Page 42 of The Watcher's Bride

It went against every instinct I had to let it happen—to watch as two of Quinn’s men grabbed Nora from her apartment in the middle of the night like she was nothing more than cargo. They manhandled her, her small body slung over a shoulder like a sack of flour. I watched her legs twitch in half-conscious protest, heard the broken whisper of my name fall from her lips, even through the thick alleyway silence.

Max. She was calling for Max. Hoping that he would hear her. She didn’t realize that I was watching from the shadows.

This had to be done. It was the only way to protect her.

I stayed hidden, eyes locked on the men as they carried her toward the SUV that idled just beyond the alley’s mouth. I didn’t interfere. I didn’t shout or fight or swoop in to rescue her. I didn’t draw blood like I wanted to. But I will get my revenge, eventually.

Letting them take her was the hardest thing I’ve ever done.

It’s been six days since then. Six days since I’ve seen Nora. Six days where I’ve had to trust that Eamonn Quinn isn’t hurting her. That trust is a joke. Quinn is a monster, a control freak who believes his daughter is a pawn to be played, a piece to be moved and bartered. He’s the one who orchestrated this twisted plan. She ran from him for a reason. I know that now more than ever.

But what choice did I have?

Dimitri was ready to move. He was growing suspicious. Every day I delayed reporting on Nora’s identity was another day I risked our entire alliance falling apart. He’d already sent one of Quinn’s men to collect her—the one I killed in her apartment. If I tried to stop the next retrieval, there would have been more bodies, more attention, more blood. And this time, someone might have traced it back to me.

Worse, they might have traced it to her.

So I played the long game. I called my uncle and told him it was time.

The plan was simple, Quinn would reclaim his daughter, and we’d proceed with the marriage to me. A union still sealed in blood and politics, but without my uncle’s direct involvement. Quinn would save face. Dimitri would get his alliance. And I’d get Nora.

Eventually.

I keep telling myself that.

But every night that passes, I think of her alone in that prison she used to call home. I remember the way her eyes went flat with remembered trauma every time she talked about her father. The rigid stillness in her body when someone brought up her childhood. The way she looked when she confessed to me, voice trembling in the dark, about the abuse.

I hate that she’s back there.

I hate myself for letting her go.

I’m back in my LA home by the beach. Secure, outfitted with bulletproof glass and security cameras on every corner. It’s the kind of place meant to keep enemies out, but it’s doing nothing to keep my demons in.

I’ve walked the perimeter of Quinn’s estate twice a day since arriving. I know every guard rotation, every security checkpoint, every blind spot in the cameras. He’s not sloppy—not by a long shot. The house is surrounded by a twelve-foot concrete wall topped with barbed wire. There are cameras every ten feet and dogs that patrol the grounds.

But I’ve seen her shadow once.

Just once.

It was yesterday, around dusk. A figure moved past the second-story window. Slim. Hesitant. She paused, her hands pressed to the glass as if she were checking the view. My Nora. I’d recognize her silhouette anywhere. I felt like I’d been sucker punched.

She was alive.

Not harmed, at least not visibly.

Still a prisoner, but alive.

I nearly scaled the wall right then and there. But that would have been suicide. I wouldn’t be able to get within ten feet of the house without setting off alarms or having bullets rain down on me. And if I did manage to make it in and get her out, where would we go? Quinn would never stop hunting her. My uncle would see my actions as a betrayal.

We’d be fugitives from two powerful men, and we’d never know peace again.

So I stayed in the shadows. Watching. Waiting.

I can’t risk another rash move.

The worst part is not knowing how she’s doing. Whether she thinks I failed her. Whether she thinks Max abandoned her. Whether she hates me.

Every day, I fight the urge to storm that mansion. Every night, I replay the last time I saw her. Nora blindfolded in bed, trusting me so completely it made my throat tighten. Her begging me to fuck her. To claim her.

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