Page 144 of Severed Rivalry
My eyes land on the strangest thing… Motorcycle boots. Wait.
“Liam?”
“Yeah.”
“How?”
He doesn’t answer. He just says, “I’m impressed, but I would’ve been okay without the kick to the ’nads.”
“Put me down and go save my daughter.”
He says nothing, but jogs down the long driveway to a car and drops me near the front passenger door before stripping off his jacket to drop over me.
“Get in and do not move.”
“Not making any promises.” As if he can tell me what to do and not do when it’s my family in there.
“You will compromise Cian if you do. His only goal is Renée.”
“That should be yours, too.”
“Youwere my mission. She was his. Because that’s what you”—he points a meaty finger in my face—“would want. He had to choose, and he chose what he thought you would prioritize. You compromised that with your stunt, and he took his eye off the prize. I don’t want him dead, and I don’t want her hurt. Don’t get in the way.”
He stalks away, pulling a pistol from some unknown place and breaking into a run.
I’ve never heard so many words from him at one time. He’s not that guy, but he said a lot and all of it was bad.
Because I believe him, I climb into the car I’ve never seen,covered in a bitter, stinky robe, left to wonder if my mom and my daughter are safe. And if the man I love was hurt because I did what I did. Not that I wouldn’t do it again.
“Ms. Ocotea?” a small voice questions through sniffles.
“Emma,” the relief of knowing she’s okay is diminished by the knowledge of where my daughter is. “I’m glad you’re safe. We’ll be home soon.”
“Okay.”
I count the stars I see through the windshield to keep my mind from spinning on the horrors I know happen in that circle and on that dais.
I’m a sitting duck, with no way to protect Emma. And there’s no way to know what or who slinks around in the darkness.
More importantly, I can’t help Renée who holds my every thought. There’s no way to know where my daughter is or if she’s safe. Is it better to be here or to be there? The war in my head rages on.
Liam doesn’t return.
My adrenaline burns out to nothingness, my body unable to do anything more than shake or rest.
I am alone with the war in my head.
And in total despair.
The full moon burns brightly in the night sky.
Cian
Pops rend the air. They’re faint. The pound of blood in my ears mixed with wind as I run is only overtaken by the roar of my heart. I run harder than I’ve ever pushed my body, shoving people left and right, running over them, never hearing the cursing or cries.
I’m on the dais in a leap, standing in front of purple toenails.
I yank the robe to cover the sweet girl whose own “father”wants to expose her. He’s much too much like mine, selfish and not worthy of the children they sired. In that moment, I also realize finally—fucking finally—that it’s not her blood. The man at her feet has no face left. It was blown off by a bullet. One that sliced through her robe. Too fucking close.
