Page 106 of Stolen Rebel

“He’s going to keep rewriting history, twisting the truth until it fits his narrative.” My voice hardens. “He doesn’t get to do that anymore.” I pinch the bridge of my nose.

Liam looks at me.

“This isn’t about revenge. It’s about control. For five years, he weaponized his voice.” My throat tightens, but I hold myself together. “If he keeps talking, he’s in control.”

Liam tilts his head to the side, a beat of silence hanging between us.

I smile. “So take it from him.”

He doesn’t ask if I’m sure. He doesn’t try to talk me down. He doesn’t call me hysterical or try to gaslight me. He makes me feel strong and, because of that, I don’t look away. I don’t even flinch.

Brian is still spewing his lies when Liam steps in front of him, shouting louder, like he knows exactly what’s coming, like he needs to get the last word out before he can’t speak anymore. But Liam doesn’t let him, there’s a flash of metal followed by a quick movement. The sound that follows is wet and choked. Brian jerks violently in the chair, a guttural howl echoing off the tin walls of the warehouse. Liam drops Brian’s tongue on the dirty warehouse floor, the sound like a piece of luncheon meat slapped onto the kitchen counter.

My pulse is steady. I expected to feel sick. Instead, I feel… relieved. I’ll never have to hear that man’s voice again.

“You don’t get to speak anymore.” I step closer to the bloody-faced man, who now has eyes so wide they’re mostly white. “You don’t get to twist anything else. You don’t get to rewrite my life. You don’t get to decide what those five years meant.”

Brian’s eyes blaze with fear, blood dripping to the concrete in slow drops.

And Liam watches me more than he watches Brian. “Rowan.” It doesn’t sound like a warning.

“He stole five years. That doesn’t get forgiven.” Five years we’ll never get back. I glance back at Liam. His nostrils flare. Something shifts between us, an understanding. Darragh exhales slowly, like he’s witnessing something inevitable happen.

“Anything else you want to ask him?” Liam says.

I crouch in front of Brian. Close enough that he has to look at me. “Do you believe that Liam didn’t kill your sister? That he wasn’t the one who got her pregnant.”

He gurgles and there’s a fractional hesitation before he shakes his head. He’s refusing to let go of the narrative that served him, that justified everything he did to me.

“Could Patrick have ordered a hit on her?” The words are out of my mouth before I can filter them. It doesn’t explain the pregnancy, but I suppose she could have found herself caught up in something she wasn’t prepared for.

Liam’s eyes sharpen, but there must have been enough to my question because he pulls out his phone, presumably to check. He puts Patrick on speaker and asks but gets the same answer. It was a legitimate accident.

The social media post I recall reading comes back to me. Aisling had some kind of a crush on Liam, a man who barely knew she existed. Maybe knowing she was pregnant, she was looking for a fairy tale, a rescue from a mafia family who could make the shame go away. We’ll never know the full story.

Liam doesn’t look at me like I’ve betrayed him by questioning Patrick, he looks at me like I’ve just proven I belong here.

“You never cared for me,” I tell Brian. “You loved owning me, the control it gave you over someone else’s life. Your files are gone. You’re not a hero with a back-up plan. You’re just a man in a chair with no one left to call.”

His hands strain uselessly against the cable ties, helplessness filling his eyes as his mouth moves, unable to say whatever it is he’s trying to convey.

I stand. “He doesn’t get to walk away from this and do this to anyone else.” My voice isn’t quiet or shaky anymore. “Make sure of it.”

Liam studies me for one long second, searching for doubts he won’t find. Because this isn’t about becoming something new, somebody new.

It’s about taking back what was stolen. Not Erin, not the girl he stole from Liam, but me. Rebel.

Chapter 47

LIAM

Rowan’s pale, too pale, as I settle her in the car. Even though she effectively gave the order to end Murray’s life, she’s not a killer. I’ll need to keep a close watch on her over the next few days to make sure she doesn’t sink into a depression.

He had to die. There was no other way. I know men like him, and he’s one of the worst. She’d have had to look over her shoulder every day for the rest of her life, and there was no way I could let that happen. Either way, he was gone. The only difference is she asked, and I obliged.

I fire up the engine and reverse in an arc. By the time I pull onto the road, a full ten minutes have passed since she’s said a word. Nor has she looked at me. I don’t fucking like this at all.

“Hey.” I reach across the center console and fold her hand in mine. It’s limp and chilly, and still, fucking still she doesn’t look at me. I spot a lay-by ahead, and I pull into it, leaving the engine running and turning up the heater.