Page 87 of Stolen Rebel

His fingers flex once at my spine—as though he’s reluctant to let me go—before he dips his chin, then strides toward the kitchen. If in doubt, it’s where you’ll find the Mahoney men congregating. I’m not sure if they even realize it, but I bet that kitchen table has heard and seen some shit.

I watch him go then turn toward the library. The door is half open, warm firelight spilling into the hallway beckoning me inside. Who am I to argue with an evening in front of the fire reading books? What else am I going to do other than let my mind run riot with questions I don’t have answers for? Better to distract myself than to submit to torture.

I love it in here. The Mahoneys have gone full-drama library. Floor-to-ceiling shelves, old leather spines, the scent of wood polish and smoke. Two enormous armchairs flank the hearth, a thick, expensive-looking cream rug sprawled across timber floors so dark they almost look black.

Mahoney history probably breathes in the walls, too. I flop into one of the armchairs and stare into the fire. I’m not sure even a book can distract me. Instead, I watch the flames curling around one another, fighting and warming all at once. I wonder if that’s what this family looks like from the outside.

Aisling.

The name won’t leave me alone.

I palm the burner phone. It feels heavy in my hand, clawing at me. Taunting me. This is Brian’s phone. It’s the one tie I have to him.

I open a browser. I type Aisling, then Ireland. Aisling, the name I’ve heard a few times over the years when Brian’s been on the phone.

Tens of thousands of results fill the screen. So many, my head spins. Not a single one of the top search results are in any way connected to Brian.

I change my search term to Aisling + “Brian Murray”.

That brings up something far more manageable. A small photo attached to a local news article from five years ago.

She’s a pretty thing with a soft smile. Mid to late teens. I rack my brains, but no matter how hard I try, I can’t recall Brian ever talking about a female relative.

Tragic death of local woman in single-vehicle collision.

My stomach drops before I even read it. The article is painfully lacking in detail other than the fact she was Brian’s sister.

It says the roads were wet, there were poor visibility conditions, and she lost control of the car. No other vehicles involved. Emergency services attended the scene where she was declared deceased.

There was no suspicion of foul play, and no charges brought.

I read that line again.

That doesn’t mean there wasn’t anything suspicious, just that no one was caught and nothing could be proven. If that’s true, then why would Brian mention his dead sister and Liam in the same sentence?

I scroll further. There are a handful of follow-up pieces.

One of the links is older, barely a column wide. I click on it. A grainy photo fills the screen. It’s Aisling’s mother outside a courthouse, her face carved from grief. My chest tightens as I read.

“The Mahoneys think they are above the law, but a mother never forgets a debt. If the Gards won’t find justice, I will.”

Cold terror trickles down my spine. She’s calling it a debt, not an accident. Why is she blaming the Mahoneys for Aisling’s death?

Is this the unfounded fury of a grieving mother speaking?

There’s a short obituary, a charity run, and a hurling tournament organized in her memory, pages of comments full of condolences. Further down the page, there’s an old social media post. When I click it, Aisling’s face fills the screen, soft smile, bright eyes, Brian’s nose and mouth. The caption under the photo makes my breath stutter.

I’m going to tell him the news tonight. Once he knows, he’ll have to pick me. He won’t let me do this alone.

There’s a comment thread beneath it: a bunch of girls telling her to get her man by any means necessary. Who was her man? And what wouldn’t he let her do alone?

If this was officially an accident… then Brian chose to destroy my life over something the world had resolved… moved on from. There’s a pang in my chest… forgotten.

Did he hurt me because he was hurt? Because the world forgot his sister? How does he think Liam is somehow to blame?

Was he? Or worse, did someone want the world to think that he was? Did Brian kill his own sister and leave breadcrumbs to incriminate Liam?

If it was officially an accident but unofficially it wasn’t, that’s a whole different kettle of fish. And someone would have had to go to great lengths to make it look like an accident. Only people with great power can do that. Power like the Mahoneys.