Page 14 of The Chief's Captive

The door to the small pub bursts open, and a whoosh of salty ocean air flows in, picking up napkins and papers and tossing them. The wind howls with the mourning of the sky that weeps for Marley's life. But it isn't the storm that moved the door.

One of my men, an associate, stumbles in, and it's immediately obvious that he's not well. His arm is hugged tightly to his chest, wrapped in a dark towel. His face is pale, and Finn moves to help him, pulling out a bar stool. Every eye is on him as the door swings shut, and Benny pours him a drink before walking around the end of the bar with a look of concern.

"He's hurt, Ro… bad…" Benny unfolds the towel from the man's hand, and I see nothing… Nothing but a stump. His arm bleeds profusely, thick red blood, and his hand is missing.

"Eamon," I grunt, and I walk toward the man who is obviously in distress. The closer I get to him, the more I notice it.

Sweat beads on his forehead. He's panting, wheezing for air. He took a beating before it came to this too. I can see the bruises now on his face. He's a pitiful sight but one I already resolve within myself to avenge.

"What’s your name, son?" I hover over him, taking in the sight of the carnage. Whatever weapon they used to sever his hand was rudimentary, a buck saw or something. The flesh is more torn than cut, and it's blackened too, as if they tried to cauterize the wound. This is yet another direct message from my cousin. He probably sent the man to find me.

"James… My name's… James…" He's gasping for air. It's probably hard for him to breathe. It's a wonder he's even made it in to see me.

"Was this Eamon?" I ask, but I know his answer before he spits it out. Benny has a fresh towel, wrapping it around the stump of the man's arm, and Finn holds the whiskey glass to his lips. He'll need surgery, but hopefully, he'll live. I can ask Maeve to have a look at him, but this is more along the lines of what our vet can do.

"Yes," James grunts, and I shake my head. "Loch, call the vet. Declan, gather the men. We have to hunt." I don’t know if we'll find him, but we have to search for Eamon and put a stop to this. I won't let him pick my men off one by one.

I turn and walk away, into the night. It's cold and the rain bites down on my face, but it's nothing compared to what I'll do to my cousin if I catch him.

10

MAEVE

After the last attempt to climb out the window, Ronan posted a man outside his bedroom window. Now I know that isn't an option anymore, at least not until I earn his trust. I sit on his bed and stare at the window in disgust. The television plays a show as background noise, but I'm not watching it. I was glued to the soap operas earlier, but the early evening sitcoms don't hold my interest, and I switched the news off after a story about the missing surgeon came on. I don't like seeing my face on the TV screen for that.

My body feels tired and weak. I know it's from lack of physical activity and poor diet, but it doesn't make me feel better. My normal exercise routine has been replaced by sleeping in and watching shows. And while Ronan offers me a wide selection of delicious food, I have no appetite. I can't stand the idea of eating food when I'm so angry about being kept here against my will.

The lock clicks, and I assume it's Ronan here to badger me about something else. I stiffen and remember how he forced me to examine his friend's stump of an arm. There was no saving the hand, since no one knew where it was. I'll be surprised ifit doesn't come FedEx at some point. That's the sort of thing people like him do, right? Cut off hands and mail them out as warnings…

I tense as the door swings open and the man I've come to know as Aiden walks in. He's carrying a garment bag in one hand and a shoebox in the other. His shoulders are squared, but his face looks calm and approachable. I wonder what he's doing as he drapes the dress bag over the foot of the unmade bed and sets the shoe box on the floor.

"Ronan would like the pleasure of your company this evening for dinner. I’ll be back in thirty minutes to escort you to the dining room." He says it so pleasantly, as if he's a butler and not a taskmaster. I still cringe at his words.

Ronan hasn't spent any time with me for weeks, since we fucked that night. He comes in late, and I feel the bed shake as he slides under the covers. Sometimes, he covers me with a blanket, which is a kind gesture he probably thinks I don't know he does. If any of his men knew he had even that much compassion, he'd be laughed off the face of the planet. I pretend to sleep to spare myself the misery of having to look him in the eye knowing he will never let me go.

"What if I don't want to go?" I curl my legs up and hug them to my chest and eye him as he straightens. He's the only man in this house who looks at me with sympathy, other than Ronan. They're a lot alike, which makes me wonder if they're brothers or if Ronan's leadership is just that influential to him.

"I'm not sure it was an option, Dr. Walsh." That's something else that's changed.

At first, the men called me all manner of nasty names and crude slurs. Ronan put a stop to it after we screwed, or at least I think it was him. I didn't say a thing in my defense, but suddenly, they all call me Dr. Walsh—except Ronan, who on the off chance that he speaks to me calls me Maeve.

"Well, tell him I'm not coming." I look away, turning to the TV to a program I don't even recognize, and I hear him chuckle.

"I'll be back to get you. I advise you to dress for dinner. I once saw a man be forced to strip naked to dine when he wore jeans instead of a suit…" His comment hangs in the air as he leaves, locking the door behind himself. I wonder what Ronan would do if I really didn't put on whatever's in that bag.

It's just like him to think he can casually invite me to dinner and expect me to dress up for him after he stole me right out of my home. I'm not interested in dining with him, let alone talking to him, not when he can't be civil and listen to my point of view.

I glare at the door, then at the garment bag. They didn't do an awful job of picking clothing out for me. There had to be a woman on staff or a wife of one of his family members helping them to have selected me a wardrobe I very much enjoy. Once I put on that first pair of jeans and sweater, they came back with boxes full of things that were perfect. I resented them at first, but at least I'm clothed and not naked.

My curiosity gets the better of me, and I crawl across the bed and pick up the shoe box. I never told them my size, but these are a size seven, which is perfect, actually. I'm not sure how they figured it out, either, because I came here barefoot and haven't worn shoes in weeks. And when I lift the lid off the box and see the most beautiful sparkly heels, I'm shocked. It makes me even more curious to see what's inside the bag.

With a furtive glance at the door and feeling a bit of shame toward myself for even caring, I slide the bag closer to myself and pull the zipper down. The black plastic crackles as the zipper opens to reveal a stunning blue sequined dress with off the shoulder sleeves and a beautiful plunging neckline. It had to have cost a fortune.

I reach for the tag and see that it's designer, maybe couture. I can't believe what I'm seeing. Ronan bought this dress for me to have dinner with him in his own dining room? And what does he think I'll be giving him in return?

At first I scoff, disgusted… But then a plan begins to formulate. If he wants me in this dress, it might mean he's taken a special interest in me other than just forcing me to stay in his home to doctor his men. The thought had occurred to me before, the night we had sex, but then he never made another advance on me, so I dismissed it. But now I'm thinking I can use that.

I pull the dress out of the bag and hurry to the mirror, holding it up in front of my body. It looks to be the perfect size, and the front of the gown has a slit that looks like it will expose my entire right leg. I grin at myself as the plan comes into focus. I'll get him wasted, encourage him to drink more and more, and when he passes out, I'll escape.

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