Page 34 of His Possession

She turned to see him standing in the doorway, his broad frame casting a shadow over the room. He didn’t look like a man who had spent the night embroiled in violence and then in the throes of passion—he looked unshakable, his presence commanding. But she knew him well enough now to see the strain in his shoulders, the way his gaze lingered on her before shifting to Alexander.

“Cormac’s ready,” Rory said, his tone clipped. “You both need to see this.”

Maeve nodded, casting one last glance at the sunrise before following Rory and Alexander to the abbey’s main gathering room. Cormac was waiting, his laptop open on the table, the screen displaying a series of documents and images. He looked up as they entered, his sharp eyes glinting with grim satisfaction.

“Good timing,” he said. “I’ve got enough here to burn Michael O’Connell’s world to the ground.”

Maeve took a seat beside Rory, her pulse quickening as she scanned the files on the screen. Photographs, financial records, audio transcripts—each piece more damning than the last. Cormac clicked through them methodically, his voice steady as he explained.

“O’Connell has been laundering money through multiple fronts—shell companies, offshore accounts, art sales. But that’s just the tip of the iceberg. There are records tying him toweapons deals, human trafficking, and assassinations. This isn’t just a syndicate boss with dirty hands. He’s a liability to anyone who does business with him.”

Maeve’s stomach churned as the scope of her father’s crimes came into focus. She’d known he was dangerous, but this was something else entirely. “How did you get all this?” she asked.

Cormac’s lips twitched into a brief, humorless smile. “A little digging, a few favors. Let’s just say your father’s paranoia isn’t entirely unwarranted.”

Rory leaned forward, his gaze fixed on the screen. “How solid is it?”

“Rock solid,” Cormac said. “We’ve got enough to expose him to his enemies, his allies, and every law enforcement agency from here to the Continent to the States and back again. He won’t be able to recover from this.”

Maeve glanced at Rory, her chest tightening at the look in his eyes. It wasn’t just determination—it was something colder, sharper. This was the Rory who had helped the O’Neill build his empire and kept it running, who had fought tooth and nail to protect what was his. And now, she realized, that included her.

“What’s the plan?” she asked, her voice steadier than she felt.

Rory’s gaze shifted to her, his expression softening slightly. “We use this to cut him off at the knees. Take away his leverage, his allies, his power. He’ll have nothing left.”

“And then?” Maeve pressed, her heart pounding.

“Then we make sure he can’t come after you or Alexander again,” Rory said, his voice low and final. “No matter what it takes.”

The enormity of his words settled over her, heavy and inescapable. She knew what Rory was capable of, what he was willing to do to protect her. And while part of her wanted to push back, to demand a less violent solution, another part—the part that had survived her father’s control—understood.

“This isn’t just about me,” she said, meeting Rory’s gaze. “If we take him down, it has to be for everyone he’s hurt. Everyone he’s used.”

Rory’s eyes darkened, a flicker of pride and something deeper flashing across his face. “It will be,” he said. “But I’m not letting anyone use you as collateral damage, Maeve. Not your father, not the Kellehers, not anyone.”

The intensity in his voice sent a shiver down her spine, but she didn’t look away. “Then let’s finish this,” Alexander said, his voice quiet but firm.

Rory reached out to her, his hand covering hers on the table as he looked at her brother. “We will,” he promised.

Maeve nodded, her resolve hardening as she looked back at the screen. The sunrise might have marked a new day, but she knew the darkness wasn’t gone. Not yet. But with Rory by her side, and Alexander’s loyalty now certain, she finally felt like she had a chance to fight back.

And this time, she wouldn’t stop until the shadows that had haunted her for so long were finally gone.

The late afternoon sun slanted through the windows of the abbey, its golden light brushing the stark lines of the room with an almost cruel softness. Maeve sat on the edge of the couch, her elbows on her knees and her hands tangled in her hair. Her breath came in slow, shallow pulls as she fought to calm the storm raging inside her.

Michael O’Connell wasn’t just a monster—he was her father. That truth had never been simple, but now it felt suffocating. She had spent years trying to escape the shadow he cast, only to findherself back in its grasp, this time as the linchpin in a dangerous game she never wanted to play.

Maeve’s panther instincts churned, a restless energy thrumming beneath her skin. It clawed at her to act, to fight, to run. But there was nowhere to run—not this time. She was tired of fleeing, tired of being hunted. The idea of confronting her father made her throat tighten, her breath coming faster, but it also lit a small, fierce fire in her chest. This wasn’t just about her anymore. This time, it would end for good.

The soft sound of footsteps drew her from her thoughts. She looked up to see Rory, his dark eyes searching her face, and even in the dimming light, the power he exuded was palpable. He didn’t speak right away, just crossed the room in a few long strides and knelt in front of her.

“You’re spiraling,” he said, his voice low, calm.

Maeve wanted to argue, to tell him she was fine, but the knot in her throat made it impossible. Instead, she nodded, her hands clenching into fists on her knees. Rory’s hands covered hers, his touch grounding her in an instant.

“We’ve got this,” he said, his voice steady. “It’s not you and Alexander alone. This time the two of you have the O’Neills behind you.”

The sincerity in his words pierced through the haze of fear, and Maeve exhaled shakily. “I don’t know if I can face him,” she admitted, her voice trembling. “He’s not just dangerous—he’s unrelenting. He’ll never stop.”

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