Page 51 of Stolen Rebel

“Keep gaining her trust, being someone she can talk to.” His face turns almost soft. “God knows you could have done with a friend when you were first here.”

I stare into my tea. I made the right decision talking to Patrick. He’ll be precise, stealthy, and he’ll figure this whole thing out without terrifying the poor woman living upstairs.

“And Sorcha?”

My head snaps up. “What?”

“If she tries to run…”

I lift my chin. “She won’t.”

Patrick’s gaze holds mine. “If she tries to, don’t stop her.”

Chapter 25

ROWAN

I can’t settle. My skin’s itchy, like it’s stretched on too tight.

It’s been an hour since we got back from the bar, and I still feel like I’m going to vomit. Liam wanted to play “nice guy” to get the truth, and I played “willing captive” to get out of this fucking room and a better lay of the land.

It’s a trade. A transaction. He got a change of scenery to interrogate me, and I got a chance to see exactly where the gold bars end. If a chance to escape had come up, would I have taken it? I’d like to think so… but… that shot of adrenaline that hit when I thought I saw a familiar face… Could I live like that forever? Free of Brian, of Liam, but always looking over my shoulder?

My hands are shaking, my feet are cold to the bone, and despite it being as close to silence here as you can get, I’ve spent the last sixty minutes straining my ears to hear tires on the gravel outside.

That man. For a split second I thought he was Brian and my past and present were about to collide in the worst possible way. But it wasn’t. Just someone who vaguely resembled him.

God, I’m a mess.

The clock is ticking down toward a check-in that I need to pass, though. The last thing any of us needs right now is Brian taking the head staggers and deciding to come and find me. But without my phone, I’m fucked. I need Sorcha to help me out, and considering we’re strangers… she owes me nothing.

A shiver runs through me. Tucking my knees to my chest, I blow into my trembling hands and rub them together.

How am I supposed to pretend that I’m in England, alone, normal? When I’m not. I may as well be in Australia right now. Might at least be warm there.

A sound breaks the silence.

I suck in a shallow breath and hold it, my heart thrashing against the inside of my ribs with startling speed.

The sound comes again. It’s a scratching noise. Is someone trying to break in?

I sit up, clutching the blanket against my chest, I have nothing to defend myself with here. A frustrated huff comes from the other side of the door, and I should relax, but knowing it’s Titan doesn’t take my adrenaline down much at all.

I let her into the room, and pace, but the more I move, the more excited she gets, thinking it’s a game.

If Sorcha doesn’t give me my phone back in time, I’ll have to make a choice. Either tell Liam the truth and risk him potentially going after the wrong people, or keep lying and protect him, protect everyone.

My stomach churns with every step, threatening to bring up dessert.

I trip over the dog. In a bid to avoid hurting her, I stumble, she helps anyway, and I hit the floor with a thud. Shit. He’ll think I’m trying to escape. It’s what I would think if I were him and the kidnapping victim goes bump in the night. He’s going to explode into the room and yell about how I can’t escape, blah blah fucking blah.

So, I just lie there and wait for his grand entrance. Maybe if I play dead, he’ll just sniff me then leave me alone like Titan has. Everything hurts, and my pulse is racing even harder. As expected, it’s a matter of seconds before the door swings open and the light gets turned on. It’s unexpectedly too bright too fast, making me squint and cover my eyes.

“Row—Erin?” Liam’s in front of me, his hair mussed either from sleep or dragging his fingers through it. He’s shirtless, and he’s wearing checkered pajama bottoms that dip when he kneels next to me. My mouth dries up at that trail of muscle leading to his⁠—

“What happened? You okay?” There’s a softness in his voice that tugs at my heart as he helps sit me up, looking me over with wild, concern-filled eyes. He holds up his hand. “How many fingers?” His hand is much steadier than mine is.

A laugh bubbles out of me, which makes his forehead wrinkle into a frown. “What’s so funny?”