Page 31 of Stolen Rebel

How do I beat a man who doesn’t know what he wants anymore?

Darragh and Liam returned a couple hours ago, but he hasn’t come anywhere near my room. The quiet after the storm feels worse than the storm itself.

He’s more controlled than I calculated. Men who lose control are predictable. Men who hold it choose exactly when to break you. It’s woken something in me that should probably stay buried. Something I can’t name but feels like a dangerous thrill.

Like a lightning bolt to my brain, it hits me that tomorrow is my in-person check-in with Brian. Shit. Shit. Shit.

I dart into my en suite, turn on the tap to drown out noise, and pull out the burner. The battery power is hovering somewhere around half. Which means a few days left. A week if I’m lucky before this thing dies. Then Brian starts looking for me.

Will he even think to come here? After five years, that’s quite a leap, but I’m not exactly thinking logically right now. And if Brian does come here, what will happen?

My stomach sinks.

What will happen to Liam?

There’s a single message from Brian sent on Thursday letting me know he’s back from his secondment and to not forget our regular in-person meeting on Sunday. Fuck.

I type out a message, my eyes blurring with tears. Liam already thinks I betrayed him. If Brian brings the entire police force to his door to rescue me, he’ll either end up in prison or in the ground, and that is something I will have to live with for the rest of my life.

My fingers tremble. I’ve never tried this before, but it’s the only card I have to play.

Me: Hey, I have to give tomorrow a miss. I’m so sick. I have a temp, my snot’s green, and I’m dizzy when I stand up.

I expect an instant reply, but it doesn’t come. Brian is a germaphobe and fucking hates getting sick.

The phone rings in my hands. Thankfully, it’s on silent, even the vibrations are turned off. I can’t risk being overheard here, not now. I watch until he hangs up and type out a message before he can call back.

Me: I can’t talk, my throat hurts too much. Everything hurts.

He’s the kind to offer to have soup delivered—from a distance. He’s too afraid of catching something to come to my place. At least I fucking hope so.

Relief floods my veins when his answer appears on the screen under the fake name he made me save his number to.

Carol: Seems there’s something going around. Three people are out of the office with the lurgy. You want soup? I can order something?

Me : No thanks. I can’t stomach anything—not to get too graphic. I just need rest. Can I check back in with you in a couple days?

His response takes longer this time, as though he’s weighing up whether or not to say yes. It’s always a fucking power play with these men. It might be different tactics, but it’s the same fucking leash.

Carol: The higher-ups don’t do exceptions.

Me: They can come check on me if they want but they’ll get covered in puke. Or worse.

My heart rate has ticked up, fear prickling my skin. Please just let it drop. Please just let it fucking drop, Brian.

Carol: Fine. Check back in three days. Don’t make me regret it.

He sounds more like a boss than a lover, but that’s how it’s always been. Brian doesn’t want my heart, not anymore. He only wants my compliance, and because I felt grateful, I gave it to him. And in this world, gratitude is the closest thing to love I thought I was allowed to have.

Me: Thanks so much. I appreciate it. Going back to bed.

The squeal of the lock to my bedroom door can be heard from the bathroom, and my heart stops dead. I hit the power button, holding it down until the screen switches off, and shove it in my sock right as someone tries to push the door open into the bathroom. The wood presses against my spine, making me hiss. The only sound I can hear is my pulse in my ears. If he finds my phone, this will go very badly.

A loud knock rings out. “Row-Erin?” Liam’s voice has an edge. “What are you doing blocking the door?”

Time to satisfy the second captor in my life.

I push to standing, smooth out my new clothes, turn off the running water, and plaster submission all over my face before pulling the door toward me.