If I just keep pretending none of this is real, it’ll fly off in the breeze.That’s how the Maeve from yesterday used to think.
Yesterday, I was thehardworkingpartner of the Cypress, in love with the man who was going to invest in the hotel and save me from my father.
I played the damsel in distress, thrilled when a man with power strolled into my world to rescue me from “the other man in power” that’d been rubbing me the wrong way for the last three decades. Milking the “helpless female” persona for every last penny. A victim of my ancestry. Poor, silly Maeve.
The Maeve Gallagher of yesterday ran circles on the hamster wheel of life for so long that the ridges were worn flat in most spots. And yet, she just kept running, as if she could escape thelife she was born into by sheer will alone. Making wish after useless wish and going full steam ahead to absolutely fucking nowhere.
Well, I hopped off that wheel last night once I realized I was in love with Kellin Brennan, a member of the Irish Kings mafia and an enemy of my father. My family.
I accepted my fate with my eyes wide open.
And I’m not that girl anymore.
I’m Maeve Fucking Gallagher, daughter of the Port Kings’ boss. I’ve seen death. I’ve watched people I hate get tortured and those I’ve loved die. My own mafia killed my mother. The death certificate alleges an overdose.
But legal documents lie. Men lie. My father lies.
And I’ve lied to myself about who I am and where I come from for far too long.
I lift my chin high as I stare deep into the blank eyes of this Russian asshole. “If you think you can use me as some kind of bargaining chip with Declan Gallagher, tell Rostov he can think again.”
“Unless you would like your heart to paint these ugly walls red, keep walking.”
“Go ahead.” I hold my ground. “I dare you.”
Chapter 38
Kellin
The fire alarm’s been blaring for quite some time. Probably just a drill, but I worry about the hotel’s big wedding. Maeve invested her heart and soul into the planning, and even a minor setback could throw a wrench into things.
This wedding could be the event that raises the Cypress to iconic levels like Chateau Marmont. Then her dreams would become a reality.
Why the fuck am I worried about that? Who knows. I’ve got other things to worry about.
But if this is my time, and I die at the hands of Declan today or Finn tomorrow, I want to know Maeve’s okay.
This damn alarm though.
The shrieking is especially jarring on top of no sleep and the headache from my broken nose…along with all the other injuries Declan so tenderly bestowed.
At least I know that Maeve loves me and understands she’s mine. I saw the truth in her eyes, heard it in her words. I’ve never been more sure of anything.
Of course, I’mprettycertain Declan and Brody are clear on her feelings as well. The fact that I’m still breathing provides some strong evidence. But it’s more than that.
Because, while Brody might consider Maeve’s wishes, Declan sure as shit won’t.
Finn.
That’s gotta be the real reason. Declan must realize he’s outgunned by a landslide. And killing me would start World War III with the Irish Kings, which he can’t win.
Though Declan’s in possession of the accountant, and that hurts us, he remains at a disadvantage.
So what’s his plan? To leave me zip-tied in this place—what is this room?—forever, apparently.
I’m stuck in a fucking linen closet. Nothing in here but extra dishes and blankets and me.
Nothing major league about this shit. It’s laughable.
