Page 43 of Dark Prince

An intense feeling of desperation claws at me, suffocating me. In a moment of sheer panic, grasping at straws, I take a deep breath and play my last card. “Sharon,” I say, trying to control the tremble in my voice, “I'm pregnant.”

I watch her closely, searching for any signs of humanity, any flicker of compassion, but what I find is anything but. Her hateful amusement only deepens, her smile stretching into a grotesque mimicry of joy. “Maura,” she purrs, her voice dripping with mock sympathy, “that just makes this all the sweeter. Taking you out now means ending the Flanagan line for good and robbing Luk of not just a wife but an heir.”

Her words ignite something primal within me, and I lunge at her. But Sharon is quick and strong. She dodges my clumsy attack with ease, her movements precise and quick. Before I know it, she's overpowered me, my arms secured behind my back with zip ties that bite into my skin.

Panting, my heart racing with fear and thwarted rage, I realize the gravity of my mistake. I've played my hand and lost, leaving myself even more vulnerable than before. The hope that my news might have swayed Sharon now seems foolish. She's beyond reason, beyond compassion.

As Rory drives on, oblivious or indifferent to the struggle in the back seat, I'm left to confront the grim reality of my situation. I'm at Sharon's mercy. The only thing left to do is wait and hope that Luk finds me before it's too late—for me and our unborn child.

We drive farther from the city, the landscape shifting from the familiar urban sprawl to a more desolate, industrial scene. The buildings grow sparse, replaced by factories and abandoned warehouses. Through the tinted windows, the world outside looks increasingly bleak.

I can't help but notice Rory's repeated glances in the rearview mirror. There's something in his expression that I can't quite place—worry, maybe even fear. It's odd to see any sign of doubt on the face of someone who's always seemed so unshakable in their loyalty to my evil stepmother.

Eventually, we pull up to a rundown warehouse, the kind of place where, just as in horror movies, nothing good ever happens. The sky has darkened, and the first drops of rain begin to patter against the car windows. Through the window, I see that Sharon's men are already at the warehouse, forming a small welcoming party of sorts. They are all heavily armed and looking a little too eager for what's to come.

Sharon steps out of the car with a look of satisfaction on her face, as if everything is going exactly according to her plan. I'm pulled roughly from the car, my heart pounding in my chest, not just for myself but for the baby. The idea of Luk bursting through the doors, guns blazing, is the only thought keeping me from total despair.

Yet, as the minutes tick by, the reality of my situation sinks in. I'm at the mercy of a woman who sees my death as the key to her happiness and surrounded by men who won't hesitate to carry out her orders. These men believe the bullshit promises she’s no doubt given them.

The hope that Luk will find me, that he'll come to my rescue, feels more and more like a distant dream.

But it's that sliver of hope, thin as it may be, that I cling to. For my sake and the baby's, I have to believe that Luk is out there searching for me, that he'll find me before it's too late. The thought of not seeing him again, of our child growing up without a mother—or worse, not growing up at all—is too much to bear.

So I pray that Luk's love for me is strong enough to lead him here, to this godforsaken place, in time.

Rory hauls me into the empty warehouse. It’s dark and eerie and smells like death. However, I'm not about to go down without a fight, so the second we're inside, I run. But Sharon's hired muscle is on me before I get far.

They tie me to a chair, and it becomes crystal clear that unless Luk turns up—and fast—this could be it for me. That thought alone is enough to kick my survival instincts into overdrive. I need to stall, to buy some time, any way I can.

And then it hits me. Sharon loves nothing more than the sound of her own voice, especially when she's rambling on about her grand plans and twisted justifications. As she starts her usual spiel, taunting me with that smug look in her eyes, a lightbulb goes off in my head.

“Sharon,” I start, my voice neutral despite the turmoil raging inside me. “You've always got so much to say about your plans, your reasons. How about you enlighten me? After all, it's not like I'm going anywhere.”

It's a Hail Mary, but if I can keep her talking, keep her distracted, maybe I can buy Luk the time he needs to find me. So I brace myself, ready to dive into the depths of Sharon's ego if it means a shot at getting out alive.

Sharon chuckles like she's genuinely amused. “Desperate to cling on to your last moments, huh?” she muses, like she's enjoying this twisted scenario. Deciding to indulge her own ego, she launches into her spiel. “You see, Maura, a little brat like you never deserved what your father built. Only someone like me, someone with real ambition, can turn what he started into a proper empire.”

I can't help myself. Maybe it's the fear, the disgust toward her, or just my natural instinct to fight back with whatever I've got left, but I shoot back, “Yes, I'm not sure how blowing his cash on your wardrobe fits into empire-building, but whatever.”

That clearly hits a nerve. Her eyes narrow into angry slits, and without warning, she smacks me across the face. The shock of it stings, but it's the realization that she's genuinely unhinged that turns my blood to ice.

Then she composes herself, smoothing her skirt, a prim expression taking hold. I can sense that she wasn’t happy with letting me get to her like that.

Her voice takes on a chillingly calm tone as she elaborates on her grand plan, each word slicing through the stale air. “Your father's legacy was wasted on him, and it would have been wasted on you, too. But under my control, we're going to expand. The Flanagan name will be synonymous with power in Chicago. And Luk’s little Bratva?” a wicked chuckle escapes her. “They'll be crushed like bugs under my heel.”

I can't help but scoff at her delusions of grandeur, the absurdity of her ambition momentarily overshadowing the fear. “Really, Sharon? Do you think you can run Chicago? You can't even keep your own people in line without resorting to threats. How are you going to manage an entire city?”

My words seem to bounce off her, her focus unshaken as she revels in her own narrative. She's so caught up in her victory lap that my skepticism doesn't even register as a blip on her radar. Instead, she moves closer, her expression shifting to one of smug satisfaction as she prepares to drop what she clearly believes is her ace in the hole.

“Oh dear, naïve Maura,” she says, her voice dropping to a whisper that's somehow more menacing than her earlier bravado, “there's something else you should know. Your father's untimely demise?” Her eyes lock onto mine, holding me captive to her next words. “That was my doing.”

The world seems to freeze around us, the sound of rain against the metal roof fading into nothingness. Sharon's admission sends a shockwave through me, a mix of horror, disbelief, and a wave of deep, seething anger. My father's death, a wound that's never fully healed, has been reopened with a new, dark truth.

Chapter 25

Maura

The revelation hits me like a tidal wave, emotions crashing over me with an intensity I can't control. Tears of disbelief blur my vision. Rory watches the scene unfold with what seems like detached interest.

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