will show me he truly plans on staying. Forever.
Later. The plan comes first—the clan always comes first. My emotional turmoil will be there when this is over.
Stopping before the theater, I tilt my head in greeting toward the older woman behind the ticket counter. She smiles widely, recognizing me. When I wasn’t stalking the streets, I spent time here, hiding in the red bucket seats. She doesn’t know who I am—and that’s safe. It makes this place sacred.
Also, the perfect spot for what I need.
A woman could never lead us.
Such a pretty thing.
I shake my head. Those fucking taunts. Every time my confidence rises when I make a decision, those ghosts are there, ready to tear me down. They won’t die, they won’t rest, and they’re slowly eroding my mind. Hammering at me until I finally snap.
Be the captain I know you can be.
Rubbing my temples, I exhale, holding on to the confidence the Reaper’s words fill me with. The man people run away from, and yet, his respect banished those evils from my mind.
He’s always been my stability in the chaos.
“Maeve!” Reese waves to me across the street, and I straighten, the stitches pulling at my side. Crossing the street, he rubs his head, dusting the snow away. “This place is packed. I couldn’t find a parking spot!”
That’s why I chose it. It’s on a busy street, with no way for a clear shot of an assassin overhead, due to the mismatched heights and awnings. There are back alleys, but they’re all dead ends with no way to enter them.
“This is it, huh?” He shoves his hands into his pockets, looking upward. Whistling, he nods. “Classy. I didn’t take you for a classic film chick.”
“An old friend got me into them,” I reply slowly, watching the snow catch in his eyelashes. “He and his wife are really into them.”
“Neat hobby. Any favorites?”
“Casablanca.”
He taps his nose. “Ah, so that’s why we’re watching the encore. That’s really cool.”
I continue to watch him, wrapped in my wool coat, knives strapped to my thigh, and gun on my hip. He scans the crowd, full of older, gray adults with the occasional young date like us. When a girl laughs, his lips quirk, as if feeding off of her happiness.
After the attack on the café, Hayes used his resources to keep our names out of the police investigation, and Killian used Briar to wipe our digital footprint.
No news media circuit flashed our picture, but the news sites were flooded with the attack.
Innocent people were dead, and the community was grieving.
The only explanation law enforcement could come up with was that the killers turned on each other after destroying everyone inside. Motive? Unclear.
Still, Reese doesn’t mention it. Doesn’t ask how I escaped harm. He left me there—he frequented that café, he said. It was his date idea.
When Linwood mentioned no one would leave a pretty woman on a date in the middle of the afternoon, I thought it was his petty jealousy. Reminding me that he would’ve stayed.
But it kept churning in my mind. Normal men wouldn’t have left a date so quickly. Not after pushing for one all week.
Why did he ask me out, just to hurry away, back to the office?
Why was he at the storehouse right when Bruno was there destroying it? The back door was open. Someone opened it for him. I had a leak, but what if the leak… had an outside source?
“Should we go inside?” I ask, gesturing to the doors. A line has started forming, and the lights flash. Soon, the movie will start.
Shifting, he looks around silently. “Of course. Let me get the tickets.”
He said he got the tickets online.
My hand grabs the silver Eagle at my hip, finger on the trigger. My side burns, but it doesn’t distract me from watching his eyes scan the crowd again. Jumping from one face to the next. Searching, seeking someone out.
The pieces are clicking faster than I can match, and my body tenses, adrenaline pooling in my belly.
“Are you fucking kidding?”
The Reaper appears from the darkness. The crowd doesn’t see him, but they part, as if his rage is enough to push them away. He doesn’t look at anyone—except me. Those black eyes flicker furiously, and that sharp jaw clenches. I don’t need to see his hand holding his knife—I know he is.
He wants to kill me. Frankly, the feeling is mutual. He’s going to ruin everything by randomly showing up. I’m so close.
“Killian…” I warn, gaze narrowed. “Now’s not the time.”
Reese turns, and the Reaper steps between us, hauling me close.
“I think this is the perfect time,” he growls.
“You fucking ditched me at the house to go on a date? After everything I said—I did.” His body practically radiates anger, lashing out at me like a whip.
“You’re still recovering, and what, you needed a quickie in the movie theater?
How’s that going to look when you fucking bleed all over the seats? ”
“Good thing they’re red,” I snap. “It’ll blend in.”
Reese seems to hesitate. “I didn’t know you were coming.”
“He’s not staying,” I answer, glaring up at Killian. “You need to leave.”
“Like fuck am I going anywhere.” He pulls me closer, and my stitches yank. Wincing, he only releases the tiniest bit of pressure, but he doesn’t let me go. “I made it fucking clear, Princess. You don’t go anywhere without me. That includes dates.”
Reese steps between us and places a heavy hand on my shoulder. I fight the urge to cringe. His touch doesn’t feel right—something about it sets off all the wrong nerves.
My body has been trying to tell me something for months that I refused to listen to. Stubborn to the end, someone is going to put it on my gravestone.
“Is something wrong?” His eyes narrow, something flashing there. “You’re drawing attention to us.”
That screws with his plan, I’m sure.