Page 30 of His Possession

Maeve’s pulse thundered, but she didn’t flinch. Rory’s eyes met hers, dark and blazing, and she saw the unspoken message there.

Trust me.

She felt Tadhg jerk and then his grip slackened as he twisted away from her, wounded. She glanced up and saw one of Rory’s men in the rafter, taking deadly aim at Kelleher’s men. Rory’s eyes caught hers for a moment, ensuring she was safe, before turning back to the battle at hand. The time for reunions would come later.

He was her anchor, her protector. And in that moment, she knew she was exactly where she belonged.

Gunfire erupted around them again, a deafening roar that reverberated through the warehouse. The sharp, acrid scent of gunpowder filled the air, mingling with the shouts and grunts of men locked in combat. Her heart pounded against her ribs as she ducked behind a stack of crates, her fingers trembling as they gripped the edge of the crate.

But then her gaze locked onto another figure across the room. Alexander.

Her brother stood near the warehouse’s back wall, his posture tense, a gun in his hand. His dark hair was disheveled, his face shadowed by the dim light, but there was no mistaking the storm in his eyes. When his gaze found hers, time seemed to freeze.

Maeve sucked in a sharp breath. His expression was a battlefield of emotions: love, guilt, anger, and something deeper that she couldn’t quite name. Alexander had always been her protector, the one constant in her chaotic childhood. But now, his choices—the alliances he’d forged in their father’s name—clouded that connection.

“Maeve,” he said, his voice low but audible even over the din. He took a step forward, his weapon lowering slightly.

“Alexander,” she replied, her voice trembling but firm. She stepped out from behind the crates, ignoring the surge of adrenaline screaming for her to stay hidden. She moved to Alexander. If there was a chance she could save him—not just from this gunfight, but from their father—she knew she had to try. She knew her love and loyalty lay with Rory, but she couldn’t just abandon Alexander. The strain between them was almost unbearable, a taut thread that threatened to snap at any moment.

As she reached him, his jaw tightened. “You shouldn’t be here.”

“Nor should you,” Maeve declared, her voice a sharp knife through the turmoil. “You don’t have to do this, Alexander, you are not obligated to take part in his plans. You can walk away.”

He shook his head, his expression hardening. “It’s not that simple. You know that.”

“Because of him?” Maeve pressed, taking another step closer. “Because of what he’s done to us? Don’t let him win, Alexander. Don’t let him twist you into something you’re not.”

Alexander’s grip on his gun tightened, his knuckles white. The flicker of pain in his eyes was unmistakable, a crack in the armor he wore so carefully. “You don’t understand. This is the only way to survive.”

“No,” Maeve said fiercely. “This isn’t survival. This is surrender. You’re letting him control you, just like he controlled Mom. Just like he tried to control me.”

The mention of their mother hit its mark. Alexander flinched, the ghost of old wounds flashing across his face. Maeve pressed on, her voice softening but losing none of its intensity.

“We deserve better than this, Alexander. We deserve freedom. Don’t you want that? Don’t you want to be free of him?”

He stared at her, his chest rising and falling as if the weight of her words was physically pressing against him. The gun in his hand wavered, lowering inch by inch as the conflict in his gaze deepened. For a moment, it seemed like the surrounding violence had faded, the world narrowing to just the two of them.

“I don’t know how,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

Maeve took another step, closing the distance between them. “You do,” she said. “You’ve always known. You’ve always been stronger than me, Alexander. You don’t need him. You never did.”

Tears shimmered in her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. She reached out, her fingers brushing against his arm. “Please. Don’t do this. Don’t let him destroy what’s left of us.”

Alexander’s eyes met hers, and something shifted. The walls he’d built around himself began to crumble, the raw vulnerability beneath them shining through. Slowly, he let the gun slip from his hand. The metallic clatter as it hit the ground was almost drowned out by the continuing bedlam that surrounded them.

“I can’t keep doing this,” he said, his voice breaking. “I won’t.”

Maeve’s breath caught, relief and heartbreak tangling in her chest. She wrapped her arms around him, pulling him into a fierce embrace. For a moment, he hesitated, but then his arms came around her, holding her tightly as if she was the only thing keeping him anchored.

“You’re not alone,” she whispered. “We’ll figure it out. I promise.”

CHAPTER 12

RORY

The violence inside the warehouse was a maelstrom of gunfire and shadows, the acrid stench of smoke curling in the air. Rory moved with precision, his every action calculated. Each step he took was a promise: no one would lay a hand on Maeve, not while he was breathing.

He slid behind a stack of metal drums, bullets ricocheting off their surfaces, their sharp pinging a constant reminder of the stakes. From his vantage point, he could see Maeve crouched low behind Alexander. His chest tightened at the sight. Alexander’s broad shoulders shielded her, his gun raised in a white-knuckled grip, his eyes scanning the area for threats.

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