Page 37 of His Possession

“I don’t think he has any idea what Tadhg has been up to. He won’t stand against the O’Neill, especially if he knows he will have no outlet in Boston. Trust me, to save himself, he’ll sacrifice Tadhg in a heartbeat.”

Rory looked to Alexander and spoke, “You did well. Maeve will be proud.”

Alexander’s jaw tightened, but he nodded. “Let’s make sure it’s worth it.”

Rory watched him go, his mind churning. The pieces were in motion, the board set. But as he turned his thoughts to Maeve, his resolve hardened. This wasn’t just about power or politics. This was about her—protecting her, securing a future where she could finally be free.

Rory’s knuckles whitened around the edge of the polished mahogany table as the heavy doors to the meeting room slammed open. The sound reverberated like a gunshot. Rory raised his eyes to meet the younger Kelleher.

Tadhg stood in the doorway, his face flushed with wild desperation. Strapped to his chest was a crude suicide vest, wires crisscrossing the fabric, blinking red lights adding a grim cadence to the moment. Michael O’Connell wasn’t the only one who was losing his grasp on reality. Thank god the Boston families had already departed.

“You think you can erase me?” Tadhg’s voice was sharp, trembling, yet loud enough to reach every corner of the room. “You think I’ll sit quietly while you carve up my city?”

For a moment, neither Rory nor Cormac moved. Then Rory rose slowly, his chair scraping against the floor as he met Tadhg’s wild eyes.

“Tadhg.” Rory’s voice was low, commanding. “You’ve lost already. This isn’t the way to change that.”

“Lost?” Tadhg barked out a bitter laugh, his hand hovering dangerously close to the trigger in his fist. “You don’t know what losing is, McMahon. But you will. All of you will.”

Rory’s mind shifted into cold precision, the tactical clarity that had kept him alive in this world. His gaze landed on Cormac, standing near the side wall.

“Tadhg,” Rory said, his tone calm but edged with steel. “Let’s talk. You came here for a reason. Your family has nothing to gain by my death or yours. Your father will never stand against the O’Neill and believe me when I say he will return to Galway in force if you do this.”

“Talk?!” Tadhg spat the word like venom. “I didn’t come here to talk, McMahon. I came to make you bleed.”

“Cormac,” Rory said quietly, his voice carrying despite the tension. “Get out. Leave now. Take the men and get the civilians to safety.”

Cormac hesitated, glancing at Rory with a flicker of doubt.

“Now,” Rory repeated, his tone brooking no argument.

“I’ll do it!” Tadhg screamed, his voice cracking as his thumb moved closer to the detonator. “One more move and I blow this room to hell!”

The tension was suffocating. Rory raised his hand, his voice dropping even lower as he spoke. “Tadhg, think about what you’re doing. You trigger those explosives and you’re dead, too. All this for nothing.”

“Better dead than letting you win,” Tadhg snarled.

Rory’s heart thundered, but his voice remained steady. “You’re wrong. This isn’t just about me. Doing this will not immortalize you as a martyr. It will be spat upon and your father will do whatever he has to disown you.”

Tadhg’s hand trembled, the fury in his eyes flickering with doubt. Rory pressed forward, taking a careful step closer. “There’s still a way out of this, Tadhg. Drop the detonator. Let’s talk.”

Hours before, in the quiet of the night, Rory had found solace in Maeve’s arms.

The abbey was quiet, the distant hum of the city that stretched out below a faint backdrop to their shared silence. Rory sat on the edge of the bed, his head bowed, tension radiating from every line of his body. The earlier part of the evening he’d spent mapping out contingencies, his mind a whirlwind of strategy and risk.

Maeve moved closer, her hand brushing his shoulder. The touch was light, but it sent a jolt through him, grounding him in a way nothing else could. He looked up at her, his dark eyes meeting hers.

“You’re carrying too much,” she said softly, her fingers tracing along the curve of his jaw.

“I have to,” Rory replied, his voice rough. “If I don’t, it all falls apart.”

She knelt in front of him, her hands covering his. “It won’t. Not with you at the helm. But you’re allowed to lean on me too.”

Rory’s chest tightened. The words, simple and sincere, pierced through his carefully constructed armor. He reached for her, his hands tangling in her hair, as he pulled her closer. The kiss was fierce, a collision of need and desperation.

Maeve responded in kind, her body arching into his as she climbed onto his lap. Rory’s hands roamed over her back,pulling her closer, grounding himself in the feel of her. Her lips traced along his jaw, her breath warm against his skin as she whispered his name.

“Maeve,” he rasped, his voice a plea and a command.

---