Page 84 of Stolen Rebel

I bolt out of my chair and dart behind a jutting wall. Part of me wants to storm up to him and dump a scalding hot drink over his head, but the other part of me… the terror-filled part, knows that would be a bad fucking idea.

Did he follow me here?

Shit. I left my phone on the table. I look at it forlornly before I risk peering around the edge of the wall. There he is. The man who’s held me in his special brand of captivity for so long I’ve forgotten what freedom tastes like. And he’s smiling like he’s on holiday.

While he waits for his order, he scrolls on his phone. I contemplate sending a picture to Liam, but my phone’s out of reach, and I don’t want to draw his attention to me.

The woman behind the counter charges him for his order, hands him two paper cups and a brown bag of tray bakes, and asks after his ma before Brian turns and leaves.

I wait a beat, grab Sorcha’s keys and my phone, and walk to the door—watching which car Brian gets into before I step out into the street.

I’m done being the girl who gets stalked, captured, and held in a fucking cage.

Today, I’m the stalker.

Chapter 38

LIAM

No matter what I do, I cannot silence the mass of anxiety that’s moved into my gut, set up home, and declared it’s here for the duration until Rowan walks safely back through that door.

I never should have called off security, no matter what the cost, but I had Sorcha in one ear and Rowan in the other, and even Patrick assured me the likelihood of anything happening to her was so minimal it wasn’t even worth worrying about.

Easy for him to say. His woman is safe and sound and shooting the odd, annoyed glance at me as I pace up and down the kitchen. Okay, stomp, not pace. Semantics.

I can only hope she drives around for a bit until she’s let off some steam and cursed me to hell and back. Then she’ll feel a lot better and come home.

Make no mistake, this is Rowan’s home, even if she doesn’t know it yet or isn’t ready to accept it. I cannot lose her over my stupid fuckup. I refuse to. Whatever it takes, I will fight for her, for us. I should’ve fought for us all those years ago, but I was an idiot who took that letter at face value, heard someone who sounded like Rowan tell me she was hurt, and swallowed every vicious lie.

I never trusted us, our love, our connection. Rowan isn’t the only one that fucker Murray manipulated, and for that, and stealing five years from my woman and from me, he will pay.

My phone pings. When I glance down, I can’t open the message fast enough.

Rebel

just saw Brian. Following.

My heart rate triple times it, shooting up so fast my vision blurs. Another text comes in. It’s a picture of a dark blue estate car. I can make out half the number plate, but the other half is obscured by a tree branch.

I duck out of the kitchen and call her. No answer. Call again. No answer.

Me

Answer your fucking phone.

Nothing.

Goddammit. Grabbing a set of car keys, I snatch my coat off the banister and slam the front door behind me. I have no idea where to start looking, but if it takes me all night, I will drive the length and breadth of this country until I find out where she is. I put out a call in our security group chat to keep an eye out for Sorcha’s car and report back immediately. She can’t hide from me forever.

Christ, if he sees her… what if he takes her again? What if he hurts her? I can kill him, sure, but what use will that be if she’s gone?

My stomach curdles, fear circling. She’s so fucking reckless. She always was a risk taker, but this is just fucking stupidity. Is this her way of punishing me for keeping the fake murder from her? If so, she’s succeeded.

I’m in fucking purgatory.

Dan’s parking the car when I reach the garage. I never should’ve called him off. Fuck Sorcha. Fuck Rowan. Fuck the lot of them.

“Boss.” Dan jerks his chin. “Sorry she made me.”