Page 24 of Stolen Rebel

It’s a personality trait I’ve had for as long as I can remember and one that my brothers use to taunt me on the odd occasion I’m wrong about something.

Once again, my instincts didn’t let me down.

She took the bait.

The creak of a floorboard along the hallway gave her away. She’s the only person upstairs, so it had to be her. Patrick just left for a meeting, Darragh’s in the gym, and Sorcha’s gone away with a couple of her girlfriends. Patrick wasn’t happy when I told him I wanted Sorcha out of the way for a few days, but eventually he agreed.

Sorcha on the other hand… she did not hold back in telling me exactly what she thought of my “plan.” I suppose it’s understandable considering how she came into our lives, but the next time she talks to me like that, I’ll put her in her fucking place, sister-in-law be damned.

As I make my way up the stairs, I sidestep every creak, silently approaching the first of two rooms other than Rowan’s that I left unlocked on this floor. The door to the first one is open, but it’s empty. She’s riffled through the papers on the desk though and, no doubt, tried the drawers.

There’s only one other place she can be. My body responds before I can stop it, an unwanted stir of arousal. The idea of Rowan in my bedroom after all these years spikes the lust I can barely keep under control since she came back into my life.

My bedroom door is half open. Rowan’s on my bed and Titan, the fucking useless guard dog, is curled up right there next to her, tongue lolling, looking up at her like she’s in control of the treats. Should’ve fucking known. A memory hits me from back then, back when I thought she loved me. Us, holding hands, strolling through green hills with my Westies darting after rabbits and jumping up at birds they’d never catch.

Fire consumes my chest, the burn almost unbearable. I make a fist and rub in circles. It’s heartburn, that’s all, not heartsickness. Love doesn’t survive betrayal. This feeling, a yearning, is a wish for what might have been.

She’s reading a book, one from the bookcase I keep stuffed full of books Mam and Da loved. They’re not my kind of thing but it makes me feel closer to them. I peer closer. Rules for Radicals by Saul Alinsky.

I hide a smirk. Somewhere in this shadow of a woman, Rebel burns bright. And once I’ve forced her into the open, giving her no choice but to confess every fucking truth that turned her against me—and who was behind it pulling her strings—I’ll seal her fate.

“I see you found my bedroom.”

She startles, and the book falls from her hands, landing with a thud on the floor. I stride inside, nudging Titan out of the way. She growls. Fucking growls. At me. I’m not the enemy, yet within five fucking minutes, Rowan’s got the big beast eating out of her hands.

“Out.” I point at the door.

Rowan leaps to her feet. “Sorry. I saw the books, and I… I was bored. The door wasn’t locked. I’ll go back.”

She rushes past me. I snap out a hand, grabbing her by the wrist. “Not you. The dog.” I glare at Titan. “Out!”

She turns tail and scampers along the hallway. Good choice, you backstabbing little shit. Wait until I tell Patrick. Retraining for you.

I kick the door closed, release Rowan, and crouch to pick up the book. “Not one I’ve read. What’s it about?”

She chews on her bottom lip. I bite back a groan. Fuck. It’s an innocent enough action, but my dick is not getting the fucking memo that this woman did the dirty on us. It doesn’t care. All it wants is to strip her bare and sink into the wet heat it remembers all too well, even if I don’t want to.

One shoulder pops. “I’ve only just started it.”

“What made you choose it?”

“What makes anyone choose a book? I liked the cover.”

I arch an eyebrow. It’s the blandest cover I’ve ever seen. People don’t choose this book because of the cover. They choose it because of the message. I turn it over, reading the blurb.

Oh, I see now. It’s basically a manual about how to resist the status quo. One corner of my mouth lifts. This is the woman I know, but she can’t say out loud what she’s dying to because that will blow her cover. Same reason she got cozy on my bed with my fucking dog.

Her insistence on keeping up with this ridiculous story irritated me at first. Now, it kind of plays into my hands. I’ll keep pushing and sooner or later, she’ll break. Then I’ll get the answers she fucking owes me.

“I-I’ll go back to my room. I didn’t mean to invade your space.”

For some stupid reason I’m afraid to examine, I move to block her exit, now hyperaware of the narrow space between us; the heat of her through my jumper is a magnetic pull that makes my muscles ache to lean into her. It’s a subconscious call—my body demanding a reaction, demanding I touch her. My lungs expand only when hers do, caught in the quiet space between who we were and the monsters we’ve become.

She draws in a sharp breath, gazing up at me with wide eyes brimming with fear. I should be happy. I want her petrified of me, shitting herself wondering what my next move will be. This is part of the plan to break her.

I lean close to her neck and breathe in her scent. The soap smell has lessened, but beneath that, the cinnamon synonymous with her is as strong as ever. The movement causes the jagged scar tissue at the corner of my mouth to pull, a stiff, physical reminder of the last night I was this close to her. I want to bite her; I want to beg her. But my ruined face feels like a mask I can’t strip off, even while she looks at me with those wide, terrified eyes.

I run my nose up the side of her cheek, expecting her to jump back. She doesn’t. A zap of electricity storms through my body, and that semi I had is now an erection so painful, I almost grab it and jerk off in front of her.