Page 70 of Stolen Rebel

“It’s not? Must’ve picked up the wrong vibe then.” She takes a long drink, holding my gaze for a moment over the rim of her glass.

I look away, unable to keep eye contact. She exclaims in victory. “I knew it. Whatever flame was between you years ago, it’s still there, isn’t it?”

I shake my head, half starting to stutter over a denial, but she claps her hands. “This is perfect. Do you know how shitty it is to be the owner of the only ovaries in the building?”

“Maeve—”

She waves a hand at me, picking up a bag of Maltesers and biting the chocolate off like a squirrel. “She doesn’t count. She doesn’t take their shit, but to Maeve, the sun shines out of those Mahoney boys’ arses. They have her wrapped around their little fingers.” She sighs. “She always takes their side.”

I roll my lips, so I don’t laugh at my new friend being outnumbered, and sip my cocktail. “Like I said, it’s not like that. I don’t know what vibe you picked up on, but you’ve gotten it wrong.” My eyes are fixed on Matthew McConaughey, heat creeping up my neck.

“Bullshit.”

Ironically, it’s at the part in the movie where Kate Hudson is playing a game called Bullshit with Matthew’s family. Sorcha’s timing is impeccable.

I glance at her. She’s not watching the movie: she’s watching me. She points a half-stripped Malteser at me. “Liam Mahoney is not the kind of man to discover that his prisoner has a secret mobile phone and not lose his shit over it. And to let her keep it?” She whistles. “The boy’s got it bad, my new friend. The boy’s got it bad.”

I shake my head like she doesn’t know what she’s talking about. But the urge to talk to her almost pulls confessions from my lips.

More popcorn. It’s the only defense I have against my bubbly new friend.

“And what kind of kidnapper lets his victim sleep in his bed?”

“I had a concussion.”

She purses her lips. “Mm-hmm. A likely story.”

I can’t help smiling. I’ve missed this. Having a girlfriend to sit and talk to, watching movies and eating snacks. It almost feels… normal. Even though nothing about this entire situation is normal. My life hasn’t been normal for a long time.

“Say what you’re bursting to say, Erin-Rowan. I don’t know who we are today.” She smirks again. It feels kind of nice to be poked at for fun.

“He left.”

She waits, downing the rest of her cocktail and pouring another one from the jug next to her glass.

“I told him… some stuff.” I clear my throat, not sure what she’s allowed to know, and what I should keep back. I don’t want to get in trouble with Liam for being loose-lipped, but Sorcha is my only friend, and she didn’t do me dirty over the burner. “About what happened all those years ago.” I meet her eyes, words sticking in my throat. “I told him the truth.” I pick up a piece of popcorn and roll it around my palm. “And he just…” I swish my wrist. “Left.”

She frowns at me. “You told him why you left him, and he didn’t snog the face off ye?”

I giggle. “I didn’t expect that, but I’d have taken… I don’t know, a conversation, acceptance…” Forgiveness. “Something.”

“Fucking idiot.”

I jerk back as she puts her palm up to me. “Not you, him. Men. They’re all as bad as each other, emotionally stunted.” Her lips twitch. “So, you really are Rowan?”

My face is so hot, but the lure of freedom, of not having to pretend anymore is so fucking tempting. And if Liam had stuck around and asked me straight himself, I’d have finally confessed he was right. So, I give Sorcha a small nod.

“Do you want to talk to me about it?” She covers her heart with her hand. “Swear to God, it’ll stay between the two of us.”

Before I know it, everything tumbles out from my mouth. The murder, the witness protection, Brian and the check-ins. The intel he mentioned to me. The movie plays on, but neither of us are watching it, and Titan’s still out cold, snoring obnoxiously and spread out on the sofa like a fortnight’s washing.

After what feels like forever, Sorcha narrows her eyes. “So how does this protection program work?”

I give her the details as she disassembles more chocolate-coated malt balls with her teeth like a sociopath. Who doesn’t just put them in their mouth and suck the chocolate off?

“And how often did they move you? Every few years? Every other year? Seems a bit… stable.”

Now she mentions it, it has been a little less… nomadic than I expected. I shrug. “I guess they did a good job of keeping everything where it needed to be. If the risk arose, I’m sure Brian would have moved me. He did shortly before Liam brought me here.” And he’d threatened to do it again on the phone.