Page 76 of Stolen Rebel

“Come on, Rebel. Let go.”

She shatters in my arms, saying my name over and over. The feeling of her pulsing around me shatters the last threads of my restraint. I empty myself inside her, a vague realization that I didn’t suit up.

Too late now.

I pull out of her and rest my hands on her hips to steady us both. “That was…”

“Incredible.”

“Yeah. The dress. It was the dress. I couldn’t… fuck.”

“Hey.” She cups my face and stands on tiptoes to kiss me. “It’s okay.”

“I got tested not long ago. I’m clear. Tests were negative.” It’s not the sexiest conversation when my cum is dripping down her thighs, but one I feel like I owe her.

“I… haven’t. But he always used protection.”

I stiffen, her comment a reminder of the years that bastard stole from us. That he was the last man she slept with until tonight.

I fucking hate him. I’m going to destroy him.

She fixes her dress while I tuck myself away and refasten my belt. “There’s something I need to tell you.” As soon as the words spill out, a ball of anxiety lodges itself in my gut. Present me is having regrets that past me put this off as long as I have.

“Oh yeah?”

I point to the bed. “Probably best if you’re sitting down for this.”

She frowns. “Is this to do with what Patrick wanted you for?”

“No.” I sit and pat the mattress. She parks herself beside me. I take a breath. “The murder you witnessed was fake.”

Two lines make a brief appearance between her pinched eyebrows. “I’m sorry, what?”

“It was a setup. Brian faked the whole thing.”

Her jaw drops, hand pressing to her chest. “Why?” she croaks.

“Haven’t figured that bit out yet.”

She gets up. Paces. Flicks the odd glance my way. Then something shifts. Her spine straightens, shoulders squaring. “How long have you known?”

“I had Darrah do some digging, and he confirmed there was no murder. We researched it more and found one of the actors involved. He lives in France now, so Darragh and I went over there to question him. He confirmed that he was paid to stage a murder.”

She rubs her lips together, nostrils flaring. “So, when I told you about Brian and about the murder, you knew? You knew it wasn’t real, and yet, you left me hanging, fearful, still believing I was in some kind of danger from that man?”

“I suspected it. I didn’t know for certain then.”

“But you did a short while later? But instead of telling me immediately, you fucked off to France on some jolly with your brother?”

A weight settles behind my ribs, and a chant circles my mind. Should’ve told her. Should’ve fucking told her. I actually considered it before we headed for Dublin, but chose not to.

“Things kept getting in the way.” Christ, that’s pathetic.

“Really? Like what? Getting your dick wet?”

There she is. There’s my Rebel. If she wasn’t so mad, I’d celebrate. But she isn’t just mad. She’s fucking livid. “I was going to tell you as soon as Darragh confirmed it but⁠—”

She plants both hands on her hips. “But what, Liam?”