Page 14 of Stolen Rebel

“Yeah. Cathal.” Her eyes soften. “He has some special needs, so Patrick had a medical wing built to cater for whatever he needs.”

The idea of this family being that caring is a juxtaposition to the reality I find myself in. Is it possible to be good and bad? All I know is I’m getting the bad half right now, and I don’t fucking like it.

“Try to find peace with being here, the fight can be exhausting.” Again, she speaks like she really was in my shoes once, and now she’s… what? The welcoming committee? A girlfriend?

A quick glance at her left hand tells me she’s someone’s wife, and from the way Patrick looked at her downstairs, I’d bet the house that he’s the man she married.

“Life gets easier when you comply.” She pats my trembling hand before giving it a squeeze.

I wish I didn’t know how accurate her statement is. I’m an expert in complying with powerful men.

“I’ll leave you be. But if you need anything, come find me, okay?” She winces, like she’s just remembered the fact she has to lock me in here for the night. “Just, uh, shout, and someone will come and get me.”

Bitterness spreads through my body. I’ve gone from a life where I fought hard to earn back elements of freedom from Brian to being a prisoner all over again. And if I do find a way out of here and back to Brian, he’s going to move me again, and I’ll have to start all over. Still, I’ve done it before. I can do it again.

When she leaves, she slides the lock into place with a deafening screech.

Fuck.

Hunger wins out over fear. I eat half of the cold cuts, cheese, and bread Sorcha brought me, leaving the rest in neat little piles along the edge of the plate because, despite being scolded for playing with my food as a child, it’s currently the only control I have over my own existence.

I drink both bottles of water before closing myself in the en suite bathroom. There’s nothing of use in here either, other than the solace of being behind a door I chose to close myself. Of course there’s no lock in here, because why would Liam let me have a sliver of control over something so personal as using the toilet or taking a shower.

I turn on the over-the-bath shower, hoping they’ll leave me alone if they think I’m showering, before sliding down the side of the bath and pulling the phone from where it’s spent the day nestled against my ankle. I power it up. Shit.

Three missed calls.

Brian doesn’t do patience. He does consequences. I can’t call. If I do, there’s a chance I’ll be overheard.

Slowly, I type a text apologizing for missing his calls because he’s always calmer when I’m apologetic. I tell him that I’m fine, just burnt out, and Willow’s dragged me away for a few days to “reset” before I lose my mind completely. I add a crack about loosening the reins like I would on a “normal” day.

The lie sits heavy in my chest. I’ve never trusted Brian—not really. And certainly not enough to tell him where I am and who has me, not when I don’t even know who the enemy is anymore.

With each key I press, I glance at the door and then move so my back is pressed against it.

I almost safeword. I type it out but delete it. Because if Rowan speaks, people die. That’s what Brian taught me. Except, I’m in distress, I’m under duress, and I know I should use it. But something I can’t name tells me that if I bring Brian into this situation, it’ll somehow get worse for all of us. If I pull that thread, I have no control over how it unravels. This situation is volatile enough without adding a hot-headed handler to the mix.

Liam loved me once. Whatever he thinks I’ve done to betray him, there has to be an ember of that love left. It doesn’t need to be a lot, just enough that he’ll let me go once he’s scared me enough. I’ll take my punishment like a good little girl, and run far and fast when he cuts me loose.

Carol

You’re late. Check-in was yesterday.

Remember why we’re doing this, Erin.

My stomach drops, chest tightening as the words appear on the screen.

Rowan Byrne was a girl who got herself in trouble.

My fingers tighten around the phone.

I saved you.

I can’t breathe.

You still owe me, Erin.

I can buy myself a little time by keeping my text check-ins, but our standard weekly in-person meeting is on Sunday which, if I’m calculating right, is five days away. If I miss that… I don’t know what will happen.