Page 67 of Unholy Obsession

Domhnall’s brow furrows, his gaze darkening. “Unless…” His voice drops lower. “Unless something brought Mads out.”

The words hang in the air like smoke. I don’t know much about their situation, but Moira told me her future sister-in-law has DID.

Moira’s face shifts from playful to concerned. She leans in, voice low. “Want me to look for her? I can check the bathroom.”

Domhnall hesitates, the mask of indifference slipping just enough to reveal the concern underneath.

Moira puts a hand on her brother’s sleeve, voice soft. “I’ll find her.”

She immediately heads in the direction of the far wall, and I follow, with Domhnall at our heels.

We move through the gala together. The crowd parts for us, whether from instinct or the quiet tension radiating off us like heat. My hand rests on the small of Moira’s back, not to control, but to remind her—and myself—that she’s not alone. Not anymore.

Moira disappears inside the women’s restroom, but it’s not long before she emerges again, shaking her head.

“She’s not there, but I got a lead,” she says. “A lady said security just kicked a woman out for smoking in a stall.”

Domhnall grimaces, jaw flexing. “It’s Mads. I keep finding spent cigarette butts in the corner of the back deck.”

“She’d have gone outside then,” I say. “C’mon, I know the way out back to the service entrance. We can check there.”

Domhnall’s eyes flash my way distrustfully, but, teeth gritted, he nods.

TWENTY-SIX

MOIRA

The air outsideis sharp and cool, a slap to the face after the suffocating warmth of the gala. Waitstaff hustles in and out of a catering van with food on trays. But back behind the van and off to the side?—

There she is.

Mads. Hard to tell from this distance, except for the cigarette’s curling smoke. She’s arguing with some guy holding a camera, his flash bulb popping like a strobe light from hell.

That pisses her off even more because she starts really yelling then and reaching for the camera.

Domhnall spots her. I know because his entire body goes rigid beside me like someone jammed a steel rod straight through his spine. He doesn’t say anything. He just moves. Fast.

“Domhnall,” I snap, but he’s already halfway across the lot.

Bane and I follow, my high heels clicking against the pavement in a frantic staccato to match my racing heart.

Because I know that look in Domhnall’s eyes. It’s the same one he used to get right before he’d break some other boy’s nose when they insulted me or Mam back in Donegal.

The photographer keeps clicking away despite Mads screaming at him, oblivious to the furious Irish brawler approaching in an expensive suit.

Domhnall grabs the guy by the front of his shirt, yanking him so hard the camera dangles from his neck.

“Delete it,” Domhnall growls, low and dark, his accent slipping through the cracks of his polished facade.

“Hey!” I shout, sprinting the last few steps. Suddenly I’ve been transported back a decade and a half, back to break up another one of Donny’s fights.

Domhnall ignores me, shaking the guy once for good measure.

“Domhnall!” I snap again, stepping between them. Which is probably not the smartest move, considering my brother’s got all the chill of a rabid dog right now. “He’s just a cockroach with a camera. Let him go.”

Mads watches, her expression distant, like she’s not fully there. Great. Just what we need.

“He took photos,” Domhnall bites out.

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