Page 41 of Stolen Rival
“Makes sense. Let him see you’ve held up your end of the bargain, and he can hold up his.”
“Exactly.” I slurp from my mug.
“You think she’ll behave?”
“Yeah, I do. Otherwise, I’ll be bringing her back in a body bag.”
“Thought it was black widows who fuck then kill?” His shit-eating grin scrapes on my few remaining nerves, but getting a reaction is what he wants, and I’ve already caved once this morning. This is how it is with us, especially me and Liam. Push and pull. Act and react. It’s our version of love, which only got more antagonistic after our parents died, and there was no more Dad to leap in the middle of us, hands braced on our chests to keep us apart.
A sharp pain digs into my chest, familiar yet unwelcome. “You know, maybe pay more attention to your own love life rather than fixating on mine.”
His hearty laugh echoes around our farmhouse-style kitchen. “Brotherly interest, that’s all. At least she didn’t bite off your dick. Or maybe she did, and that’s why you’re so pissy.”
I heave a sigh. “You’re thirty-three, Liam. ’Bout time you fucking acted like it.”
He laughs again. “I’m eternally youthful.”
Ignoring him, I finish my tea and get up to refill my mug. As I do, movement in the hallway catches my eye. I glance through the open kitchen door at Sorcha carefully placing her bag next to mine. The digital clock on the oven reads six thirty-three. Fuck me. I’d expected her to be late, even by a minute or two. Could the tide be turning and she’s finally ready to accept her fate? It’d make my life easier, that’s for sure.
She hovers on the periphery, nibbling on the skin around her thumb.
“Tea?” I ask.
She nods.
Liam gets up and pulls out a chair for her next to mine, then returns to his seat. She accepts the silent invitation—which, in fairness, is more like an order—and sits.
I refill my mug and make her a cup. As I sit, my leg brushes hers. She flinches as though burned and shuffles a few inches to the left. Liam’s brow arches in a silent question I have no intention of answering.
“How did you sleep?” I ask.
She hitches a shoulder. “Okay.”
“Are you hungry? We have time to grab a quick bite before leaving for the airport. Or we can get something in the lounge.” I’m not usually prone to thinking nor caring about anyone’s comfort, but I figure there’s a better chance of her behaving if I at least attempt to act like a human being.
“I’m not hungry.”
“You didn’t eat much yesterday, either. You’re not sick, are you?”
Drawing her cup toward her, she hooks two fingers through the handle and picks it up. “I’m not sick.”
Okay then. Monosyllabic it is. NowthatI excel at.Getting up, I open the cupboard above the dishwasher and pull out a packet of tea cakes I found in her bag when I took her from her house. I toss them on the table.
“In case you change your mind.”
Her eyes flare, only for a second, then she reaches for the snack and pulls it toward her. Seconds later, the packet is open, and she’s eaten three on the bounce. An odd sense of satisfaction crawls through my chest, not because I caught her in an obvious lie, but that she now won’t have to deal with a rumbling stomach on top of everything else I’m putting her through.
It’s an odd moment of softening toward a woman who, for all intents and purposes, is a means to an end. It’s not a feeling I’m familiar with, and it’s likely this will be the only instance it happens this decade, but the way she wipes her mouth and sighs makes me glad I bothered.
At a few minutes to seven, I gather our cups and put them in the sink.
“Time to go.”
Obediently, she stands, moves into the hallway, and puts on her coat. I catch Liam’s eye. He gives me two thumbs up and a wink. “Check in when you get there.”
“Will do. Any problems, you know how to get hold of me.”
“There won’t be any problems.”
