Page 20 of The Chief's Captive

I push myself up to my feet slowly and walk to the liquor cabinet, now certain the alcohol won't help, but I pour another stiff drink, anyway. I stare out the window over the front lawn as I sip it and feel the burn down my throat. It's raining hard now, heavy clouds drenching the earth. I can barely see a thing in the distance past my driveway, and I know when they find her, they're going to bring her back here.

I feel out of control and angry. I feel like something of mine was stolen and if I don't get it back, I'm going to go on a killing spree until I find it, except it's not a something. It's a someone. The idea that she could run out on me is more painful to me than the idea that I'd have to kill her. Protecting my family comes easily. Protecting my own heart, not so much.

When I see Declan dragging Maeve across the front lawn in her mud-caked white dress, I lose it. I storm to the front door and fling it open, and he pushes her through it past me. She stumbles a few steps and falls, and I see she's wearing only one shoe. Her dress is soaked, and being that it's white, it leaves nothing to the imagination.

"What the hell were you doing!" My shout startles her. She's terrified, trembling and sobbing, but it doesn't appear that anyone laid a hand on her more than to grab her arm. She starts crawling away from me, leaving puddles on my marble floor, and I follow her. "Get up!" I push her with the heel of my foot, and she falls over. But she gets back up and keeps crawling.

I want to know what she thought she was doing. I want to know how she could just run out after the moment we shared. I'm soangry I could probably hurt her if I’m not careful, which is the last thing I want to do.

The pain in my chest long forgotten, I bend and pick her up, flinging her over my shoulder. She soaks me to the bone instantly, but I march toward my bedroom. Her sobs are joined with angry fists pounding at my back, but I don’t set her down until we're in my bedroom.

"Ronan, please," she pleads. "I want to go home."

I drop her onto the chair and glare at her as I rake a hand through my hair. "You are home," I tell her in a booming, angry tone. "This is your home."

Maeve jolts again, covering her hands with her face. Her sobs grip something deep inside me that makes me realize she's just scared. I stop and watch her for a second and wonder how I can make her calm down. I'm not trying to scare her. I just want answers, which I probably won’t get with her sobbing like this. So I walk over to her and take her hand.

I'm probably a little rougher than I should be, but I make her stand. Then I unbutton the dress and pull it down, remove her panties, and take off her single shoe. She stands shivering in front of me, naked and still crying softly. So I guide her to the bathroom and start the hot water. She has mud in her hair and on her face, and she looks hesitant.

"Come on," I coax, using a softer tone now. She is still reluctant to follow my orders, in spite of my kinder actions, probably because I shouted at her. "Have a shower, Maeve. You'll catch a cold. Warm up. I'll send some hot tea for when you get out."

Maeve doesn't make eye contact with me. She walks past me into the shower and shuts the glass door, and I watch her standunder the flow of water with her eyes shut, crying harder. As much as I want to be angry and hate her, I have to take a step back and realize if I ever intend to show her what it means to be an O'Rourke, I have to give her space. Because if I don't calm down, I'm going to do something that will irreparably damage her. She'll never look at me the same way again.

I head out with orders to guard the doors and windows, but I don't lock up. This house is hers now, for as long as she wants it to be. I send a note to Brigid to bring tea and then I head out. I have to speak with Benny about the escalation. If Eamon is coming after my brothers, Benny is probably high up on the list of names to be poached. I have to head Eamon off at the pass.

14

MAEVE

My body feels so weak, I can't even sit up now. I'm so exhausted, and I've felt feverish at times and nauseous at others. Ronan brings me food to eat and things to drink, but I can only nibble at them before throwing up. Tonight, he seems more concerned.

For the past week, I've done nothing but lie in bed and cry or sleep. At first, I thought it was due to being out in the rain and catching a cold, but the vomiting is so persistent, at times, I feel like my stomach will turn itself inside out. He's been out, mostly, but he comes in and holds me at bedtime, and tonight, after yet another vomiting episode, he's imposed himself on my side of the bed with his arms around my shivering form.

"I should call my doctor. You're a wise woman, Maeve. Surely, you think so too." His soft words try to coax a response from me. I've barely spoken with him since I ran out into the rain to try to make my way home. When he first suggested bringing in a doctor, I refused. I'm not his pet to care for and coddle.

But as awful as I feel, I know he's right. He should call, but how would that person come into this house and treat me withoutknowing who I am? And how could I trust someone to care for my physical body when they see my face on the news and know where I am, but they say nothing to anyone?

"No," I manage, but even my voice is weak. I slept most of today away, exhausted by the physical energy it took to have a shower this morning. I felt gross after throwing up, so I got in a shower. Now I wish I'd have just slept the whole day instead. Sleep is my only refuge right now.

Ronan's arms around me do feel comforting, though, as much as I don't want to admit it. I've had a lot of time to lie here and think about what he said before I ran out. I was shocked and even intimidated by that, but part of me felt wanted, and that part of me was scared too. Scared of how easily I could be manipulated into staying with him, being his partner, all because of the cocoon of brainwashing he has me in.

Or maybe I'm wrong and he really isn't just brainwashing me. Maybe he really is a good man who just has an awful job, but how do I reconcile that with my moral compass? And what would my mother think of me? Maybe those things are what make me feel the compulsion to put as much distance between myself and this family as possible.

"He could help you. It's obvious you picked something up when you were out in the rain. Let me help you." His tender words and the soft rumble of his voice seem so sincere, but after seeing that man so bloodied and beaten, and the anger in Ronan’s eyes… I don’t know what to trust.

I lie still for a second, thinking about it. I can't be prideful and refuse help when I know he's right. Some of this is self-inflicted because I've been refusing food. But I think maybe I'd be throwing it up even if I tried to eat. I don't want to permithim to do anything more for me because I don't want to feel like I'm in debt to him for any reason. I think we're even. I saved his life, and he gave me clothing and a place to stay. I can't tip the balance in his favor at all. I just want my freedom back.

"Maeve, you are so sick. My doctor can help. Please, let me call him." Ronan seems so eager to help, but I don’t know if that's the guilt talking because he's holding me here against my will. Or what if he really does care about me? That's a scary thought. I’m not just dealing with a psychopathic murderer, leader of a criminal organization. He also has feelings for me, which will make him obsessed. I'll never get away.

I press my eyes closed and swallow the thought down to my churning belly and breathe in deeply. When I blow it out, I feel his kiss on the back of my shoulder. He hasn't asked me for sex once since the kitchen, so clearly, he's not just wanting a whore, and that means the opposite is probably true—he really is getting obsessed. Men are dangerous when they're this way, and if I ever have a chance to make a run for it, I have to be healthy. That's the deciding thought.

"Yes, okay… In the morning," I tell him, and I hear him breathe a sigh of relief.

"Thank you," he says, and it's the first genuine bit of gratitude I feel like he's shown me that doesn't link back to his demands or lust.

I'm restless all night. My body just won't shut off. Between anxiety making me jittery, flashes of terrifying dreams, and the shivering that's so violent it wakes Ronan, I get almost no sleep. I look at the time on his clock radio for the final time around four in the morning, just before my body finally shuts down and I'm able to sleep.

When I wake, the windows are open. The sun is high in the sky, beaming into the room. It smells fresher in here too, the air filtering in helping to cleanse the room from the stench of sickness. It's blinding, though. I can't open my eyes all the way for a few seconds, and when I manage to, I have to blink rapidly until they adjust to the brightness and the room comes into view.

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