“Fair enough. Whatcha got, sharpshooter?” I ask as I raise my palms and crook my fingers in a “bring it on” gesture.
She smirks and crosses her arms, looking at me imperiously. There’s something about her in this moment that absolutely slays me. I’d have answered any question, given her anything she asked for.
“Why are there roughly ten to twelve of our fathers’ men scattered between the street and the other side of the pond?”
Well, fuck. Didn’t see that one coming.
She fixes me with a steady gaze, her green eyes glowing with an intense awareness I’d never really noticed in them before. I clear my throat and straighten my posture as I start to fiddle aimlessly with the silverware on the table.
“And don’t you dare lie to me, Callum Egan. It doesn’t take this many men to go to dinner at a place you regularly attend. What is going on?”
I look up at her again. I don’t know what to do. Should I tell her? Or should I lie, and let her be blissfully naive?
Fuck it. She deserves the truth.
I take a deep breath, running my hand across my face. “Eve, I don’t want to start things off with a lie. There have been sightings of the Costas’ men outside of both of our warehouses as well as outside your parents' estate. We have to assume they’re back in town for a while, so we’re being vigilant, but we don’t know what their plans are yet.”
“And why am Ijust nowbeing told about this?” She grits out, her eyes flashing angrily.
“Up until this afternoon, there were only single-man sightings, and they were only around our warehouses, so there was no need to tell you. They were spotted outside of your father’s last night, which… changes things. I was hoping to wait till tomorrow to talk to you about it—”
Before I can finish, she stands up with her hands fisted at her sides.
“These are things I need to know,” she says lowly, menacingly. “Do you know what theydidto me, Callum?” her voice breaking mid-question.
“Yes,” I whisper as I push my away from the table and lean forward, resting my elbows on my knees. “It was the worst 45 hours of my life.”
I glance up at her and see confusion wash over her face.
“You'd better start talking, or I will walk right out this door, Callum!” She points at the door our waiter walked through not long ago.
“Sit down, Maeve.”
“No, I will not—” she begins to protest, but I cut her off this time.
“Sit. Down. Maeve.” I command.
Stunned, she slowly sits back down, holding her hands together and fidgeting with her rings.
“Maeve, I know exactly what they did to you because I was the one who found you.”
At this, she looks up at me abruptly, confusion written all over her face.
”I was the one who killed every bastard in that shabby-arsehouse they kept you in. You were knocked out with whatever they had injectedyou with. You had no idea that I was the one who carried you out of there. You were so bruised, so bloody,” I say, the memory overtaking me. I feel a shudder creeping up my spine.
“I told your father not to tell you. I knew you were still angry with me. I didn’t want you to feel obligated to… to… And we hadn’t spoken in so long… I just…” I trail off, searching for the words. She’s looking at me intently, lips parted.
“That night,” I say, my voice rough, “that night at the party did not happen like you think it did."
“Don’t,” she commands, a note of anger in her voice.
“No, Maeve,” I say, leaning forward instinctively. "I’ve let you have the last nine years believing a fucking lie because I knew the truth would hurt you far more.”
“Callum,” she says, her chest rising and falling rapidly, “start making sense before I get up and leave you sitting here alone. I'm not playing games. Start talking.”
I take a deep sigh, rubbing a hand across my face and through my hair. I can’t sit any longer. I stand up and walk toward the window, and I hear her follow behind me. I turn to find her inches from my face.
Time to lay it all on the line.
