Page 71 of Faithless Vows

Chapter Thirty

Ronin

I come to slowly, my head pounding before I’m even fully awake. My whole body hurts, but my ribs are the worst of it. I try to take a deep breath and instantly regret it when pain stabs through my side. I settle for short, shallow breaths instead. There’s blood in my mouth, coppery every time I swallow. I shift, trying to ease the pressure on my ribs, but something digs hard into my chest and wrists, holding me in place. What the hell? Then it all comes back.

The ropes. The chair. I’m tied down again. Christ.

Yesterday was a goddamned mess.What the hell was I thinking?

The answer is simple. I wasn’t. I came all this way telling myself I was going to fight for my wife, that I’d give her whatever she wanted, tell her whatever she needed to hear, so long as she came back to Boston with me because life without her had been no life at all.

And the second it stopped going the way I wanted, the second she pushed back, the second things got uncomfortable, I did what I always do.

I went for the throat.

After that, everything went to hell fast. Alannah walking out. Finn with her on the wall. The rock in my hand. Her fighting me all the way to the car. The boat. Her crying. Her telling me I was hurting her, and me still not stopping.

That’s all I’ve done lately, isn’t it? Hurt her.

Footsteps come toward me, and then Declan’s voice cuts through the room. “Morning, sleeping beauty.” I lift my head and try to focus on him. One eye opens, blurry and stinging. The other stays swollen shut.Figures.He got a few good shotsin on me last night after he came back from dropping Alannah at her grandparents’. Made damn sure I knew she cried the whole ride home from the harbour. Hearing that hurt worse than his fists ever could.

And bad as Declan was, he wasn’t the worst of it. That was Eamon. I don’t know how long after Declan finished he showed up. I’d already blacked out by then. When I came around again, Eamon was standing over me, that big bastard just staring down with pure hatred in his eyes. No words. No questions. He just started swinging.

There was no holding back. Every hit came hard, one right after another, until they all blurred together. My head snapped sideways. Skin split under his knuckles. One punch caught me right in the nose. I heard the sick crack as it broke, then blood poured hot and fast. After that, I couldn’t breathe right. I had to drag air in through my mouth while he kept coming. Conor finally stepped in and hauled him off me, but even then Eamon was still trying to land one more.

I’m not stupid. I know who every one of those hits was for.

Finn.

And Alannah.

A sharp slap across my cheek yanks me back. I flinch hard, but the ropes stop me short. The sudden movement makes my stomach roll, and I swallow hard against the wave of nausea. When my vision steadies, Declan’s face is right in front of mine, that smug fucking grin spread across it like he’s enjoying every second of this. “There you are,” he says.

He gives my cheek a lighter pat, just to toy with me, then turns on his heel and walks over to lean against the wall. I follow him with my good eye, and even that small movement makes the pounding in my skull worse.

Malachy sits at one of the tables across from me, forearms braced on the wood, a tumbler near his hand. Conor stands near him, his face unreadable, eyes on me.Declan leans against the wall with his arms folded, split knuckles making it clear he enjoyed himself last night.

It feels too much like the first time I woke up in this room. But it isn’t. There’s no crowd of men drinking and laughing, no one watching me like I’m their entertainment. Just Alannah’s family, and I know I’m out of time.

Nobody says anything. I drag in a breath and immediately regret it. Pain flares sharp through my chest, and a harsh cough tears out of me before I can stop it. “Well,” I rasp. “Mornin’.” I watch Declan’s mouth twist like he hates that I can still talk.

Malachy stares at me. Then he stands, picks up the folded papers from the table, and walks toward me. My jaw clenches the second I see them. He stops right in front of the chair and holds them up where I can see. “You’ll sign them now,” he says.

“No,” I say, my voice rough but firm.

Malachy doesn’t look surprised by my refusal. His gaze drops to my left hand, tied tight to the arm of the chair, my wedding ring still on my finger. He snaps his fingers, and Conor moves toward me without a word, reaching into his coat pocket, his eyes fixed on the ring. When he pulls out a small pair of cutters, I start pulling against the ropes before I can stop myself.

A faint smirk pulls at Malachy’s mouth when he sees me struggle. Then he lifts his left hand, bringing it close enough for me to see the Celtic knot engraved in the band. “Looks familiar, does it?” he says. “A romantic, that girl. Just like her grandmam.” He lowers his hand and holds it out to Conor, palm up. Conor places the cutters in it. Malachy looks back at my ring. “That ring was meant to stand for something. You made a mockery of it, lad. You’ve no business wearing it now.”

My throat tightens at his words.We’ll always be woven together now.Alannah’s voice cuts through my head, and I jerk hard in the chair, pain tearing through my body as I try to wrench my hand free. Conor steps in behind me, one hand clamping down on my shoulder while the other pins my forearm to the chair. Malachy works the thin edge of the cuttersunder the band where it sits tight against my finger. Metal presses into skin. Then he starts to squeeze. “Don’t!” I shout.

Pain flares through my finger and up my arm. I pull in a breath and hold it, willing the ring to hold.Just hold. Don’t break on me now. But the cutters keep biting deeper, the gold buckling under the steel, until one side gives with a hard, metallic snap.

And something in me gives with it.

Malachy shifts the cutters to the other side of the band. The second cut comes quicker, and the knot breaks completely. The ring falls from my finger in two halves, hitting the stone floor with a soft clinking sound that hollows me out. I stare down at them.

That ring was meant to stand for something I never knew how to be. A husband. A safe place. The man she should have been able to trust. Instead, I gave her my name and not one damned thing that should have come with it. Not loyalty. Not honesty. Not gentleness. Not peace. I took too many wrong turns. Made too many bad choices. Kept going when I should have stopped.