CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
HAZEL
KIERAN PLACES THE last of his belongings in the trunk, his movements smooth and unhurried. There’s no hesitation, no second-guessing—just a man who’s made a decision and is following through with it. I glance back at the house, at the dark windows, and I can’t help but picture it in flames. Kieran standing in the front yard, a match carelessly tossed over his shoulder as he watches it all burn.
But that doesn’t happen.
This is still his home. Maybe one day he’ll want to come back to it.
I pull my jacket tighter around myself as Kieran shuts the trunk. He doesn’t look back, just rounds the car and slides into the driver’s seat. I follow, settling into the passenger side as Charlie climbs into the back.
Then, Kieran starts to drive.
And it’s not at all what I expected.
I’d assumed he’d be reckless—some kind of rally driver who pushes the speed limit just for the thrill of it. But he isn’t. He’s careful. Measured. He stops at red lights, sticks to the exact speed limit, checks his mirrors like he’s preparing for a driving test.
It unsettles me.
I study him—the sharp angle of his jaw, the steady grip on the wheel, the way his gaze flicks from the road to the mirrors, always aware, always calculating. I don’t realize I’m staring until he glances at me, a smirk playing at the corner of his mouth.
“You're staring again.”
Heat creeps up my neck. Again?
I shift my gaze to the rearview mirror, focusing on Charlie instead, like that will somehow erase the moment. “Again?” I ask, trying to play it off.
Kieran hums. “Yes. You do that when you're thinking. You stare. It's a tell of yours. I'd be careful.”
A tell.
I don’t like that he’s noticed something about me that I didn’t even realize about myself.
Trying to shake off the discomfort, I huff. “I was just thinking you drive like my grandmother.”
One perfect brow lifts. “Your grandmother must be a fierce driver.”
I laugh. I don’t expect to, but the sound bubbles up before I can stop it. It feels foreign—so out of place in this car, with this man—but Kieran’s lips twitch. Then, as if he can’t fight it, the smirk splits into a full smile.
It does something strange to my chest.
“She’s careful,” I correct, trying to push away whatever it is I’m feeling.
“She’s smart. Not drawing attention to herself.” Kieran says and I see the shift in his expression—the way amusement fades, replaced by something more thoughtful. He is careful. He is smart. Every move he makes is calculated. Even this.
It sobers me up.
I turn my head to the window, watching as the scenery shifts. We enter Carrickmacross, and my stomach tightens. I know these streets. I know these buildings. The closer we get, the more that old, familiar ache settles in my bones.
Home.
Only it doesn’t feel like home anymore.
“We’ll stay at the Shirley Arms for tonight,” Kieran says as he pulls into the car park.
I force myself to focus. “And then what?”
He cuts the engine and glances at me. “Then tomorrow, we see Patrick.”
My heart stumbles. I sit up straighter. “You mean you see Patrick.”
Kieran doesn’t flinch, doesn’t hesitate. “I can’t leave you here, Hazel.”
I shouldn’t care. I should be used to this by now—the way he keeps me close, the way he refuses to trust me even after everything. But the words wound me in a way I don’t fully understand.
I grip the door handle, the metal cold beneath my fingers. “I won’t run. I’ve already told you that.”
Kieran unbuckles his seatbelt and pivots toward me. “I know.”
I frown. “Then why?”
He watches me for a long moment, like he’s debating how much to say. Then, finally, he exhales, his voice lower now, softer—but firm. “Because I can’t leave you unprotected.”
I blink. That… I wasn’t expecting.
I don’t know what to say to that, so I don’t say anything at all.
But as we step out of the car and head into the hotel, I can’t shake the feeling that this—whatever this is—is something more than just control.
It’s something I don’t have the strength to name.
Yet.
The Shirley Arms isn’t much to look at—an aging, nondescript building with a flickering neon sign and a front awning stained from years of neglect. The lobby is dimly lit, the air thick with the scent of stale cigarettes and cheap air freshener struggling to mask something more unpleasant. A threadbare carpet, once a deep burgundy but now a muddied shade of brown, muffles our footsteps as we enter.
It’s the kind of place where no one asks questions. A neutral ground. Anonymous. The kind of place you check into when you want to disappear.
Kieran moves through the check-in process with practiced ease. The receptionist barely glances up from her ancient monitor, her heavy-lidded eyes bored, uninterested. She wears a uniform that might have once been crisp but now looks as lifeless as she does. Without a word, she slides a key card across the counter, her chipped nails tapping once against the cheap laminate. No conversation. No hesitation.
Kieran palms the key, nods, and leads the way to our room. Charlie follows, silent as a shadow. I’m praying they don’t notice him, but honestly, I don’t think they would care here. This hotel once had a great reputation—back when it was the kind of place businessmen stayed, back when the bar served top-shelf liquor and the carpets weren’t sticky underfoot. But those days are gone. Since it changed hands, it’s dropped in star rating and dignity. The chandeliers in the lobby are covered in dust, the bulbs flickering like they’re considering giving up entirely. The once-grand mahogany check-in desk is now chipped, the varnish worn away from years of indifferent service.
We step into the elevator, and I swear the entire thing shudders under its own weight. The button for the second floor is cracked, the numbers barely visible beneath smudges of fingerprints and grime. As the doors slide shut, I catch a glimpse of a security camera in the corner—unplugged, its red light dead. A useless relic.
The elevator bings, and the doors wheeze open, revealing a narrow hallway. The walls are lined with faded green wallpaper curling at the edges, and the carpet has dark stains I don’t want to think about. A flickering overhead light casts a sickly glow over everything. The smell of urine lingers in the air, sharp and acrid, mixed with something else—something metallic and sour, like rotting food or maybe something worse.
I duck my head and follow Kieran to our room, my heartbeat hammering louder than our footsteps against the worn carpet.
The second the door clicks shut behind us, something inside me snaps.
I whirl on Kieran, my voice sharp. “I don’t want to be at that meeting tomorrow.”
Kieran exhales through his nose, already bracing himself for the argument. “Hazel—”
“No.” I step closer, my hands curling into fists. “He’ll kill me.”
The words hang between us, stark and absolute.
Kieran says nothing. His jaw tenses, but he doesn’t argue. Because he knows.
“Patrick will kill me, Kieran. And you know it.” My voice cracks, but I force myself to hold his gaze. “You think you can just walk me into that meeting and everything will be fine? That he’ll just…forgive me? Forgive you?”
Kieran sets his jaw. “No one will harm you. I won’t let that happen.”
“You won’t let that happen?” My breath hitches, and suddenly I’m trembling. Not with fear. With anger. “You aren’t fucking bulletproof, Kieran!” Yes, I’ve seen him kill a man, but this is a step above him. This is the man who tells him to kill, and he kills.
His eyes flicker.
I step closer, shoving against his chest. He doesn’t move. Doesn’t so much as flinch.
“What do you think is going to happen? You think Patrick’s just going to let you walk away because you said so?” My voice rises, hysteria bubbling beneath the surface. “Why would you even put yourself in danger for me?”
Kieran doesn’t hesitate.
“Because you’re important to me.”
I freeze.
He doesn’t blink, doesn’t waver. His voice is steady, absolute.
“And when I’m loyal to someone, I’m loyal to a fault.”
A cold weight sinks into my chest.
“But you’re loyal to Patrick.”
Kieran nods. Then, before I can move, his hands grip my arms, fingers digging in just enough to hold me still. “I’ve never disobeyed him.” His voice is quieter now, his breath warm against my face. “Until now.”
My pulse pounds against my ribs. “Kieran—”
“I won’t kill you, Hazel.” His grip tightens just slightly. “It’s not happening.”
I want to believe him. I do believe him. But that’s in this moment. And moments are fleeting.
His lips crash against mine.
I don’t even have time to react. One second, I’m standing there, heart hammering, breath shallow. The next, I’m pinned against the wall, his body pressing into mine, his hands gripping my waist with enough force to bruise.
This isn’t soft. It isn’t sweet.
It’s fire and fury. Heat and possession.
I don’t stop him. I should—I should push him away, should fight back. But I don’t.
I kiss him back just as hard.
A growl rumbles low in his throat as he drags me from the wall, moving us toward the bed. His hands are rough, claiming, sliding up my sides, fingers slipping beneath my sweater. He yanks it over my head and tosses it aside.
I barely get a breath before his hands are back on me, his mouth pressing against my throat, his teeth grazing my skin.
“Tell me to stop,” he murmurs, his voice low, almost dangerous.
I don’t.
I grip his shirt, yanking it over his head. My hands trail across his chest, over all the ink and his breath grows still before a whoosh comes out. I’ve never felt more powerful. His control is unraveling.
I want it to unravel.
The bed is behind me before I realize we’ve moved. Kieran shoves me back onto the mattress, his body covering mine in an instant, a force of possession and power. His weight crushes me into the sheets, his hands trapping mine above my head like iron shackles. There’s no escape—not that I want one.
“You’re mine right now,” he growls, voice like gravel, thick with something dangerous.
A shiver rolls through me, sharp and electric.
I should fight. Push back. Challenge him. But the moment his mouth crashes onto mine, all reason vanishes. He devours me, tongue tangling with mine, demanding submission. Heat ignites low in my stomach, a deep, aching pull. I’ve been with men before, but right now they seem like little boys, I’ve never felt anything like the strength of Kieran. His hands roam my body with a punishing grip—bruising, claiming, leaving invisible marks that I’ll feel for days. He’s not asking for permission. He’s not waiting for surrender. He’s taking.
And I let him.
Charlie’s sudden bark shatters the moment, making both of us snap our heads toward him. Kieran reacts instantly, pushing off me in a single, fluid motion. His sharp command has Charlie trotting toward the bathroom, tail low but obedient, and with a swift movement, Kieran shuts the door behind him, locking the dog inside.
As he turns back to me, his bare chest rising and falling with uneven breaths, he drags both hands through his thick, dark hair. The muscles in his arms flex, tension coiling through his frame, his tattoos shifting like living shadows over his skin. I take the chance to drink him in—the sharp cut of his jaw, the ink that snakes across his biceps and disappears beneath the waistband of his jeans, the way his eyes darken as they flick to me.
I should stop this. I know I should.
But tomorrow is tomorrow, and I have no idea what it will bring.
Right now, with Kieran standing there, fire burning between us, stopping feels impossible.
Kieran leans over me, his weight braced on his forearms, his body a wall of heat and tension. Ice-blue eyes lock onto mine, unblinking, unreadable, and I swear my heart is trying to claw its way out of my chest. The air between us is thick, charged, every breath stretched tight like a drawn wire.
I reach up, my fingers tracing along the sharp line of his jaw, feeling the roughness of stubble beneath my touch. He doesn’t flinch, doesn’t lean into it, just watches me with that same unwavering intensity, like he’s memorizing every move I make.
Seconds pass, the silence filled with nothing but our breathing, the faint thud of my pulse in my ears. Then, without warning, he claims my mouth again. His lips crash into mine with a force that steals the air from my lungs, his body pressing against me as if he can’t stand even an inch of distance.
There’s nothing soft about it. Nothing careful. His hands slide over my skin, firm, possessive, as his mouth takes and takes, like he’s starving for something only I can give. A deep sound rumbles in his chest, vibrating against me, and I don’t know if it’s frustration or need—maybe both.
I should stop this.
I don’t.
Instead, I pull him closer, my fingers digging into his shoulders, into the solid muscle beneath inked skin. I don’t know what tomorrow will bring, but right now, I don’t care.
Kieran’s fingers slide along the band of my trousers and before I can think clearly, he’s pulling them down my thighs. I shimmy helping him get them off. He’s hands are back on my skin, gripping, claiming. My fingers fumble with his belt, tugging it free as he shoves his jeans down his legs, urgency fueling every motion.
The second I’m bare beneath him, he’s there, pressing me back into the mattress, his weight sinking into me like he belongs there. His mouth crashes back to mine, stealing my breath, swallowing the soft sounds escaping me as he shifts, knee pressing between my thighs, opening me up for him.
His lips break away, dragging down my neck, his teeth scraping over the sensitive skin at the base of my throat before he moves lower, tongue tracing the hollow between my collarbones. He sucks a bruise into my skin, a mark, a warning, then moves again, his mouth ghosting over the curve of my breast before his teeth sink in, just enough to make me gasp. A sharp sting, followed by the slow, wet slide of his tongue.
I arch into him, fingers threading into his hair, nails digging into his scalp as he repeats the cruel, perfect cycle—nip, bite, soothe. It’s maddening, the way he works me up, his hands gripping my hips, his thumbs pressing into my skin like he’s holding himself back from breaking me apart completely.
A moan slips from my lips before I can stop it, Kieran stills for half a second before exhaling a low, guttural sound.
“Fuck it,” he rasps, his breath hot against my skin. His fingers tighten on my waist as he drags me even closer.
Kieran growls low in his throat, his grip tightening as he captures my chin, forcing my gaze to his. His eyes burn—dark, possessive, all-consuming. “Eyes on me, Hazel.”
I swallow hard, my chest rising and falling in ragged breaths.
His fingers trail lower until he stops over my clit and circles with the same perfection and precision, he applies to everything, the movement makes me tremble beneath him. My pulse pounds, my thighs clenching around him, but I don’t look away. I can’t.
Kieran shifts, his body pressing harder against mine, suffocating me in the best way. He abandons my clit and moves over me. His mouth ghosts over my ear, his breath hot and uneven. “You want this.”
It’s not a question.
It’s a claim. When I don’t answer, he reaches down and places his cock at my opening before pushing inside me, it’s not slow. It’s not careful. It’s raw. He moves with sharp quick motions that are filled with power and I’m already crying out as an overwhelming buzz sets my nerve endings on fire.
He keeps my wrists pinned, controlling every movement, every gasp. His pace is relentless, his grip unyielding, dragging me higher, unraveling me piece by piece until I don’t know where he ends and I begin.
“Kieran—”
“I’ve got you,” he growls, voice strained, desperate, as he crushes his lips to mine. “You’re mine.”
His movements for the first time become erratic, there is no beat to his movements, almost like a frenzy, and I feel like I’m diving head-first into a tornado.
My body seems to go into overload and the buildup hits its peak and when I fall apart beneath him, he follows. His grip tightens on my wrists as he slams into my body and empties himself between my legs.
The aftershocks leave me trembling, my body still wrapped around his. Kieran doesn’t move right away. His forehead rests against mine, our breaths mingling in the dark.
For a long moment, neither of us speak.
But I feel it.
A shift. A break.
Something irreversible.
Kieran finally pulls back, his hand trailing down my side, his thumb brushing my hip.
“Sleep,” he murmurs.
I close my eyes.
But I know sleep won’t come.
Not when I’ve just crossed a line I can never uncross.
And not when tomorrow, we face Patrick.