Page 5 of Stolen Rebel

The car slows to a crawl and eventually stops. We’re not at the airport.

“Don’t fucking try anything, I won’t think twice about putting a bullet in your brain.”

There’s a sneer in his voice that splinters my heart. Where’s the soft-centered, devastatingly handsome man who looked at me like I hung the fucking sun? What happened to him to make him so… cold?

Or maybe this is who he’s always been—and I was just too young and naive to see it. That thought alone sends another wave of fear through my body.

No one speaks, but Liam grabs my wrist. His palms are as cold as his voice. “It’s time.”

Instinct makes me jerk my arm, but there’s no way he’s letting it go. “For what? Wh-wh-where are you taking me?” Shit. I almost call him by his name. He hasn’t told me who he is. He’s given me no name, and I can’t give him a single sign that I remember him.

Ever since those brown eyes met mine across the bar, I’ve been assaulted by memories of his sizzling-hot touch on my skin. I loved him once. Madly, deeply. If I’m being honest with myself, I still do. He was my first love. My only love. But that was then. This is now, and I can’t let my heart rule my head. If I do, it’s going to get me killed.

He grabs my chin with a firm hand, looking me square in the face. “For us to have a little chat, Erin.” The way he spits my name tells me he doesn’t believe for a second that’s who I am.

Fuck.

This is my worst nightmare—and there’s no way to wake up from it.

Which means… I have to figure out a way to survive it instead.

Chapter 3

LIAM

The warehouse smells of old oil, stale air, and the unmistakable stench of fear. There’s a steady drip of water from a leaky pipe, and a chain swings from a ceiling hook. This is one of many Mahoney strongholds across the UK—a place where secrets are bled out of men who thought they were untouchable.

Men who believed they were strong, yet they broke, and she will, too.

I haul Rowan through the warehouse by her hair. She jerks under my grip and a small choked sound slips past her lips as her feet scrape against the concrete.

My blood’s bubbling just below the surface, a soul-deep violence ready to break out and wreak havoc on the woman who betrayed me all those years ago.

Vengeance.

Five years of unanswered questions burn in my gut.

She’s still playing the “Erin” card. Her body’s limp, her eyes wide and wet, and she’s pale as a sheet. I don’t fucking care. I propel her toward a heavy steel chair bolted to the concrete floor under a single, buzzing bulb.

“Sit.”

She flinches at my growl, and I don’t bother fighting the sinister smile that spreads across my face. For a split second, she doesn’t move, like she’s weighing her chances of bolting for the door.

Go on. Run. Make my fucking day.

She stumbles, her knees buckling as she falls into the seat. I don’t help her. I reach into my pocket, pull out a pair of heavy-duty zip ties, and jerk her wrists behind the back of the chair.

I can taste her fear on the air with every breath that saws in and out of her lungs, and I thrill in it. She should fear me.

“Please.” Her voice trembles as she whispers, tears blooming in her eyes. Tears as fake as she is. “My name is Erin. I don’t know why you’re doing this.”

She’s repetitive, I’ll give her that. But even if she admitted to being Rowan right now, she’d still probably tremble in fear. The woman I fell in love with knows exactly what I’m capable of, and over the years, I’ve further honed my skills. Though back in the day, my violence was always aimed at other people. Never her.

Not this time.

I lean down, my face mere inches from hers. I want her to see the jagged scar she’s responsible for. Her gaze snags on it instantly, her breath catching as though she remembers exactly how it got there. My memories replay it for me as if it had happened five minutes ago.

“Liam. Help me. I’m hurt. Please come.”