Page 57

FIFTY-SEVEN

March, Six Weeks Later

MOIRA

Fucking drugs, man. And not the fun kind, either. I’ve been taking the kind a doctor prescribes for the last two months, and they’re total ass. This is what I get for letting Kira talk me into seeing her psychiatrist friend. I mean, at least they had something more novel to call me than sex addict.

Bipolar is my new shiny diagnosis, and the head doctor was sure he could get me all sparkly and new by swallowing these pills more and more every two weeks until I was at optimal dosage. Well, I finally reached the magical dose last week.

I thud my forehead against Kira and Isaak’s kitchen window in a slow, repetitive motion until Kira comes back in and catches me doing it.

“Moira! What are you doing?”

“Nothing.” I let the side of my face smoosh into the cool glass of the window. “All I ever do is nothing.” Then I roll my eyes. “And no, before you ask, I don’t feel like harming myself or others today.”

That’s everybody’s favorite question.

She puts her hands on her hips, which is especially effective because of her cute, round belly bump.

“I see you didn’t quite make it up from the breakfast table, but look, you ate!”

I slither like a slug from the glass onto the table, my body completely flat.

This is all I can seem to manage to do lately—slug from one place to another.

I don’t think it’s the meds, necessarily. Just... the sad face part of sad face me.

“Mama, help me to the couch,” I whine, wiggling my hands at Kira.

She sighs. “Well, at least I’m getting some training for when I have a baby around.”

I cry dramatically, but she stays where she’s standing, arms on her hips.

“What if I told you Bane was asking around about you again at the club last night?”

I pull my arms in and bury my head in them.

“Doesn’t matter,” I grumble into my sleeves, face still hidden.

“Oh yeah?” she challenges. “Even if he told Isaak to give you a message?”

I shake my head, mumbling into my arms again. “I don’t want to hear it.”

It’s too painful.

My chest squeezes in on itself because what I just said is a lie. Of course, I want to hear it.

The fact that he’s still thinking about me—even after all this time, even after I broke his heart—makes my stomach twist.

But then I think, You didn’t break his heart, you ninny. Yeah, he married you, but that was just because he had to. That’s probably what his message is—just letting you know he found some way to let you off the hook or got the marriage annulled.

“He said to tell you that his father is dead.”

I spring fully upright in my chair for the first time in weeks, blinking up at her.

“Mad Blackwolf is dead?”

Kira’s mouth drops open. “Bane’s father is Mad Blackwolf?” Her eyes go round. “Wow. I had heard that he passed.”

“What did he die of?” is my immediate follow-up question.

She waves a hand. “It was all hush-hush with the media at first, but apparently, he picked up some wasting disease from his travels. It took him out in just a few months. There was nothing they could do.”

“And... he just died?” I ask again, still unable to fully wrap my head around it. “Where’s my phone?”

Kira glances down at me, eyebrows raising. “Are you going to call Bane?”

“I need to call Domhn.”

Kira suddenly bites her fingernail.

“What?” I ask suspiciously.

“Nothing.”

She jerks her hand down, but I catch the hesitation.

“It’s just... we’ve all been worried about you. You’ve been in kind of a fragile state.”

“What the fuck does that mean?” I snap. “I’m fine.”

I stand up.

Oily curls fall into my face, reminding me that I haven’t exactly been the best at showering lately. I push them back and tie them at the base of my neck with the ponytail holder that’s always around my wrist.

“Why? What’s up? What’s going on?”

“Well...” Kira hesitates. “You know how MadAnna wasn’t at my baby shower? Oh, wait—neither were you. Anyway. Apparently, she’s taking another “leave of absence” for her mental health,” Kira continues. “That’s what Domhn’s been calling it, anyway.”

“What?!” I shriek. “And you’re only just telling me this now? Where’s my phone?!”

“I think you left it by the couch.”

I scurry over, my limbs feeling only slightly less heavy at the unusually quick movement. Depression is a bitch when she gets her claws into you.

Immediately, I dial my brother’s number.

“Moira?” Domhn answers, surprised. “Hey.”

His voice gets all gentle and weird—which is never a good sign.

“How’s everything going?”

“Where’s MadAnna?” I cut to the chase.

He sighs, and I can just imagine him dragging his hand down his face.

“Uh... she said she had to go take care of some things.”

“When?!” I all but shout into the phone. “How long ago?”

He sighs heavily, and that tells me I’m not going to like what he says next.

“Ever since she and you...” He doesn’t finish the statement.

“But she came back, right? After we got kidnapped, she came back home. We’ve had a few video calls...”

And then it lands.

Oh, shit.

“Domhn, is she on the run because of what I did?”

“You didn’t do anything, Moira,” he says firmly. “You fell in love with a good guy who just happened to have a psychotic father. It’s nothing you or anyone else could have controlled.”

“But—”

“She says there are some things she needs to clear up from her past before she can come home and we can get our happily ever after.”

“Fuck, Domhn!” I cry. “Oh my God, I fucked everything up again!”

“No, you didn’t,” his voice is stern. “I know you love to take the whole world on your shoulders, sis, but this one has nothing to do with you. She’s running from people she pissed off in a former life. She doesn’t feel like she can ever be safe until she deals with them.”

“Then we have to help her,” I say immediately.

He chuckles low.

“Don’t you think it’s killing me that she won’t let me?”

Right. Of course, it is.

If there’s one thing my big brother lives for, it’s to be the big, burly savior.

No wonder she never went home. He would’ve locked her up in a golden cage—probably in whatever new dungeon he installed in their new place.

It only hits me now that he’s actually talking to me—really talking . Like we used to. Like he doesn’t hate me anymore. Do I really have my big brother back?

“She knows what she’s doing,” I whisper, trying to believe it—as much for my sake as for his. I want to be here for him in the way I know I wasn’t before. I’m not going to be the little sister who takes him for granted anymore.

“Yes, she does,” he says thickly. “But I barely survived her being gone last time when she was safe and under my security.”

“Oh, Domhn... Is there anything I can do?”

“It’s been hell being out of contact with both of you,” he admits. “Kira said you needed some quiet while you got better.”

“I’m better,” I say, sitting up straighter. “Bitch finally got me on meds. Can you believe that? So I’m all good now. Swearsies.”

Kira eyes me from the other side of the room, lips pursed, face telling me I’m full of shit. Yeah, yeah, I know it can take like months and months for shit to regulate and start to actually feel… right.

“Has he heard about Bane’s father?” she calls, reminding me why I reached out in the first place.

“Oh, yeah,” I say distractedly. “Kira says Bane’s dad is dead. Is it true?”

Domhn sighs. “I’ve been working on confirming it all morning. Just got intel from inside the hospital—it’s true. He died three weeks ago. Asphyxiated in his own fluids.”

Holy shit.

“So does that mean...” I hesitate, my heart plummeting through the soles of my feet.

“Yes,” he answers for me. “Barring any end-of-life retribution, which I’ll make sure is seen to... nothing is standing between you and Bane anymore.”

“I—I—” I stammer. “Domhn, it’s really so good to talk to you again. And I wanna talk all morning, really, but I?—”

“You’ve got somebody else to call,” Domhn interrupts. Then softer, “And, sis?”

“Yeah?”

“Maybe drop by sometime.”

My whole chest fills with happiness at the request. “Absolutely.”

As soon as we hang up, I immediately dial Bane’s number—which I deleted from my phone after memorizing it—but then I freeze, thumb hovering over the green call button.

What the hell am I going to say?

Hey, saw your dad’s dead. Will you take me back now after I crushed your heart and stomped it to pieces? So sorry about that. Plus, I’m all whacked out on meds now, I know, what a prize!

I slump in my chair and delete each number, digit by digit, staring listlessly out the window.

Later, when Kira and Isaak are back in the baby’s bedroom attempting to put the kid’s baby furniture together, the doorbell rings, and my stomach doesn’t drop or twist or clench or do any of the dramatic bullshit it used to.

Well, yeah, ’cause I’m expecting it. I ordered a pizza. But I also like to think it means that as much as the meds suck, maybe they’re starting to work. I have to admit; I have been feeling a touch less wanna-crawl-out-of-my-own-skin lately.

I stretch, yawn, and shake out my hands as I push off the couch. My tea sits cold and forgotten on the coffee table, a half-hearted attempt at self-care that never quite sticks.

Whatever. Pizza is better.

The bell rings again, sharp and insistent. Jesus, impatient much? I’m already halfway to the door, tugging my hoodie straight and reaching for my wallet.

I yank it open with a breezy, “Yeah, yeah, keep your pants on?—”

And then I freeze.

Because it’s not a delivery guy standing on Kira’s porch.

It’s Bane Blackwolf.

My ruin. My obsession.

My husband .

My stomach does drop then, so fast I feel like I’m plummeting off a cliff, wind rushing past my ears, heart slamming against my ribs.

He’s so goddamn gorgeous in a black suit, hands in his pockets, looking so sharp he could slice right through me. Like he’s been waiting for this moment. Like he planned this moment.

The world tilts, and I grip the doorframe.

I wasn’t ready.

I thought I was. I thought the pills and the therapy and the trying would make me immune to this.

But no. No, because my body is already betraying me—heart racing, breath catching, fingers twitching with the memory of what it feels like to touch him.

“Moira.”

His voice is a slow drag of gravel and heat, and it wrecks me.

I wet my lips and force a smile that doesn’t fit. “Bane.”

His eyes darken. He expected something else. Sharp words. A flirty jab. The old Moira, crackling and unhinged. But she’s gone. Or caged. Or sleeping.

Or maybe she’s still here, pressing up against the bars, waiting for him to get close enough to sink her teeth into.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” My voice is hoarse.

His lips press together, a flicker of something unreadable crossing his face. Then he exhales, slow and steady, and says, “You’re coming with me.”

I laugh. Short, brittle. “Yeah? And why’s that?”

“You’re tangled up in my inheritance.” His gaze never wavers. “As my wife, you have to come to England.”

There’s a sharp crack inside my skull. Like something snapping back into place.

As my wife. As if it’s something real and not just a thing I dreamed up that one time.

As if it’s binding.

My pulse skitters. I scrape a hand through my hair, fingers catching in the knotted curls. “You’re shitting me.”

“No.”

“Christ.” I squeeze my eyes shut and press the heels of my palms against my temples. “Did you make this happen?”

Silence.

He’s just watching me, that quiet, steady, terrifying way he does.

Oh my god, that was just a shot in the dark, but he did , didn’t he?

“You fucker.” It comes out on a breath, a laugh, a goddamn whimper.

He steps closer. Just a fraction. Just enough to make the space between us feel like a living thing, thick and hungry. “Pack a bag.”

My stomach clenches. “And if I say no?”

A ghost of a smirk flickers across his lips. There he is. The man who owns me. The man who knows me. “You won’t.”

I let out a sharp, shaky breath. Because he’s right. Because I never say no to him. Because I don’t know how to.

But I don’t want to.

“Fine. But if you think for one second I’m just gonna fall in line?—”

“I would never.” His voice is too smooth. Too certain. “I know you’re going to fight me the whole way.”

His lips twitch. Like he’s looking forward to it .

And God help me, I think I might be, too.