Maeve was already unbuckling before he killed the engine. She stormed out, slamming the door, and came around to his side.
“Move over,” she ordered, her eyes blazing.
He blinked at her, bleary. “Maeve—” But he’d never heard her so angry, so furious, and he couldn’t count the number of times she’d been angry at him.
“I will drag you out of this car right now, and trust me, that would hurt more than you’re already hurting.”
He bit back his groan as he slid into the passenger’s seat, the shift pulling at his wound. Maeve climbed into the driver’s seat quickly, adjusted it with quick hands, and turned the cararound. He leaned his head back, trying to steady his breathing. His ribs ached as she stepped on the gas, but his pride ached even more.
“What are you doing?” he asked when he felt her fingers tugging on the pocket of his coat.
But she didn’t answer. Her fingers tapped quickly against the screen, and she raised the phone to her ear before she could ask who she was calling.
“Viktor? It’s Maeve. Fedya’s been shot and he’s losing too much blood.” A pause. “I’m taking him to the hospital right now. You need to meet us there. I’ll send you the coordinates.”
Oh hell.
If Viktor was going to be involved, the rest of his family would as well.
In other words, he could kiss his secret about his marriage to Cormac’s daughter goodbye.
Chapter 22 - Maeve
Maeve didn’t have it in her to leave his side in the state that he was. She was only at peace when she was with him, so she stood there the entire time, even after he was admitted and wheeled down the sterile hallway on a gurney.
Guilt, rage, sadness, panic—everything put together made her want to explode. The stupid fucking burner phone was still hidden in her bra even as she watched a barely conscious Fedya being rolled into the ER.
And then she wished, out of all the things that happened tonight, that she had been the one who got shot because of him. At least he’d be okay, and she wouldn’t have to deal with this battle of emotions warring between her heart and her brain.
Her fingers trembled as she touched her belly, remembering Margot’s advice about taking a test, just before shit went down in the bar. The possibility of her carrying a child felt like an anvil sinking down her chest, crushing her heart in. There was too much at stake, too many things she was yet to resolve, to handle the weight of a child. A child with Nikolai blood running in its veins.
She’d been on birth control pills for as long as she could remember, but that had ceased the moment she married him. As careless as it sounded, they hadn’t done anything to prevent a pregnancy, so maybe she should have seen this coming.
She was so caught up in the thick fog of her thoughts that she barely noticed the heavy footsteps behind her until they were right in front of her—all three of his brothers: Viktor, Kostya, and Ilya. They stood like shadows looming over her, grim yet controlled. She couldn’t read them; their faces were blank sheets except for the tension in Viktor’s jaw as he looked her over.
A ripple of fear coursed through her, but she swallowed it down. She tried to stand, but Ilya wouldn’t let her.
“Come with us,” he said simply, though his voice was stern. Hard.
She listened, ignoring the way her heart sank in her chest. This was inevitable after all—the time they’d know the truth. This was the last way she wanted them to know, but shit had hit the fan now, and there was nothing she or anyone else could do about it.
Might as well face it head-on.
She followed them into a quiet corner of the hallway, just out of earshot.
“Alright, love, start talking,” Kostya began, staring at the ring on her finger. The one she wasn’t wearing when they came over the last time. “How long have you two been married?”
“A month,” she said firmly. Clearing her throat, she added, “My last name is O’Rourke. Cormac’s my father.”
Ilya let out a tired sigh. Kostya muttered ‘Jesus’under his breath, and Viktor—Viktor was the one who asked, “What the fuck?”
“He knew by the way,” Maeve said, feeling a little more cautious now that they knew she was the daughter of an enemy. “He came to my father on his own, pretending to be an American arms dealer. My dad married me off to him in exchange for his ammunition, and we’ve been married ever since.”
“And your father,” Kostya frowned, staring at her intently. “He didn’t try to contact you at all?”
Maeve wasn’t sure why she lied so well.
“He called me once, the night of our wedding. Wanted to know if I was alright,” she said, holding their stares. She wondered if they could see the burner phone hidden in her bra. “Fedya destroyed my phone after that. And everything was silent until he called Fedya two nights ago, inviting us to his bar.”
