Page 9 of His Possession

The metallic tang of blood hung in the air as Rory stepped into the darkened warehouse. The sharp crack of a fist meeting bone echoed against the concrete walls, punctuated by the grunts of men in pain. Rory’s polished shoes clicked on the floor as he crossed the room, his posture calm, controlled. But beneath the surface, his panther raged.

Malachy turned at his approach, his knuckles streaked red, and nodded toward the bound man slumped in a chair under a flickering light. “He’s one of Kelleher’s boys. Caught him sniffing around the docks.”

Rory stopped in front of the man, his dark eyes sweeping over him with quiet disdain. Blood trickled from the corner of the man’s mouth, his face bruised and swollen, but the defiance in his eyes hadn’t dimmed. Even though it was misplaced, Rory respected the man’s defiance.

“Name,” Rory said, his tone flat.

The man glared up at him, spitting blood onto the floor. “Go to hell.”

Rory didn’t react. He turned to Malachy and gestured with a subtle tilt of his head. The enforcer didn’t need furtherinstruction. Malachy’s fist drove into the man’s ribs, the dull crack of bone followed by a strangled cry of pain.

The primal satisfaction of it tugged at Rory’s restraint, his panther stirring just beneath the surface. It wanted more. Blood. Submission. The complete destruction of anyone who dared to challenge his authority. He took a slow breath, forcing the beast back into its cage.

“Try again,” Rory said, his voice calm, almost conversational. “Name.”

The man coughed, wheezing as he tried to draw in air. When he finally looked up again, some of the fight had drained from his eyes. “Gerald,” he muttered. “Gerald Duffy.”

Rory nodded, his gaze steady. “Why were you at the docks?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Gerald said, but his voice wavered, betraying him.

Rory crouched in front of him, his movements slow and deliberate, like a predator sizing up its prey. “You’re lying, Gerald,” he said, his tone soft but sharp as a blade. “And lying to me is a very bad idea.”

The man’s breath hitched, his fear rolling off him in waves that Rory’s panther drank in. It wanted to surge forward, shift, rip the man apart, tear through the fragile flesh and bone until there was nothing left. But Rory held back, his restraint like iron bands around his chest.

“Tell me what I want to know,” Rory continued, his voice dropping to a low growl, “and maybe I’ll let you leave here with all your limbs intact.”

Gerald’s resolve crumbled, his shoulders slumping. “Tadhg sent me,” he admitted. “Said to watch your shipments. Report back if anything looked... vulnerable.”

Rory rose to his full height, towering over the man. Vulnerable. The word burned in his chest. The Kellehers thoughtthey could challenge him, test the O’Neills control. It was a mistake they wouldn’t make twice.

“Malachy,” Rory said, without looking away from Gerald. “Send him back to Tadhg with a message.”

Malachy grinned, his teeth bared like a wolf’s. “What kind of message?”

Rory’s gaze flicked down to Gerald, who flinched under its intensity. “The kind they’ll remember.”

Satisfied, Rory turned and strode out of the warehouse, the sounds of Gerald’s screams fading behind him as he stepped into the cool night air. The beast in him purred with satisfaction, but it wasn’t enough. Not yet. He needed to see this through, to ensure the Kellehers knew exactly what they were up against.

Back at the club, Cormac was waiting in Rory’s office, a glass of whiskey already in hand. The older man looked up as Rory entered, his sharp eyes taking in the tension still coiled in Rory’s shoulders.

“You handled it?” Cormac asked, though it wasn’t really a question.

“They’ll think twice before testing us again,” Rory replied, pouring himself a drink and settling into the chair across from Cormac.

The older man nodded, but his expression remained serious. “The Kellehers aren’t the only threat you need to consider.”

Rory’s jaw tightened. “Maeve.”

Cormac leaned back, his gaze steady. “She’s an O’Connell. That makes her both an asset and a liability.”

“She’s not like them,” Rory said, his voice hard. “She’s not tied to her father’s business.”

Cormac raised a brow. “Maybe not directly. But bloodlines matter, Rory. You know that better than anyone. The O’Connells will see her as a way in, whether or not she wants to be.”

Rory drained his glass, the heat of the whiskey doing little to ease the frustration building inside him. He knew Cormac was right. Maeve’s connection to the O’Connells complicated everything. But it didn’t change how he felt or that she was his mate. The fire in her eyes, the steel in her spine—she was unlike anyone he’d ever met. And that made her dangerous in a way that had nothing to do with her family.

“I don’t think she’s the pawn her family might think her to be,” Rory said finally. “And I won’t treat her like one.”

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