Page 24 of His Possession

The commotion drew the attention of the other men, their shouts blending with the screams of the terrified patrons. Maevedidn’t wait. She grabbed Rebecca’s arm, pulling her toward the counter as cover.

“Stay down!” Maeve yelled, shoving Rebecca behind the counter as another shot rang out, splintering the wood above their heads.

The adrenaline coursing through her veins made time seem to slow, every second stretching as she assessed the situation. The men were closing in, their movements coordinated. Maeve’s shoulder throbbed, but she pushed the pain aside, her focus narrowing on survival.

And then she heard it—the low rumble of engines outside. Tires screeched as black SUVs skidded to a halt in front of the café. The door burst open, and Rory stepped inside—his presence a force of nature.

Rory’s expression was ice cold, his dark eyes scanning the scene with lethal precision. He moved with the kind of calm control that spoke of experience, his voice cutting through the noise as he barked orders to the men who followed him.

“Secure the exits. Take them alive if you can.”

His men fanned out, their movements efficient as they subdued the attackers. Rory crossed the room in long strides, his gaze locking onto Maeve as she knelt behind the counter, her chest heaving.

“Maeve,” he said, his voice steady but sharp with concern.

She looked up at him, her breath catching at the sight of him. The surrounding chaos seemed to fade as he crouched in front of her, his hands brushing her shoulders gently as he checked her for injuries.

“I’m fine,” she said, though her voice trembled.

Rory’s jaw tightened, his fingers lingering on her arm. “You’re bleeding.”

Maeve glanced at her shoulder, noticing the crimson staining her sleeve for the first time. The pain was a dull throb now, overshadowed by the adrenaline still coursing through her.

“It’s nothing,” she said, shaking her head. “Rebecca…”

“She’s safe,” Rory said, his tone leaving no room for doubt. “My men have her.”

The calm in his voice steadied her, but it also reminded her of the stark reality she was now a part of. This was Rory’s world—a world where violence erupted without warning, where danger was always just a step behind.

As they dragged the last of the attackers from the café, Rory helped her to her feet, his hand firm and reassuring on her back. Maeve’s legs felt unsteady, but she forced herself to stand tall, to meet his gaze.

“You shouldn’t have been here alone,” he said, his voice low but laced with anger.

Maeve bristled, her pride flaring despite the circumstances. “I wasn’t alone.”

“Rebecca doesn’t count,” Rory said, his eyes flashing with frustration. “You’re a target now, Maeve. This is what they’ll do to get to me.”

The truth of his words hit her like a blow, and for the first time, she truly understood what being in Rory’s life meant. It wasn’t just about him—it was about everything that came with him. The power, the danger, the darkness.

As they stepped outside into the cool air, Maeve felt a shiver run through her. As the commotion subsided, Rory kept a hand on her back for support.

But even as the quiet surrounded them, one thought echoed in her mind.

How much more could she endure before Rory’s world consumed her entirely?

The letter felt heavier in Maeve’s hand than the paper should have allowed, its edges worn from her constant folding and unfolding. She had carried it with her since the day it arrived, its words a silent shadow that lingered no matter how hard she tried to ignore them.

Maeve sat on the couch in Rory’s penthouse, the sounds of the city below muted by the thick glass windows. The day's attack was over, but its turmoil lingered in her thoughts. A dull ache pulsed in her shoulder, the makeshift bandage a stark reminder of her near-death experience. Rebecca was safe, but the memory of the gunmen and the sound of gunfire echoed in her head.

Taking a deep breath, Maeve unfolded the letter again, her hands trembling as her mother’s elegant handwriting came into focus.

My Dearest Maeve,

I hope this letter finds you safe. I’ve spent countless nights wondering where you are, if you’re happy, if you’re free. But your father... he hasn’t stopped searching. He’s grown more desperate, and more dangerous. He speaks of family honor, of reclaiming what belongs to him. And by that, he means you.

Maeve’s breath caught, her throat tightening as she read the words she’d been trying to avoid. She pressed her hand to her chest, as if that could steady the storm raging inside her.

You’ve always been stronger than he could ever understand, but I need you to know how far he’s willing to go. He’s made alliances—dangerous ones—with people who can find anyone, anywhere. I fear for you, Maeve. Please, be careful. Trust no one.

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