Chapter 7 - Truth and Medicine
The bitter winter wind whipped across the snow-covered courtyard of the estate, biting fiercely at Nora’s face as she stepped out into the freezing night air behind Dominic.
Scattered across the manicured lawns and stone walkways were the prone forms of Rourke’s mercenaries, neutralized by Dominic and his loyal security team led by Prescott.
In the center of the courtyard, standing beside the idling black SUV with his hands raised in mock surrender, was Rourke.
He didn't look panicked. He looked amused.
“Well, well,” Rourke called out, his voice echoing across the courtyard as Dominic and Nora approached. “I must admit, Dominic, I didn't think you had the stomach to hunt down your own captain over a stray girl who doesn't even know who she really is.”
Dominic stopped ten feet away, his pistol locked dead onto Rourke’s chest. The silence between them was heavier than the falling snow.
“You knew,” Dominic said, each word dropping like a lead weight. “Fourteen years ago, you took her. You branded her. And you kept her hidden just to keep a leash on me.”
Rourke chuckled, a dry, grating sound. “Business is business, Dom. You built an empire on blood and silence. I just made sure I had the ultimate insurance policy. But honestly? I’m impressed she slipped away and found you. She always was a stubborn brat, just like her old man.”
“You ruined her life,” Dominic hissed, his finger tightening imperceptibly on the trigger.
“I saved her life!” Rourke snarled back, dropping the mask of amused detachment. “Her father was going to sell her to the syndicate bosses in Chicago to clear his poker debts! I took her, I gave her a mark so nobody else would touch her, and I let her lose her memory so she wouldn't spend every waking hour crying for a brother who was too busy building a criminal empire to protect her!”
Nora gasped, stumbling backward as the ugly truth washed over her. The nightmares, the fear, the missing years—it all coalesced into a sharp, painful clarity.
Dominic looked at Nora, then back at Rourke.
“You’re right about one thing, Rourke,” Dominic said quietly. “I built an empire on blood and silence.”
Before Rourke could blink, Dominic didn't shoot him in the chest. He stepped forward with blinding speed, pistol-whipping Rourke across the face with brutal, crushing force, sending the older man crashing hard into the frozen asphalt.
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As Rourke groaned, clutching his broken nose and bleeding jaw, Prescott and two security guards stepped forward, slapping heavy steel handcuffs onto his wrists.
“Take him to the lowest holding cell in the north dock warehouse,” Dominic ordered, his voice devoid of human emotion. “Let him contemplate what silence really feels like.”
