Sean stands over him for a long moment, breathing hard, his knuckles split and bleeding. Then, slowly, he turns and sees me.
The expression on his face shifts—surprise, then something that might be regret—but it's too late. I've already seen what he's capable of. Seen the violence he keeps locked under that cold, controlled exterior.
I’ve seen the Wolf of Dublin.
"Maeve—" he starts, taking a step toward me.
I back away.
"Don't." My voice is shaking. "Don't come near me."
Sean stops in his tracks, his jaw working as he stares at me. "He threatened you. He put his hands on you."
"So you beat him half to death?" I wrap my arms around myself, trying to stop the trembling. "Jesus Christ, Sean, you could have killed him."
He lets out a slow breath. Like an animal trying to calm itself down, I think to myself. I can see the bunched muscles in his shoulders, the slow easing of the urge for violence. It terrifies me that this man lives under the same roof as I do. "I didn't."
"But you wanted to." I stare at him, at the blood on his hands, the cold set of his jaw. "I saw it. You wanted to kill him."
He doesn't deny it. He just looks at me, his expression unreadable, as hard and angry as ever. It’s not directed at me, I don’t think, but it’s there all the same. And while I’ve always known in the back of my head that I’ve lived all my life with violent men—my father, Desmond—I’ve never seen it so plainly in front of me. I’ve been sheltered from it all my life.
"This is who you married." His voice is flat. Unapologetic. "This is what I am. Did you think the Wolf of Dublin was just a name? A reputation I didn't earn?"
I shake my head, backing up another step. "I knew you were—I heard the Council used you for—but I didn't think?—"
"You didn't think what? That I was actually violent?" He looks down at his bloody hands, then back at me. "No one speaks to my wife like that. No one demands things from me. No one threatens what's mine."
Something trembles in my chest. My skin feels warm despite the cold, damp air outside. "I'm not yours," I whisper.
Something flashes in his eyes. "You're my wife."
"On paper. Because the Council forced us both into this." My heart is hammering so hard I can barely breathe. "But that doesn't make me your property. That doesn't give you the right to—to?—"
"To protect you?" His voice rises now, the first real emotion I've heard from him since he walked in. "That manwas threatening you, Maeve. He implied—Christ, do you even understand what he was suggesting?"
"I'm not an idiot!" The words burst out of me. "I know what he meant. And I was handling it. I was going to come get you?—"
"So why didn’t you do it sooner? Why didn’t you tell him where I was?” Sean’s jaw is hard. “It bloody doesn’t matter, Maeve. What he said couldn’t be allowed to stand.”
"You didn't have to beat him like that. You didn't have to—" I gesture helplessly at the man still lying motionless on the ground. "Is he even alive?"
"He's breathing."
"That's not the point!" I can feel my chest rising and falling. “Sean?—”
"Then what is the point?" Sean's control is cracking now, his voice rough. "That I should have let him go after a stern warning? That I should have called the police and let them handle it through proper channels? This isn't that world, Maeve. This is the world your father lived in, your brother. The worldyoulive in. Inthisworld, debts are collected with violence and threats, and the only thing that keeps you safe is being more dangerous than the people who want to hurt you."
Something cracks in my chest. "I don't want to live in that world,” I whisper. And I realize, as the words slip from my lips, that it’s true. I’ve never wanted to live in a world like this, one so rough and bloody and harsh. But I’ve never been able to escape it. And now I never will.
Sean’s jaw works, the muscle there leaping. “Too bad,” he says flatly. “You were born into it, Maeve. You can’t just walk out.”
The words hang between us like a knife, ready to cut. I stare at this man—my husband—with blood on his hands and no remorse in his eyes, and I’m reminded all over again that I don't know him at all. The cold distance, the pushing me away, eventhe guilt I saw in the garden yesterday—none of that prepared me for this. For this brutal, unapologetic violence. For the way he hurt that man without hesitation, without mercy.
For the fact that some part of him clearly enjoyed it.
"Stay away from me," I manage, my voice shaking. I meet his eyes, and a chill runs down my spine.
His lips press together. "Maeve?—"
