Page 4 of Stolen Rebel

Liam’s made it more than clear that if I have any needs, I really don’t. Need to pee? Piss yourself. Hungry? Starve. He talks to me with such venom lacing his words. He’s lucky I’ve been trained to play this scared little woman because otherwise I’d have been tempted to headbutt him for treating me like shit. For the way he’s staring at me like he’s plotting ways to kill me.

A barb of fear shoots down my spine.

From the moment I met Liam, I knew who he was, who his father was, and what the Mahoney family was capable of. And I loved him anyway. But do I know this version? The one that looks as if he’d happily throttle me until I took my last breath?

Tell me, Rebel, what did they pay you to rat me out?

What does he mean by that? Rat him out with what? I never even met his family, let alone have access to information that could be used against him. If Liam thinks I betrayed him, someone rewrote history while I was trying to survive.

During the entire drive to the airport, he blathers on about my betrayal, and no matter how much I plead my innocence, he refuses to believe me.

“You know what you did.”

That’s it. That’s all I get. That, and a cold, hard look in his eyes.

I remember everything. Who he is, what I saw, and every detail of my painstaking fight to start a new life in a new country with a new identity.

I close my eyes again, feigning sleep. A few minutes later, Liam heaves out a massive sigh. “So that’s how you’re playing it?”

My body heats, but I keep my breath even, slow, just like I’m in a yoga class and not hurtling toward what feels like my undoing.

“You’re a terrible actress, Rowan. I know you’re faking it. You’re as awake as I am.” His voice doesn’t sound as angry now, more dejected, tired. Maybe I can somehow use that to my advantage. If I can keep him away from the slit-my-throat level of anger, I might have a chance of him telling me what he thinks I did.

My pulse spikes, but I keep my breathing slow. He can’t know for sure I’m faking. I need to keep selling the fact I don’t remember him, or anything about him, or we’re both dead. Me first, and anyone still holding onto my old life, second.

Channeling every ounce of strength and bravery I have left in my bones, I tighten the mask Brian taught me how to wear. It presses against my ribcage like pieces of clothing that’s too small.

“My name is Erin.” It feels uncomfortable, tight, more unfamiliar than I’d like, all things considered. Never get complacent, always be Erin, that’s what Brian said. Always. But the more time that’s passed, the less I’ve needed her persona… I guess I got a little sloppy lately in my daily rituals of repetition.

I keep my eyes shut tight. Looking at him is too painful. Too much of a reminder of what I lost, especially when those haunting brown eyes are filled with hate and loathing where they once held love and adoration.

“And why would anyone want to be awake when she’s been kidnapped and is being forced to go somewhere with a man who looks like he wants to murder her at every opportunity?” I force my voice to quiver to match my trembling hands. That’s not an act, that’s for real. I have no fucking clue how to outsmart this man and get the hell out of here, but as long as he believes I’m not a threat to him, I still have a chance.

Liam bumps his foot against mine. “Count yourself lucky, you’re not bound and gagged in the boot, Rowan. As kidnappings go, this one’s fucking civilized.”

Without opening my eyes, I can tell he’s smirking, but I also know it’s not a warm smile. It’s the detached smile of a cold, hard killer.

The vehicle hums beneath me. It’s sealed tight, its bulletproof glass cutting me off from the world outside. Even if I screamed, no one would hear me. It’s just me, Liam, a driver, locked doors, and the quiet, absolute certainty that he doesn’t think I’ll try anything stupid.

Which almost makes me want to try. Almost.

He taps my foot again, and I swear my heart’s about to do a runner right out of my chest and burst through the locked door my head’s resting on. The burner phone in my sock feels heavier than it should. It’s dead weight until the next check-in window. But right now? It’s my only lifeline. The one thing giving me hope and keeping me in any way calm.

If I miss my check-in, Brian will escalate to his superiors. I’ve seen him pissed and know he’s not toothless. And then he’ll come for me.

Shit. Shit. He’ll come for me.

I can’t let that happen. If I do, he could put Liam’s life in danger, and the last five years, all that pain and sacrifice will be for nothing. Brian has a dreadful temper, I’ve seen it. And it’s clear from what he told me about the man sitting beside me that he hates him. As a gard, that’s not a surprise. All police hate the mob.

I risk a side-glance out of a cracked lid and am met with Liam’s profile. The jagged scar running from his left temple to his lip doesn’t detract from the beauty of his angular jaw, strong nose, and cheekbones most women would die for.

A scar that wasn’t there last time I saw him. We’re both carrying more scars than when we were younger and in love. It’s just that mine are on the inside.

Fidgeting, I tamp down the anxiety that threatens to choke me. I need to make the check-in. I need to make it so Brian believes everything is fine. Back in the day, Liam knew me well enough to practically read my mind, and I need him to read the narrative that I’ve put there, memorized and repeated every day for half a decade. Not the truth.

Liam makes a call while we travel, he talks to his driver about a meeting he needs to keep tomorrow, but nothing he says is of any use. No location. No names. Nothing exploitable. He makes it clear that he knows I’m listening and that I’ll have a heavy security presence to ensure I can’t escape while he’s at said meeting. His voice is smug, taunting, like he’s almost begging me to break character and push back somehow.

The Erin mask I’m wearing tightens, making it harder to breathe with every mile that passes out the window.