Page 40 of Stolen Rebel

I lean closer, enough that our breaths mingle. “You’re right about being held captive. But we both know exactly who you are, Rebel.” I brush a knuckle over her cheek. She doesn’t flinch. In fact, she leans into my touch. “I will find out what you’ve spent the last five years doing. I will find out what you’ve spent the last five years running from, and why you’re so fucking terrified of me finding out.”

Her pupils dilate, her chest heaving as her heart scrambles to punch through her ribcage. I should move away. This proximity is dangerous for both of us. Instead, I let my thumb brush against the curve of her breast through her shirt, a ghost of a touch that makes her breath hitch.

“Don’t.” There’s no conviction to the instruction, only a reflex, a response she thinks she should make rather than the one she wants to make.

“Don’t what? Touch you? We both know that’s not what you really want.” I drop my voice to a murmur. “Your body remembers me, even if you’re pretending your mind doesn’t.”

She shoves at my chest, and I let her push me back a step. “Get away from me.”

“Or what?” I step back into her space. “You’ll scream? Run? We both know how that worked out for you.”

Her jaw clenches, the effort to hold my gaze and not back down taking a monumental effort. “You cannot keep me here for the rest of my life.”

“Watch me.”

A knock at the door interrupts our standoff. “Liam. We need to talk.” Sorcha’s voice brooks no argument.

“I told you, mind your business, Sorcha.”

“It wasn’t a request. Either talk to me or I’ll tell Patrick how you spoke to me earlier, and we’ll see how much talking you can do with a broken jaw.”

This fucking woman. She means it, too. If she gets Patrick involved, he’ll chew my balls into mincemeat. The last thing I need is him breathing down my neck while I’m trying to figure my shit out when it comes to Rowan and feelings I’m nowhere near ready to examine.

I bite back a curse. Sorcha wouldn’t push unless it actually mattered, no matter how pissed off she is at me.

I step back from Rowan, putting space between us. “This conversation is not over.” I yank open the door. Sorcha’s already halfway down the corridor, Titan trotting at her heels. I follow, irritation prickling underneath my skin.

When we reach the bottom of the stairs, she turns to me, arms crossed. “What is it about you Mahoneys that you think charging into any situation with threats and bulk will get you the answers you’re after?”

I open my mouth, but she raises her hand. “That was not a question. That girl is terrified, Liam. Whatever is going on with her, she is barely holding it together, and you being aggressive with her is not the flex you think it is.”

I jab a finger at my scar. “Don’t you think I’m entitled to answers from the woman who did this to me?”

“Scared people don’t talk, Liam. They shut down, clam up, which is exactly what she’s doing.”

“That’s what torture is for,” I mutter.

“Jesus fucking Christ Almighty. You could no more torture that woman than I could. It’s obvious you’re still in love with her.”

The words hit me like a sucker punch, but fucked if I’m going to let Sorcha see she’s landed a killer blow. “Bollocks. She saw to that when she almost got me killed then fucked off.”

“Keep lying to yourself, and see where it gets you. Right now, she’s more afraid of something else than she is of you, and that should tell you something. Think about it. What could be worse than being held captive by a man who’s convinced she’s something she’s not?”

“She’s Rowan fucking Byrne, no matter what lies trip off her tongue.”

“Fine. She’s Rowan.” She sighs. “Let me talk to her, woman-to-woman. I’ll get more out of her than you will right now.”

Despite earlier thinking that Sorcha is the route to answers, the instinct in me screams to say no. To march back upstairs and demand answers. But Sorcha’s right about one thing: I’m too close to this. Too angry. I can’t be objective. Every time I get close to her, I lose my focus.

“Okay, but you’d better tell me whatever you find out.”

She narrows her eyes, and her lips thin the way they do when she’s pissed off. “I’ll tell you what you need to know. I’m not one of your soldiers that you can order about. I’m your brother’s fucking wife.” Whipping around, she leaves me standing in the hallway and strides up the stairs, Titan at her heels.

She’s got balls, that woman. It’s why my brother fell so hard; he probably lives with a permanent concussion. I watch them go, but as she turns at the top of the stairs and disappears from sight, the weight of Kai’s words settle over me like a weighted blanket, and not the kind that brings comfort.

Too clean. Like someone went through and scrubbed anything interesting. No socials, no digital footprint of any kind.

If Sorcha can’t crack her, I’ll have to find another way. Everyone makes mistakes, eventually. Even her. And when she does, I’ll be waiting.