Page 80 of Stolen Rebel

“The fuck?” Liam glares at her.

Patrick glowers at his brother but covers Sorcha’s hand with his own, giving her a gentle pat. “Don’t get involved, mo mhuirnín.”

She waves a dismissive hand at him. “Sisters before misters.” She eyeballs her husband and then his fuming brother who’s vibrating so much the air around him has a shimmer to it. “Especially when the misters are being unreasonable.” She looks at me. “Enjoy driving my baby.” She reaches down again, pulling out her purse and sliding a card from its holder.

She makes a big show of getting up and handing it to me while staring at Liam like he’s a fucking idiot.

A wave of embarrassment crashes into me. I hadn’t even thought about money. The reminder of not having a single euro on me to buy a cup of tea prickles at my skin. Five years of being “protected,” and I don’t even have a fucking bus fare to my name. I give her a grateful smile. “Thanks.” I flex the card at her. “In case of emergencies.”

She rolls her eyes. “Fuck emergencies, Row. Treat yourself.”

Her supportive, almost exciting grin is the only encouragement I need to know that I’m not being unreasonable in wanting some time alone from Liam the Betrayer.

“Thank you.” I turn around when a single barked word makes me stop.

“Wait.”

I glance back, eyes locking on Liam. “What?”

He scribbles something on a piece of paper and hands it to me. “My number. Also in case of emergencies.”

I almost tell him to shove it, but not only is that petty, it’s also stupid. Without saying a word, I take it from him and walk out of the kitchen, plugging the number into my phone before I step outside.

I take a deep breath in. Freedom. And now I have it, I have no idea what to do with it.

Chapter 36

LIAM

The fiery rage storming through my body must show in my eyes as I glare at Rowan, daring her to walk out of here with Sorcha’s car keys. I’ve terrified grown men with the same look, but Rowan… she just throws a smile loaded with sugar at me, spins the keys around her finger, then pivots and saunters out of the kitchen, hips swaying.

I’m caught between wanting to take Darragh’s head off for using my name for Rowan—like he has a fucking right to—and marching after her, snatching the keys from her hand, and locking her in her room for the next twenty fucking years.

My thighs tremble. I just got her back, like just got her back, and because I’m a fuckup, I risk losing her all over again. And this time, I have no one to blame but myself.

I expected anger. Anger I can handle. Anger is an emotion I’m well-versed in. What I got was this polite, indifferent Rowan who basically flirted with my brother and won over my entire family.

The sound of the front door slamming pitches me into action. I take out my phone and stab at the screen hard enough to crack the glass. Plastic, whatever the fuck these things are made of these days.

“Who are you calling?” Patrick asks.

“Dan.”

He arches a brow. “You’re putting a tail on her?”

“You honestly think I’m going to let her fuck about the countryside when that bent fucking cop could be a hair’s breadth away from figuring out his little prisoner has fled the cell he’s kept her trapped in for five years?” He opens his mouth. I hold up a finger. “Dan. Rowan’s leaving the property in Sorcha’s car. Follow her.”

“On it.”

I hang up. Toss my phone on the table. Glare at Darragh first, then Patrick. “You undermined me in front of her. You made me look weak.”

Patrick folds his arms. “You looked weak because you were acting weak.”

I lock my jaw, scissoring it from side to side.

“And if you recall, Sorcha’s car has a tracker. There was no need for a tail. Anywhere she goes, we can find her through the app on my phone.”

“Nope, it doesn’t,” Sorcha says, casually sipping her tea. “Had that taken out months ago.”