Page 107 of Stolen Rebel

“Rowan.”

A muscle leaps in her cheek, and her jaw is locked up tight.

“Rowan,” I repeat, my voice firmer this time. “Look at me.”

It takes a full five seconds before her head twists in my direction. “What?”

“I’d have killed him anyway. This isn’t on you.”

Her tongue rolls along the inside of her cheek. “I know.”

“Do you?”

Her nostrils flare as she takes a deep breath in, holding it in her lungs then slowly breathing out through pursed lips. “Yes.”

“Yet you still feel guilty?”

A full half minute goes by before she answers. “I don’t know what I feel. Empty. Sad. Still fucking angry at what I lost. What we lost. I thought if he wasn’t here anymore, I’d feel better, but I don’t.”

I cup her face in my hands, brushing my thumbs over her cheekbones. She leans into me, her eyes closing for a few seconds.

“We have our whole lives ahead of us. There’s nothing either of us can do to change the past, but if we live there, then he’s won. I don’t intend to let him. Do you?”

A small head shake, eyes cast down, then a heavy sigh. “What about his mother?”

I twist my lips to one side. This could go either way, and what with the state Rowan’s in, I wish she’d saved that question for later. “There was only one solution.”

“I see.” She rubs two fingers over her mouth. “And what about him?” Her head kicks back.

“Darragh will call in a clean-up crew. They’ll never find either of them.”

“Right.” Her attention shifts to the outside, and my hands fall away from her face. I put the car in gear and set off for home. Maybe ranting at Sorcha about the tracker might make her feel better. Probably won’t for Sorcha, but she’s not my priority. Rowan is.

As I approach the turn off that leads to the house, I change my mind and keep going. Rowan doesn’t make any comment. Probably hasn’t even clocked where we are. A few minutes later, I park up. “Come on.”

She finally gives me her eyes and, for a second, I think she’s going to refuse. Then she unclips her seat belt and gets out. I take her hand, and we set off up the hill where I brought her six days ago. The lake looks just as beautiful, but it’s her that I can’t stop looking at. If she bites that lip any harder, she’s going to need stitches.

“I’m sorry.”

I blink. Sorry? She’s sorry? “What on earth for?”

One shoulder pops. “Pick one. For not trusting you enough to tell you what I saw. For listening to Brian when I should’ve given you the chance to help me. For being so fucking gullible that I believed him when he said you were in danger from those men.” Her eyes trace my scar, and then her fingers do. I lean closer, a tremor skating up my spine. “For being responsible for this.”

I capture her wrist. “You are not responsible. He is. And you were twenty, Rowan. Twenty years old. Taken in by a master manipulator. That’s not something you should carry shame for. At twenty, you’re supposed to be innocent.”

For the first time, the trace of a smile pulls at her lips. “I bet you weren’t ever innocent, even at twenty.”

“Well.” I shrug, then chuckle. “Hard to be innocent when you come from generations of mafia.” I slide my hands over her waist, settling them on her hips. “I’m sorry, too.”

Her eyes flare, and then she laughs and, fuck me, the relief that careens through me at hearing her laugh almost knocks me on my arse. Thank Christ.

“The man who would rather yank out his vocal cords than apologize? What are you sorry for?”

“That is unfair, and Darragh is a cunt.”

She laughs again. If I were a religious man, I’d get down on my knees tonight and thank God for bringing her back to me. But as I’m not, I’ll get on down on my knees for her, instead.

“Admit it. You hate apologizing.”