Page 8 of His Kidnapped Irish Mafia Virgin

I told myself twice that there was no reason to call Maeve. By the third time, my thumb had already pressed her name. She answered right away.

“You’re home?”

I leaned back on the sofa and took a deep breath. “I just got here a few minutes ago.”

She asked how work was. I gave the answer I’d been giving everyone for weeks: the café was busy; the bar was busier; I was really tired. That should have been enough to end the conversation, but Maeve knew me too well to accept simple answers.

“You always speak quietly when you’re scared.”

I laughed softly. It didn’t sound very convincing. I told her I wasn’t scared, just tired. She didn’t say anything. I found myself admitting that my walk home felt…strange. I told her about the footsteps and the sedan and the feeling I couldn’t shake.

Maeve didn’t tell me I was imagining things. She knew where my mind went when something felt wrong. I’d told her about my old life before: Victor’s violence, my mom’s silence, and the night I finally escaped. She knew those stories as well as I did. She offered to come over, but I thanked her and said no. I didn’t want to drag Maeve into fears that were just in my head. I hung up a few moments later, but instead of feeling completely reassured, I found myself sitting quietly with the phone still resting in my hand. Talking to Maeve always helped. She had a way of making the world seem smaller, as though even my worst memories lost some of their weight simply because someone else carried them with me. Tonight wasn’t much different. The tightness in my chest had eased, yet it hadn’t disappeared, leaving behind a faint uneasiness that refused to explain itself.

Deciding there was no point dwelling on it, I changed into an old sweatshirt and a pair of loose joggers before heading into the kitchen. I filled the kettle, waited for it to boil, and made myself a mug of chamomile tea, hoping the familiar routine would settle my thoughts. The warmth between my hands was comforting as I carried the mug into the living room and curled up on the sofa.

It was probably nothing. Working two jobs had left me running on too little sleep for weeks, and maybe my mind had started seeing danger where there wasn’t any. By the time I finished my tea, the streets outside had grown completely quiet. I rinsed the mug, switched off the lights one by one, and paused at the window before heading to bed. I pulled the curtain back just enough to look outside.

The street below was still. There were no strangers lingering outside my building, no dark figures watching from across the road, and nothing remotely unusual about the quiet neighborhood. I let the curtain fall back into place and climbed into bed, feeling faintly embarrassed that I’d allowed old fears to creep so easily into the present. Tomorrow would be another early morning at the café, another late night at the bar, and, with any luck, another ordinary day.

CHAPTER FOUR

Liam

The first thing I noticed when I walked onto the floor on Tuesday was that Nora wasn’t there. I wasn’t looking for her or anything. My eyes just moved through the room like they always did at the start of every shift. I checked the exits, counted the staff, and looked for anything that was out of place before the bar filled with customers. The bartenders were already stocking bottles behind the counter. Servers carried trays between tables as they got ready for the evening rush.

The kitchen doors swung open every second as cooks shouted to each other over the noise of clattering pans. Everything looked like it should. By the time my eyes finished their usual circuit of the room, I confirmed Nora wasn’t there. I frowned a little without thinking much of it.

There were multiple deliveries to expect, two bookings in the back room, and a boxing match on the TVs later that evening. That meant we’d probably have trouble once people started drinking. By the time the security briefing ended, I’d pushed the thought of Nora out of my mind.

For the next hour I did exactly what I always did. I greeted the regulars who nodded as they walked in. I settled a disagreement over a reservation before it turned into an argument. I quietly told one of the bartenders to cut off a customer who’d already had more than enough to drink. It was work, the kind that becomes almost automatic after enough years.

I usually liked the routine because it left little room for surprises, but I caught myself glancing toward the staff room more than once. Every time the door opened, I looked up without thinking, expecting Nora to step onto the floor carrying a tray or straightening her apron. Every time, it was someone else. After catching myself doing it for the hundredth time, I felt a little irritated.

People missed shifts. They swapped hours, called in sick, or picked up work elsewhere. There was nothing unusual about her absence. Nora Walsh wasn’t a full-time employee. She worked mornings in a café. So if she’d decided to stay home, that had absolutely nothing to do with me. I reminded myself of that more than once, but the explanation never seemed to make much difference.

My eyes kept drifting toward the staff room. About halfway through the evening, Paddy wandered over, carrying a clipboard.

“Quiet tonight,” he said.

“So far,” I replied.

He nodded toward one of the waiters struggling to balance a tray full of cocktails and chuckled under his breath. “At least nobody spilled a drink on you tonight.”

The memory came back before I could stop it. It was ridiculous that I remembered such an incident so clearly when far more serious things had faded from my memory long ago. I shook the thought away before looking across the room.

“Where’s the new girl?” I asked.

Paddy glanced around before answering. “Nora? She called this afternoon. Said she wasn’t feeling well. I told her to get some rest. She’ll probably be back tomorrow.”

I nodded. My attention was already back on the crowd, as though the answer meant nothing. It should have settled the matter. There was nothing off about calling in sick. For reasons I couldn’t explain, I found myself hoping Paddy was right about Nora returning tomorrow.

The night had settled into its routine by the time I noticed him. He wasn’t being loud or doing anything to draw attention to himself. He just walked into the bar, stopped for a moment, and looked around. To everyone else, he was just another customer looking for a place to sit. To me he stood out, because people who came to the bar usually knew what they wanted before they arrived. They headed to the bar to find their friends and grab a table. They watched the game on TV.

This guy didn’t do any of those things. He looked at peoples’ faces with patience, like he was really taking his time. He talked to the staff members for a little while before moving on. He wasn’t looking at the room like customers usually did.

I didn’t want him to know that I’d noticed him. When people think nobody is watching, they show themselves. Every now and then I caught a glimpse of him through the crowd. He walked slowly between the tables, didn’t sit down, and didn’t order anything from the bar.

He didn’t talk to the other customers. He looked at every waitress for a few seconds, like he was comparing her face to one he already knew. By the time he’d walked around half of the room, I knew he was looking for a specific person. He was being very deliberate about it.