Page 23 of His Possession

Maeve stared at him for a long moment, her expression unreadable. And then she nodded, the smallest gesture, but one that carried the weight of her trust.

As she settled back into his arms, Rory’s mind churned with the decisions he knew he had to make. The Kellehers, Michael O’Connell, Alexander—they were all threats he would eliminate, no matter the cost.

Maeve had become his obsession; he wasn’t a man who lost, especially not when it came to her.

CHAPTER 9

MAEVE

The café buzzed with the low hum of conversation and the occasional clang of a coffee cup against a saucer. Maeve sat across from Rebecca Wilkins, a fellow artist, her hands wrapped around the comforting warmth of her tea. Rebecca, animated as usual, emphatically gestured as she recounted a story from her latest gallery exhibit. Her excitement was infectious, but Maeve’s mind wandered, her senses on high alert in a way that had become second nature since she’d entered Rory’s world.

The faint scent of roasted coffee mingled with something sharper, more metallic, and Maeve’s cougar instincts stirred uneasily. She glanced toward the door, her gaze lingering on a man who had just walked in. His clothes were nondescript, his cap pulled low, but there was something about his stance, the tension in his shoulders, that set her on edge.

“Maeve?” Rebecca’s voice pulled her back. “Are you even listening?”

“Sorry,” Maeve said, forcing a smile. “I’m a little distracted.”

Rebecca gave her a knowing look. “By what? Your new boyfriend, Rory McMahon?”

Maeve stiffened at the mention of his name. “He’s not my—” she began, but the words caught in her throat as the door opened again, and two more men entered. They were like the first—ordinary enough at a glance, but their eyes were sharp, scanning the room like predators.

Every nerve in Maeve’s body screamed danger.

She placed her tea down carefully; her gaze flicking toward the exits. The café was small; the windows offering a clear view of the street, but the door was the only viable way out. Her cougar instincts sharpened, her muscles coiling as adrenaline surged through her veins.

“Rebecca,” Maeve said, keeping her voice low and calm. “I need you to listen to me carefully.”

Rebecca frowned, confusion flashing across her face. “What are you talking about?”

“Something’s wrong,” Maeve said, her eyes darting back to the men. One of them had positioned himself near the counter while the other two loitered by the door. They weren’t here for coffee.

Before Rebecca could respond, the first man moved. He pulled a gun from beneath his jacket, the metallic glint catching the light as he barked a command.

“Everyone down! Now!”

Screams erupted, chairs scraping against the floor as customers dove for cover. Maeve grabbed Rebecca’s arm, pulling her down behind the table as pandemonium erupted around them. Her heart pounded in her chest, the roar of her instincts almost deafening as she tried to think.

The men moved quickly, their commands sharp and practiced. They weren’t amateurs. One of them grabbed the barista, shoving her toward the counter as he demanded access to the till. Another swept the room, his gaze locking onto Maeve for a split second before moving on.

Maeve’s cougar surged, the primal need to protect overriding her fear. She scanned their movements, cataloging every detail—the way they held their weapons, the positioning of their bodies. They weren’t just here for money. This was about something else.

The third man was moving closer, his gaze narrowing as he noticed Maeve and Rebecca huddled behind the table. He said something to his partner, his voice low and sharp, and Maeve knew they were out of time.

“Stay down,” she whispered to Rebecca, her voice firm.

Rebecca’s eyes were wide with terror, but she nodded, curling into herself as Maeve rose slowly, her hands raised. The man’s attention snapped to her, his gun leveling in her direction.

“Don’t move!” he barked.

Maeve didn’t flinch. She met his gaze, her cougar instincts thrumming just beneath the surface. Her muscles tensed, ready to spring, as she took a small step forward.

“You don’t need to do this,” she said, her voice calm but laced with steel. “Whatever you’re looking for, it’s not here.”

The man sneered, his grip on the gun tightening. “Shut up.”

Maeve didn’t move. Her eyes flicked to the counter, where the barista’s shaking hands struggled to open the register. Something else held the attention of the other two men. She only had one chance.

When the man shifted his stance, his weight shifting slightly to his back foot, Maeve moved. She rushed towards him, her body a blur of motion. She grabbed his wrist, twisting sharply as the gun discharged, the deafening crack echoing through the café. Pain shot through her shoulder as she wrenched the weapon from his grasp, using his momentum to drive him to the floor.

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