Callum
Toska (n) a dull ache of the soul, a sick pining, a spiritual anguish
Swing after swing, I watch Maeve as she hits Nessa. She’s covered in blood, with each hit only adding more. She pauses her assault to tell Nessa something right before she gives her final blow.
Nessa is fucked.
I’ll be surprised if she ever looks normal again. We watch Maeve as she sits, still straddling Nessa, her chest heaving.
“Hey,” I whisper as the palm of my hand makes contact with her lower back. The shift is immediate. Tears begin to flow down her cheeks, and I wrap my arms around her, pulling her to my chest. I walk back toward the couch and sit down, pulling her into my lap. She doesn’t cry for long, but we sit there in silence for a while as she collects her thoughts. Orin and Ronan take Nessa downstairs and hand her off to some of our men, who will transport her to the same warehouse where the driver of the black sedan was taken.
“Maeve,” I whisper as I stroke her hair, “talk to me, baby.”
She sniffles.
“I just don’t understand how someone could be so vile. She’s family, and she stabbed me in the back while I was looking her in the face. Why did she want you? You’ve always been mine. Even as kids, you were mine.”
I cup her cheek as she talks to me, and her eyes flutter shut for a moment before she finally takes a deep breath. She’s coming back to me, slowly.
“I wish I could answer that,mo agra,” I say gently. “Why don’t we head to the warehouse so I can deal with the driver, then we can go pack a bag.”
She raises a brow, and I stifle the tiniest hint of a smirk. “Okay,bags, we will go packbags,plural.”
She nods resolutely, and I chuckle as I pull her face to mine, kissing her soft lips, salty from the tears slowly trailing down her cheeks. As I pull my lips from hers I place my forehead on hers, our eyes closing, taking in a moment of peace in this never ending bloodshed. I’m not sure, but I imagine we’re both thinking the same thing. Sick of the bloodshed. Sick of thenecessityof it. In this business, when someone crosses you, it’s strike or be struck. But it never seems to get easier. The momentary satisfaction of revenge fades quickly, and all you’re left with in the end is regret.
Maeve takes a deep breath, her eyes now clear. Orin and Ronan walk into the room cautiously. They know better than most, Orin especially, the aftermath of the switch being flipped. She’ll become a shell of herself for a few days, mulling over every detail. Though this time her posture is different, and I look to Orin who notices it almost at the same time. He raises a brow with the silent question. She turns her head and catcheshim as he reaches the rug’s edge. She stands up quickly, stalking toward him, catching all three of us off guard.
Orin freezes in place, keeping his eyes on Maeve. She shoves him so hard he almost trips over a side table with awkward legs that hang out just a little too far. She shoves him again and he allows her to, now that there’s nothing to trip over in the open space of the entryway.
“You knew, didn’t you? This whole time? You knew?” Maeve’s voice is laced with resentment and a dare.
“Maeve, let me explain,” he pleads, but she shoves him again and he takes it. He looks more hurt with each shove, but not physically. No, this is much deeper than a physical hit. His shoulders are hunched, and I see the weight of her emotions pulling him down. He stares at the floor as if it were going to open and swallow him whole. I know that feeling all too well, but this is different.
“Look at me!” she raises her voice, and I can hear the tears. “Look. At. Me.” She yells again with another shove. “Why didn’t you tell me any of this? Why did you sit back and let me suffer even when you knew what she had done to me, to Callum? Why didn’t you tell me the rift was all bullshit?”
He seems to cave in to himself even more. Ronan walks over to the living room display and sits down on the edge of the chair, his elbows on his knees, lacing his fingers behind his head. I walk up to Maeve warily, not wanting to spook her. Her breathing is shallow, her chest heaving. I gently place my hand on the small of her back.
“Mo agra, it’s not his fault,” I say quietly, and she spins to face me, her eyes locked with mine.
“All three of you knew the truth this entire time and yet you let me believe all these years…” her voice breaks, and the dam follows. She covers her face with her hands, and Orin steps up. I retreat a step, allowing him to comfort her. I know he needs her as much as she needs him. They were all each other had for years. None of us were the same after she had been taken, but Orin lost more than just himself that night. It changed him, made him… hard. The moment his arms wrap around her, the sob sheexpels is earth shattering, as if the past nine years hit her all at once.
Orin’s eyes are closed tightly as if he was willing his tears not to fall. We aren’t known for showing weakness, but we aren’t around anyone except each other. The one place we can show every emotion without judgment. Time becomes insignificant. We will stay here until she is ready. She sniffles and slowly pulls herself away from Orin, looking up at him, her hands limp by her sides, and he mirrors her stance.
“I tried,” he begins. “I tried to tell you more than once, but you didn’t want to hear it,” he looks at his feet as he continues. “I tried to show you Nessa’s true colors, but she had her claws deep, Maeve. I knew you’d see the truth when the time was right.” He looks up, gazing at her steadily. “I never intended for it to hurt you. You’ve hurt enough for all of us, in this lifetime and the next.”
Chapter 24
Maeve
Moira (n) a person’s fate or destiny
All four of us load into the truck. Ronan and Orin are up front, and Callum and I ride in the back. I sit in silence, lost in thought, while the guys talk shop.
“Did Fitz find anything more?” Callum asks.
“No, he said he’ll keep looking until he finds something,” Ronan responds.
Orin scratches his chin, mulling over something.
