Page 28 of Stolen Rebel

The champagne fizzes on my tongue as I watch the team lay out options I don’t need but take anyway.

All of them. And everything I know he hates. Instead of plunging necklines and bold colors, I pick conservative cuts and pastels. Because if Liam Mahoney wants to cage me, I’ll make sure it costs him. Men like the Mahoneys only notice the knife when it’s in their fucking ribs. And if you don’t get there first, they’ll jam it in your chest. I need to let Liam get close enough for me to blindside him.

Rule four in Rules for Radicals. Liam prides himself on being “controlled, not chaotic.” If I can make him look like a common thug in front of Maeve, I break his image of himself.

And if Brian thinks he still owns me—he’s about to learn exactly how wrong he is, too.

I smooth my hands down the first dress and smile. Let them both think they’re in control because I’m just getting started. Bring it on, Mahoney. Bring. It. On.

Chapter 16

LIAM

I look like I’ve done ten rounds with the night. Every muscle in my body is sore, I have a swollen cheekbone and a bruised jaw, and my knuckles are covered in blood and scrapes. I’m getting too old for this shit, but a night at the underground boxing ring seemed like a good idea to take my mind off my hot little prisoner. Fixed my fucking hard-on anyway, for now at least.

She’s got to me. Big time. Even admitting that to myself is painful. I thought my hate would carry me through, that my anger would keep the fires of vengeance burning.

I was wrong.

I fucking despise being wrong.

The house is quiet when I trudge inside at eleven thirty on Saturday morning, and I have every intention of heading straight to bed and sleeping for twenty-four hours straight. Until I hear it. A sound I haven’t heard in five long years.

Rowan’s laugh.

The pain from all the punches I took last night pale when compared to what her laugh does to me. My lungs flatten, my chest caving in. I’d given up hope of ever hearing that sound again, yet here it is. In my house.

Who the fuck is she laughing with?

I follow the sound to the living room. A roaring fire burns in the grate, Titan is curled up on the rug, soaking up the heat—and Darragh is sitting on the couch with Rowan, and they’re both laughing.

My blood heats to boiling point in a millisecond. “What the fuck is going on?”

Rowan jumps out of her skin, the smile she wore for my brother disappearing faster than a blown-out candle, and the color in her cheeks drains away. Darragh doesn’t move, and he’s still got that soppy grin on his stupid fucking face.

Oh no. Fuck no, brother. She is not yours to take. She’s fucking mine. She’s always been mine.

“I’m getting to know our houseguest. And what the fuck happened to your face?”

“She’s not a houseguest.” I grit out the words through a clenched jaw and jab a finger at the open doorway. “Get back to your room.”

Rowan half gets up off the couch before Darragh reaches over and puts a hand on her. He puts a fucking hand on my woman. “Stay where you are.” Instead, he stands in front of me, legs spread, shoulders back. Readying himself to duck an inevitable punch.

It comes, and he ducks. Rowan screams. I throw another punch and another, but my arms are aching from doing this all fucking night, and Darragh easily avoids my half-arsed attempts to knock him out.

“Jesus fucking Christ.” Patrick gets between us both, hands braced on our chests, keeping us apart. “I’m trying to run a fucking business in the middle of a fucking playground. Knock it off. Both of ye.”

“He fucking started it.” Okay, not my best comeback, but I’m knackered and not thinking straight. All I can see is Darragh touching Rowan.

“What are you, ten? I don’t know what started this, and I don’t want to fucking know. For Christ’s sake, go and cool off. Preferably somewhere that isn’t here.”

Rowan’s got her knees curled up to her chin, her arms wrapped around them, and she’s huddled in the farthest corner of the couch like a terrified puppy waiting for its master to land a blow. Her eyes are wide, pupils blown, and her bottom lip trembles.

I turn away from Patrick and pin Darragh with a glare that makes my enemies piss their pants. “Let her out of her room again without my permission, and I will put you on your arse. Touch her again, and I’ll cut off your hand.”

Unfortunately for me, Darragh isn’t one of my enemies, and he knows me all too well. His reaction to my threats is to throw back his head and laugh.

“Called it.” He winks at me, and my blood turns up to boiling point. Bastard. I fucking hate him. “You’re blindingly obvious, Liam. Need to work on that poker face.”