"Move," a voice growls, and I'm pushed forward, stumbling over uneven ground. I can hear water somewhere nearby, the slap of waves against something solid, and the cry of gulls overhead. The docks, maybe. The smell of salt and fish and diesel fuel is overwhelming even through the hood.
I hear the grinding of a door and the temperature drops as I think I’m taken inside. The sounds change, turning echoey. We might be in a warehouse. My footsteps and theirs ring out on concrete. They march me forward for what feels like forever, then shove me down into a chair. More zip ties secure my ankles to the chair legs, and then finally, mercifully, someone pulls the hood off.
I blink in the sudden light, harsh fluorescents that make my head pound where I hit it in the van. I'm in a large, mostly empty warehouse space, all concrete and exposed beams without a window in sight. There are maybe half a dozen men scattered around, all of them armed and watching me with expressions that range from bored to hostile.
The man I bit is glaring at me, a bandage wrapped around his hand. The one I scratched has three angry red lines down his cheek. I feel a savage satisfaction at that, even though I know it's stupid. I hurt them. I fought back. Sean would be proud.
The fact that I still care about that makes my chest tighten painfully. I’m still that stupid girl, I suppose. I still want him to be proud that I used what he taught me. That I didn’t give in without a fight.
I wonder if he’s pissed at me. If this just proves that he was right all along—that I’m a burden he should never have had to have been shouldered with.
I sit in that chair for what feels like hours, though it's probably less. My wrists ache from the zip ties, and my face throbs where I was hit. I can taste blood in my mouth from where my teeth cut the inside of my cheek. I'm cold and scared and trying desperately not to show it, because I have the feeling that showing fear to these men would be the worst thing I could do. But I can’t keep myself from shivering, both from cold and the way the looks on the men’s faces gradually turn more interested as they take in what I’m wearing. My nipples are pebbled against the silk of the tank top, my shorts torn and riding up high on my thighs, and I feel far too exposed. Like meat in front of slavering dogs.
Once again, I’m fodder for the monsters who might want to hurt me. And my only hope is that my wolf comes to save me from the others in the dark.
Finally, I hear footsteps approaching—different from the heavy boots of the men guarding me. They’re measured and confident, the click of expensive shoes on concrete. A man walks into my line of sight, and I know immediately who he is even though I've never seen him before.
It could only be Cormac Brennan.
He’s handsome in the way politicians often are, with dark hair that’s threaded with silver and a face that was made for campaign posters. He's wearing a dark tailored suit with a silk tie and cufflinks that catch the light. He looks like he should beat a fundraiser or a press conference, not in a warehouse with a kidnapped girl.
He smiles at me, warm and reassuring, like we're old friends meeting for coffee.
"Maeve," he says. His voice is smooth and cultured, with just a hint of an Irish accent underneath. "I'm so sorry about all this. I know it must have been frightening."
I don't say anything. I just stare at him, my heart pounding so hard I feel sure he can see it.
He pulls up a metal chair and sits down across from me, close enough that I could kick him if my ankles weren't tied. He leans forward, elbows on his knees, his expression earnest and concerned.
"I want you to know that I'm not going to hurt you," he says. "You're perfectly safe here. You're just insurance, that's all. Bait for your husband."
The way he sayshusbandmakes it clear what he thinks of Sean. There's contempt there, barely hidden under the veneer of civility.
"You don't need to be afraid," Brennan continues when I still don't respond. "I know what kind of man Sean Flannery is. I know what he does, the things he's done. You're just a girl, Maeve. A sweet, innocent girl who got caught up in something terrible through no fault of your own."
He reaches out as if to pat my hand, and I jerk away from him as much as the restraints allow. His smile doesn't waver.
"I understand," he says. "You're scared. Of course you are. But I want you to understand something. I'm not the monster here. Your husband is. The Wolf of Dublin, they call him. Do you know how many people he's killed? Do you know the things he's done?"
I do know. I've seen the files. I've seen him covered in blood after beating a man half to death in my garden. I sat in hiskitchen this morning and heard him confess to the first two men he killed. I know exactly what kind of man Sean Flannery is.
Or at least… I thought I did.
"He's a killer," Brennan says, his voice dropping to something almost gentle, almost kind. "A brutal, cold-blooded killer who works for the Irish Council doing their dirty work. And they forced you to marry him, didn't they? A girl your age, with your whole life ahead of you, shackled to a man like that."
He's trying to manipulate me. I can see it clearly, the way he's framing this, trying to make himself the hero of the story. Trying to make me see Sean as the villain and him as my rescuer. But the last sentences strike at something deep in my core. That, at least, is the truth. I was forced to marry him. He was forced to marry me. Both of us shackled to a life we didn’t want.
And Sean made me think it could be real.
"When this is over," Brennan continues, "when I've dealt with your husband, you'll be free. You can go back to your life. You can find someone worthy of you, someone who won't drag you into this world of violence and death. You deserve better than Sean Flannery, Maeve. Surely you can see that."
I look at him. Some of what he’s saying might be true. But that doesn’t change who he is, either—and I can see the calculation behind the kind eyes, the coldness underneath the warm smile. This man used his own wife and child as shields just to avoid an assassination attempt. This man is trying to convince me he's saving me while he's planning to murder my husband.
I’m furious with Sean. I’m hurt and betrayed, and I don’t know what happens next if I ever get back to him… but this man is no savior.
I know that for a fact.
"You're not saying anything," Brennan observes, and there's a slight edge to his voice now, a crack in the facade. "Don't youunderstand? I’m going to give you your freedom. A chance at a real life, not one chained to a monster."
