Page 52 of Stolen Rebel

“I fall over the dog, panic that you’ll think I was trying to escape, and come to yell at me, and you’re here playing nurse.” A hot, half naked, gruff nurse who’s so close his breath is tickling my skin every time he exhales.

He snorts. “You’re too smart to try to escape. I assumed you’d tripped over your own feet.” He leaves the sentence hanging, the corner of his mouth twitching like he’s fighting a smirk. He doesn’t need to add that when I was younger, I used to choke on my own spit, bump into things, or trip more than the average person.

The urge to trace his scar with my finger is so strong, I flex my hand, tucking my fingernails into my palm so tightly they pinch.

“As long as you’re not ruining my carpet by bleeding out, I’ll head back to bed.” He moves like he’s bracing to stand, and before I know what’s happening, my hand shoots out to grab his arm.

We both stare at where my fingers are wrapped around his forearm for longer than is probably healthy before we make eye contact. “Since you’re here, I have a question.”

Why the fuck is my voice so breathless?

I clear my throat. “If I need to make a phone call, is that possible?” It’s an extreme test of this nice guy act he’s decided to go with, but if I can’t get my phone back from Sorcha before check-in… well, it’s worth a shot.

Or at least I thought it was until Liam’s brow arches in silent question. His nostrils flare as he folds his arms. “For the sake of argument, I say yes. Who would you call, Erin?”

I heave out an impatient sigh, as though his question is the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever been asked. “You yanked me from my life, Liam. I have responsibilities, a job, friends who are probably worried about me, wondering where I’ve disappeared to.”

“You don’t have a job. Not right now.”

“You don’t understand⁠—”

He cups my face, the gentle sweeping of his thumb against the apple of my cheek a contrast to his quickly chilling tone. “No. You don’t understand. You’re not calling anyone.”

My heart sinks, nausea rolling in my stomach, reminding me it’s still there.

He stands and leaves without another word. Titan licks my cheek. But my brain still races. What other options do I have? Do people still have landlines? We had one at the bar, but do the mafia still use them? Would there be one in an office?

I’ll have to explore tomorrow and see, and if not… I… I don’t know what the hell I’ll do.

First item on the agenda after a solo breakfast is to find Sorcha and see if she’s going to give me the phone back. If she is, then all this worrying is for no reason at all. Maeve tells me she’s with Patrick in his office. Despite the fact the man terrifies me to my very marrow, needs must.

I knock and a man’s grunt is the only answer I get. I assume that means I can go in. Would it kill them to enunciate? Communicate like grown-ups? I’ve heard them yell enough to know they can do it.

I clear my throat as I enter, and Patrick’s head snaps up. “Erin.” He puts his pen on the table as though he’s giving me his full attention. “Is everything okay?” He removes his glasses, slowly folding each arm and setting them on the notes in front of him.

My mouth refuses to form words so I simply nod.

He waits.

Still nothing comes out of my mouth. I just… stare.

He tips his head. “Looking for Sorcha, are you?”

I manage another nod. “Y-yes. Do you know where she is?”

“She’s headed to the shops.” He must either smell my fear or see my disappointment that I’m trying so damn hard to hide. “You’re shaking, sit.” His voice is a little warmer, kinder, but still carries that rough edge that has me damn near shitting myself.

The last thing I want to do is drag out my time with him, but telling the head of the Irish mafia “no” doesn’t really seem like something that will work for me, so… I sit.

“I heard you last night with Liam. If you need to make a call, that could be arranged.” His voice is level, but it feels like a trap, bait, or worse, a test. And I have no idea what the right answer is to pass it. Does he want me to say no to doing something behind Liam’s back?

He slides his mobile across the table to me. I stare at it. Temptation has my fingers twitching. Offering or trap?

“You don’t need to worry about our Liam. I’ll handle him. If you need to tell your family you’re safe, go on ahead.”

My palms are sweaty, my throat tight. “Th-thanks so much for the offer, Mr. Mahoney.” I swallow. “And I might take you up on that if I can’t convince Liam to let me use the phone. But I don’t think going behind his back is the right move right now.” I offer a shaky smile. “We seem to have declared some kind of fragile peace. I don’t want to risk that by betraying him.”

He stares at me for so long my skin feels like it might ignite under his assessment, but he eventually nods. “Grand. If you change your mind, you know where to find me.”