Page 71 of Brutal Heir
“Serena said something about her needing to get out of her current apartment before she moved in with me. What about her employment record? There has to be an address listed.” I peer over his shoulder, scanning lines of code and databases I don’t understand. “There has to be a landlord or maybe even a roommate.”
“Already on it, Ale.” He shoots me a smirk as he points to an address on the screen.
Hope blossoms in my chest, the tension radiating from my entire body finally lessening a notch. “Then why are we still sitting here?”
And I’m gone, out the door before he’s even out of his chair, blood singing in my veins. I don’t know what I’ll find when I get to that address. But I swear to God, if she’s hurt, if she’s scared,or if she even thinks for a second that she’s alone, I’ll burn down the city to prove her wrong.
My rapid footfalls echo across the walls of the corridor, my compression bandages digging into my skin from the frantic pace. But that doesn’t matter. Nothing matters but finding Rory and bringing her home.
The creak of the front door swinging open sends my heart lurching up my throat.
“Oh, hey ya, Johnny.” That familiar Irish lilt has my heart soaring.
I dart down the next corridor like a man possessed, my jaw nearly scraping the floor.
“Yeah, I’m good, thanks for asking.”
Then I freeze.
That voice,Dio, that fucking voice, wraps around my chest like a vice, and I can’t breathe. My feet move before I tell them to, thudding across the marble as I round the corner. And there she is.
Rory Delaney.
Dripping wet, cheeks flushed, eyes wide as they lock on mine.
Alive. Safe.
And more beautiful than I remember, even with shadows bruising her eyes and her curls a damp mess around her face. She’s here. She came back. I don’t know how long I stand there, gaping at her like acoglione, but the moment my lungs start working again, I cross the remaining distance in two furious strides.
“What the fuck, Rory?” My voice cracks under the weight of everything I’ve been holding back. “You disappeared. For twelve fucking hours. I thought—” My throat closes. I drag in a breath like it might stop me from shaking. “I thought something terrible happened to you.”
She flinches.
I curse again and rake a hand through my hair. “You can’t do that to me. You can’t just… vanish. After what we saw. After what we—” I stop short, jaw locking tight.
She shifts, opens her mouth to speak, but I cut her off.
“You should’ve screamed at me. Thrown something. Slapped me. Anything but leave.” My chest heaves, that wild fury crashing into something softer, more gutted. “I would’ve taken it. All of it. I deserved it for how I acted.”
Still, she doesn’t say a word. Just stands there, dripping onto the polished floor, her eyes searching mine like she’s not sure if I’m real.
So I take a step closer.
Then another.
Then I press my forehead to hers.
“You scared the fucking life out of me, Red,” I whisper, my voice wrecked. “Don’t do that again. Please.”
And for the first time, I let my hands cup her face. Just to be sure she’s really here. Just to feel that she’s not slipping away.
Not again.
Not ever.
Her breath catches, hot and shaky and so close to my mouth. I feel it, her hesitation, her confusion, her fucking heartbreak, and still, I don’t move. I don’t rush her. I just stay there, my forehead resting against hers, trying to soak her in.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper.
