Page 23 of The Chief's Captive

"Not until he has me dead." This isn't a game of fools. Eamon knows I'm not going to mess around if I catch him, and he's not messing around with me, either. I'd put a bullet right between his eyes and he knows it.

This game of tag just heated up again, and I need to plan an appropriate response, but first I need to check on Maeve.

16

MAEVE

The TV is running, playing some stupid reality show, but I'm not paying attention. I haven't been. Not for the past week since I learned I'm pregnant. I've been a husk of a person, a shell of the creature I once was. I stare at the cold fireplace, stealing glances every so often at the window when I see movement.

Ronan has increased security around the place, and the only thing I can think is that it's because of me. It's because I tried to escape. It's because it rattled him that for a moment I was successful, and had I known where I was going or where to hide, I would have been. I'd have gone home, and then straight to the police. I'd have gotten away.

But this secret I'm carrying would have gone with me. The torture of knowing I am growing the heir to the O'Rourke name in my womb, that I’m eternally linked to this family and their atrocities… That part makes me feel sick to my stomach, and I wish I could vomit out the hateful bile I feel. But I can't. The medicine makes sure of that. But I've already changed. I'mbecoming like him every time I think of how much I hate the thought of being tied to him.

It isn't that I don't want children. Being a mother means the world to me. I press my hand against my stomach and think of what it will feel like to sense movement inside my body that isn't my own. What it will be like to hear a heartbeat or give birth. The way I'll feel as I bring my newborn to my breast to suckle and how hard my mother worked to care for me.

The idea of being linked to Ronan's family is what scares me. Even if I escape this place, even if he never learns I'm carrying his child. Even if I can hide away and never breathe his name again, I'll have to answer to my child.

My son or daughter will ask me about their father. I'll need to know medical history and risk factors. They'll want to meet him and develop a relationship, and what do I do then? How do I protect my child and my future from the evil that is the O'Rourke name? Just the thought brings tears to my eyes again, and I sob into my pillow. I'm supposed to have a different life. I was made for more than this.

Voices down the hall hit my ear, and I suck in a breath and stifle my sobs for a second. It's Ronan. He's home after working today. It means he will come check on me. He's been doing that every day now. His routine of leaving me alone all day and coming in after dark and when I'm resting has changed. Since the doctor came, he's been more attentive, taking dinner here in the room with me, helping me shower, or trying to get me to talk.

At times, it's been pleasant. Other times, I've just wanted to be alone, and I sit in silence as he talks about the things he's done throughout the day, though I know he leaves huge things out. He won't talk to me about his crimes. He won't mention what sort ofdark activities he takes part in. It's not like I can tell anyone or even would. If I get out of here, my lips are sealed. I don't need them coming after me.

"Maeve," he says when the door clicks open and he walks in. He stopped locking it a while ago. He gave me free reign of the house, though with the added guards, there's no way I could get out, anyway. There's no point in leaving my comfort zone, so I stay in this bed or go to the toilet. My body is getting out of shape because of it.

"Maeve, I brought you a gift," he says, and he comes into view around the foot of the bed, passing between me and the TV, still airing the ridiculous show I hate. I look up at him and see the bouquet of roses in his arm and a small white box in his other hand. "Do you like chocolates?"

This strange man, so rough and edgy around me to begin with, has been so patient and calm with me for days now. It's like I don't know who he is. He hasn't reminded me of my fate—stay here or die—but that sentence feels like a million years away when this version of Ronan O'Rourke appears.

It's a sweet gesture, and I nod at him in acceptance, but I don't sit up. I'm tired and emotional. I'm not interested in small talk. I want comfort, and I don't know what that looks like anymore. The only time I've felt a good emotion since I got here was when Ronan was talking softly to me after sex last time, but what happened immediately after that was almost traumatic. I don't know how to feel. I'm confused.

Am I developing Stockholm syndrome? Bonding with my captor due to brainwashing? But that can't be. Ronan doesn't spend hours a day brainwashing me. He simply won't let me leave. And he isn't abusive or violent with me—though I know he can be andis with others. I've seen the marks on his hands and heard him shouting.

"Can I sit?" he asks as he sets the flowers and chocolates on my nightstand, and my eyes trace up his body to his face.

What a beautiful face he has, so symmetrical and well-defined. Stubble on his jaw, crystal blue eyes. The man is a god, as far as appearances go. He is so handsome, I know women throw themselves at him. Good bone structure, seeming good health too. My child will inherit those amazing features, and I will have to stare into their eyes every day of my life knowing their father is a monster.

"Yes," I tell him. His thoughtful gesture of bringing me a gift is kind, but I'm no fool. I know who he really is when he leaves this house. Brigid tells me he's a good man, but does a good man murder people?

"How are you feeling?" He sits on the edge of the bed and rests his hand on my hip. I want to believe he actually cares, but I'm not sold.

"Tired," I tell him. It's my go-to response now. I'm just tired. Let him think what he wants.

"Do you want to talk about it?" He leans down and offers a concerned look. "There isn't anything I wouldn't do for my family, Maeve."

From any other man at any other time, that would be a touching remark. But I'm feeling lost, tethered to his world and longing for mine. And is that him trying to tell me I'm his family? Do I get a choice? Does he know now that I’m pregnant? Did the doctor tell him? All I can do is lie here and search his expression for clues.

His hand rubs my hip, squeezing and kneading my flesh buried under the blanket and the leggings I'm wearing. It's comforting too. Why am I feeling comforted by him? I'm supposed to hate him.

"My life is over. Even if I want to go back, by now, I can't. By now, they've replaced my position at work. It'll be hell to find someone to hire me…" All thoughts I've had cross my mind in the recent few days. Do I even have a life to return to?

"Is the life I offer you so awful?" He sounds timid, as if he's hesitant to hear the answer. The last thing I want is to rile him up or upset him. He gets so angry, and while he's never laid a hand on me, I know what he's done.

"I saw what you did… to that man." I look away, training my eyes on the wall ahead of me. The image of that man's bloodied face won't leave my fucking head. I dream it. It's there when I close my eyes. I hate it. I wish I never saw it.

Ronan sighs and reaches for my hand, pulling me to a sitting position. I'm close to him now, close enough that he can cup my cheek and brush away the moisture from my earlier crying.

"I was protecting my family, something I have to do." The earnest expression he has is so complex. He's torn over what he did? But how?

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