Page 99 of Stolen Rebel

Her grip tightens. “Silly girl. I wouldn’t if I were you.”

“Go to hell.”

I inhale ready to sing like a canary when something sharp presses into the side of my neck.

“Don’t worry, love, this time we’ll finish what we started.”

“What?” I blink at her, but she’s wearing the same smirk her son’s wearing.

We know where he got it from. My words slur before they fully form in my mouth. That bitch has drugged me.

The world tilts sideways. I try to wrench out of her grip, but my limbs feel disconnected from my brain, they aren’t working right. My knees buckle.

He catches me. When did he get out of the car? He smells the same.

“Miss me?”

Rage flares, bright and fucking useless because my body’s getting less responsive.

I try to spit at him, but it dribbles down my own chin, making humiliation burn hotter than the drug spreading through my veins.

“Sleep.” Are the drugs making Brian’s ma’s voice sound kinder?

The sky above me blurs. A car door opens. I try to focus. To fight.

Liam. I need to warn… I force my eyes open one last time. Brian’s face hovers above me, triumphant.

Darkness rolls in before I can complete the thought, devouring the edges of everything.

The last thing I register is the car door slamming, the engine firing, and the agony searing through my chest at losing Liam for a second time.

The devil stole me again. And this time, it’s for good.

Chapter 43

LIAM

Stakeouts are boring.

Usually, I leave this kind of work to our captains or lieutenants, but this is personal. Doesn’t help with the boring part, though. I’m antsy, eager to get to the part where I make this fucker regret every one of his decisions over the past five years. The one where I get to pound his face to mincemeat, gouge out his eyeballs, rip out every one of his fingernails.

The one where I get to torture him until he’s begging me to kill him.

“Boss, carpet’s threadbare enough as it is.”

Even though he’s trying to lighten the mood, I fire an irritated glare Dan’s way, then resume pacing. Every time I pass the front window, which is dressed in the vilest net curtains that most grannies would be proud of, I stop and peer outside. Nothing. No sign of Murray. In one way, I’m glad. If he sticks to tomorrow as I fully expect him to, I’ll have more time for my rage to fester. In another, though, fuck, it’s going to be a long night.

I palm my phone, staring at the picture on the lock screen. It’s an old photo of Rebel, snapped when she wasn’t looking, standing atop a mountain with the wind in her hair and a flush to her cheeks. I don’t have a more recent one. As soon as this is over, I’m rectifying that. By the time I’m finished, I’ll need to buy more storage for my phone.

“How long have we been here?”

Dan checks his watch. “Ninety minutes.”

Jaysus. Is that all?

“Should I make us a sandwich?”

I jerk my chin, and Dan gets up off the couch and heads into the kitchen. I resume pacing. He returns with ham and cheese on sourdough and two Cokes. God bless Maeve. Woman’s a diamond.