Total pages in book: 128
Estimated words: 121310 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 607(@200wpm)___ 485(@250wpm)___ 404(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 121310 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 607(@200wpm)___ 485(@250wpm)___ 404(@300wpm)
Quinn groans. “He’s a real priest, you idiot.”
I don’t care. Priest, dom, CEO, homeless vagrant—they’re all the same to me. Just men who think they can fix my sister. Men who think they understand her brokenness. Men who will ultimately fail her, just like everyone else has.
Just like I have.
Bane glares at me with something that looks like barely restrained violence. “It matters because Moira’s my wife.”
The words hit me like a physical blow.
Wife.
Moira got married?
The world tilts for a moment. My sister, chaos incarnate, who’s never stayed in one place or with one person longer than a heartbeat, got… married?
And she didn’t tell me.
But why would she?
I’ve been too busy with my own problems to notice hers. Too wrapped up in the drama of Anna and Mads to see what was happening right in front of me.
“Your what?” Quinn asks, blinking slowly.
“My wife,” Bane repeats, his voice tight and raw.
“Shit,” Isaak mutters, and I feel the sentiment in my bones.
I’m rigid, fingers curling around my drink, fury rising in me like a tide. Who the fuck does this guy think he is? After the parade of damaged, dangerous men Moira’s dragged home over the years, this one thinks he’s special? This one thinks he can claim her?
It’s Kira who steps forward.
“Moira?” she says carefully. “I had lunch with her earlier.”
Bane’s attention snaps to her. “When did you see her?”
“I don’t know. A little after noon?”
“She seemed...” Kira hesitates. “A little off.”
“Off how?” Bane demands.
Kira shrugs. “Jittery, I guess? She was checking her phone a lot. But she wasn’t worried. And she said she’d be here tonight.”
Everyone looks around the room, as if Moira might materialize from thin air.
“She’s usually late to things,” Quinn says, “But we’ve already been here for an hour and a half. If she’s this late, it probably means she’s ditching.”
I watch Bane’s face, the way understanding dawns on him, the way his shoulders tense. There’s something almost satisfying about seeing him realize what he’s gotten himself into. About watching him learn the hard lesson we’ve all had to learn about Moira.
“But you said she didn’t look worried?” he asks Kira.
She shakes her head. “No. She was just... being Moira. If anything, she looked... excited. I think maybe after she got a text from someone?”
I laugh at that, the sound sharp and bitter. “Ah, Christ. You really don’t know her at all, do ya?”
Bane’s head jerks toward me. “What?”
I take a slow sip of my drink, never breaking eye contact. This is familiar territory. Shoving my guilt down until I feel nothing at all. Being the asshole. “You’re standing here, tearing the goddamn club apart, looking for her like she’s missing.” I let out a breath, shaking my head. “You married my sister, and you still don’t get it.”
He doesn’t respond, but I can see the realization blooming in his eyes. The slow, creeping understanding.
“She does this,” I continue, relishing the chance to direct my anger at someone other than myself. “She runs. She gets restless and goes off on these wild benders, screwing whoever she wants, drinking herself into oblivion. Then she comes back like nothing happened.”
He flinches, and I feel a dark satisfaction.
“Look, man... I get that this is new for you, but Moira’s always been—” Quinn hesitates. “Unpredictable.”
“She’s my wife,” Bane grinds out, as if the word alone could bend reality to his will.
Quinn winces. “Yeah, well. That was a choice, wasn’t it?”
The unspoken You should’ve known better hangs between us.
I lean forward, unable to resist twisting the knife. “Tell me, Father. Did ya think you’d be the one to change her?”
He exhales slowly, jaw locked. “I was never looking to change her.”
I scoff, the sound ugly even to my own ears. “Then what the hell are you doing here? Why are you acting like she’s been kidnapped? Face it. She’s off with someone else, same as she always is.”
“She’s not,” he snaps, too fast, too defensive.
I look at him long and hard, seeing myself reflected back at me. The desperation. The denial. The refusal to accept what’s right in front of him.
I shrug, a gesture meant to wound. “Then why aren’t you at home waiting for her?”
The blow lands. I can see it in the way his face shutters, in the way his shoulders drop. In the way he turns and walks out without another word, the club resuming its festivities around him like he was never there.
Like Moira was never there.
Like Anna was never here.
I drain my drink and set it aside, pulling out my phone once more. Still nothing.
But she’ll be back. She has to be.
Because if Mads doesn’t come back, if Anna doesn’t return, then what the hell am I even doing on this fucked ball of doom?
The party carries on around me, laughter and joy that feel like sandpaper against my skin. I stay, going through the motions, pretending everything is fine.