Keira
It’ll be pitch black out here soon.
With just me and Saint, miles from civilization.
He follows behind, and when my boot catches on the step leading into the mobile, the worn strip of metal wobbly underfoot, he grabs my arm to steady me.
His grip is quick and sure, with no hesitation in it. As I get my foot under me, he lets go before I’ve time to pull away.
I ignore how my pulse goes wild at the simplest of touches.
The dirty pan from this morning sits on the counter, and with Saint moving past me to get further inside, I hold my breath.
This space is way too small to avoid close contact.
He drops the backpack onto the counter and pulls out a few tins, stacking them in a high cupboard.
If things were different, I’d help. However, making me traipse after him all day while subjecting me to glares and whispers, has worn away my patience.
I fold my arms across my chest and stand there. The silence is loud out here under the haze of dusk.
“What did your mother mean earlier?” I ask. “About history repeating itself.”
A tin thumps against the cupboard.
“Your da and mine fought over boundaries. The hatred started with our grandparents. And here we are fighting all over again.”
I move closer, stopping at the counter, my gaze lifting to the tins he’s lined up with the labels facing outwards.
“She looked at me when she said it.”
“It’s no secret Ma doesn’t like ya.”
“Your mother doesn’t know me,” I say, picking up a jar of coffee, unscrewing the lid and sniffing the granules. “Thank God you brought coffee.”
That earns me the smallest flicker of a smile.
“Seems we both like coffee in the morning,” he says. “We’ve got eggs and sausages too.”
I pull open a slim cupboard and put the jar out of the way.
“I’ve never been camping before,” I murmur, quieter now, more to myself than to him.
Saint grunts out a half-laugh. “Yeah, I can’t imagine your family slummin’ it in nature. Especially that pretty boy brother of yours.”
When I glance over at him, he’s looking right at me. Flutters burst inside my chest.
“Have you ever spoken to Fionn?”
“Never needed to.”
“So, your opinion of him is based on—”
“That he’s a self-righteous prick.”
I make a face at him. “Right. You think Fionn’s a prick, and I think your brothers are Neanderthal ‘yes men’.”
Saint chuckles and stops unpacking the supplies to look at me again.
“That makes us even.”
I press a hand to my chest and feign a gasp. “Have we reached a truce?”
As he stares at me, my pulse thrums in my neck, and my heartbeat trips for a second.
“How about we call a truce when we’re out here.”
My brows snap together. “But when we’re back with your apes, you’ll call it off and keep humiliating me?”
This time he frowns. “I’m not trying to humiliate ya.”
“You sure about that?” I unfold my arms, only to prop them on my hips. “So parading me through your yard today as your pet Harrington was just you being a decent kidnapper?”
“Don’t blame me for keeping you close so ya don’t cause trouble.”
“Of course, I’m blaming you.”
“Fine… Blame me,” he mutters. “It’s been a long day. I’m sure you’re starvin’. I’ll get the fire started.”
“Right, then I’ll head to the hotel bar and enjoy a few cocktails,” I say, offering him a saccharine-sweet smile.
“Bring a few beers outside with ya.” He nods to the counter where he’d unpacked a six-pack of cans.
I nod as he heads for the door, careful not to touch me on his way past. Cool air blows in through the opening before the door swings shut behind him.
I stay rooted to the spot for a heartbeat, my gaze lingering on the counter, on the alcohol, on the cramped interior we have to share for another night.
Glancing at the bed, I drag a hand down my face and exhale a loud, frustrated sigh. In a matter of hours, I’ll be in the same bed as him. Again.
I roll my eyes at that, pop the collar on the coat I’m wearing that belongs to him, stuff a beer can in one pocket, then the other, and head outside carrying two more.
Gravel from the manmade camping plot crunches under my boots as I wander the length of the mobile and round the rear, spotting Saint at a cleared patch of dirt just beyond the shed, the blackened stones already set where he needs them.
“You cooking out here too?” I call, stopping at the edge of the solid woodshed built with thick timber beams to weather any storm.
He doesn’t look up. “Food tastes better cooked outdoors.”
“Very self-sufficient,” I say, studying the metal grill and chunky tree trunk seats.
“Not all of us were waited on by private chefs,” he replies, striking something against the metal, the first spark catching.
“They never offered me a meal with a view this good,” I admit, forcing my gaze away from him, toward the far-off fields and sweeping hills.
Saint glances over his shoulder.
“It’s not your fault your da does everything for show.”
He crouches near the fire pit, dragging two thick logs into place before bracing one knee against the ground and striking the lighter again, working the flame into the kindling until it catches.
Smoke blows sideways with the wind, then changes direction as the flames take hold.
From inside the shed, the radio transmitter that sits on a messy tool bench crackles, and Shay’s voice comes through the airwaves.
“Saint… Are ya there? Over.”
Saint pushes to his feet and stalks past me, moving inside to grab it.
As he passes by, I hold my breath without meaning to. When I exhale, the ache inside me tightens.
“I’m here,” he says.
“Thought you’d wanna know the plan is landing well.” Shay’s voice comes through, clearer now.
Saint lifts the radio to his mouth. “Tell me more.”
“Word’s spreading through Black Heath and into Dublin,” Shay says. “It’s causing chaos.”
Saint bends and props his elbows on the bench, keeping his back to me and the radio close.
“And the ones closest to Harrington?”
“Scrambling,” Shay replies. “With debts being called in early, they’re floundering. Rafe and Dane are dealing with the fallout. Making sure the Harrington name is dirt.”
Saint nods. “And what’s he doing?”
“He’s gone quiet,” Shay says. “Which means he’s working on something.”
I fold my arms across my chest in a self-like hug and shake my head. All this trouble for soil when Saint and my father have more than enough.
“Keep an eye on his men,” Saint adds. “This will hurt his business and his precious reputation. He’ll either sign or do something to win back favor.”
“Yeah,” Shay says. “I’m all over it.”
Saint lowers the radio, then brings it back up before Shay cuts the line.
“And Shay—”
“Yeah?”
“There’s every chance he’d send more men back to the yard. I wouldn’t put it past him.”
Shay exhales. “Understood.”
Saint straightens and sets the radio on the bench, then turns and walks straight past me again, heading back to the fire without breaking stride, as if nothing in that exchange requires a reaction from me.
I come up behind him, stopping where the heat reaches me. Saint reaches for another piece of wood and stares into the fire.
“Do you really expect me to stand by while you plot against him and think it doesn’t piss me off? He’s my father, Saint.”
His hand stills on the timber, then he tosses the log into the middle of the fire. Orange sparks blast outward like an explosion.
He angles his head toward me, his eyes finding mine with that same infuriating steadiness that reminds who he is.
“This started long before we met at the gala.”
His gaze holds mine, and my throat tightens.
“And he’s weighing up your importance with the land he claimed that was never his.”
I swallow the truth and shake my head. “So are you.”
The wind agitates my hair and whips up the flames as he stares at me, considering the reality of what this is now. He knows it, and so do I.
“I’m nothing like him. I value your life,” he says. “He doesn’t.”
“Of course he does,” I bite back. “He sent Riley, and you shot him. Now you’re leaning on men tied to my father to ruin them too. So don’t tell me you’re nothing like him.”
“You know all he has to do is sign, right?” he says. “And all this would be over.”
The simplicity of it draws heat to my neck.
“And you could just let it go. So, stop dragging me into your conversations about him. From now on, I won’t stand back and keep my mouth shut.”
“You’re saying plenty now, princess.”
I hold his gaze and force myself not to look away first.
“It’s just a piece of land between you and us,” I say. “Everything you’re doing to me…to him…comes back to that. Is it worth it?”
His mouth tightens before he answers.
“It’s not just land.”
“Yeah, it is,” I reply. “From where I’m standing, this is about control. Who gets to call it theirs.”
He gets to his feet and, as he kills the space between us, I walk backward, sensing the storm build inside him.
Shadows move across his face, and the wind stops blowing as we both inch inside the shed. When his chest bumps into mine, the air draws tight, and I take another step back.
“My father’s body turned up on that land with a bullet hole in his heart,” he says.
The hair on the back of my neck prickles.
“No one can tell me what happened,” he continues. “Old man Crowley closed the investigation and said there wasn’t any evidence to take it further.”
I don’t interrupt him, even though I want to.
“That land is important to me,” he says, quieter now. “It’s sacred. And it holds the truth of who murdered my da.”
He watches me for a beat, then speaks again.
“I’ll never stop fighting for it.”
I keep my arms folded, hold myself upright, and look at him even while my thoughts pull to how perfect his lips are and how his dark lashes frame stormy light-green eyes.
“You know my father lost his sister out there,” I whisper. “Whoever killed her could’ve killed your da, too. But taking the land won’t give us answers.”
“Your da doesn’t give a fuck about the truth,” he grits. “He had the power to blow the investigation wide open, yet he sided with Crowley and let the Gardai close it. He stole that land from my family days after they buried my da. Said it had always been Harrington land.”
I draw in a steadying breath. “And now you’re putting people at risk just to call it yours.”
“I tried to play nice in the past,” he says. “Didn’t work. Now I don’t give a fuck.”
His answer comes clean and certain, not dressed up to sway me.
“And if he doesn’t give it up?”
Saint’s gaze drills into mine.
“Then I keep taking from him until he has no choice.”
I shake my head and exhale.
“Kidnapping me wasn’t enough? What are you going to do to me next, Saint?”
His jaw tightens, the line of it harder now, the anger simmering without ever slipping.
“Nothin’.”
I laugh under my breath. “And why is that?”
His gaze dips to my mouth and rises again before I can decide whether I imagined it.
“I didn’t expect ya to be nothing like him. You’re not a typical Harrington.”
That answer gets under my skin and heats me all over.
“And all you do is talk about territory,” I go on, keeping my eyes locked on his. “About what it means, what it holds, that you won’t give it up. But what about seeing what’s in front of you instead of always looking back.”
“You’re missing the point.”
“No,” I say, shaking my head. “You are.”
His gaze sharpens and his brows drift skyward. “Watch it, princess, you’re getting ahead of yourself.”
I don’t stop.
“This isn’t about fences or the last place your father walked,” I say, pressing further, ignoring the warning in his voice. “This is about you losing him out there, and now you’re going to lose everyone else around you too.”
The words are out before I can suck them back in.
He closes the space in a single step, the movement cutting off any thought of retreat as my shoulders hit the wall, the timber solid against my spine.
His presence blots out the dying light, and I have to tilt my head back to look up at him.
“We’re done talking about this,” he says.
I swallow, my hands dropping to my sides because there’s nowhere else to put them.
“Fine.”
He exhales a slow sigh, and the clean scent of soap mixed with the cool countryside air surrounds me.
Our gazes lock, and my pulse stutters, even as every instinct tells me to push him away.
But something else in me doesn’t want to.
And he doesn’t back up either.
Everything seems heightened, my muscles tight, every second stretching while neither of us breaks first.
God, I want this man to kiss me.
Breathing deeply, he rakes a hand through his hair, the motion rougher than anything he’s shown before.
His hand pauses by his head before it lowers to my face. He thumbs my cheek, the rough pad skating across my skin before he pulls back as if it never happened.
My breath catches, and I hate that he sees my reaction.
“You know how this ends,” he says. “Don’t ya? Why this will never work.”
I keep my eyes on his, even as my pulse climbs, even as my body betrays me.
“It ends with us on opposite sides of the heath,” I whisper. “Pretending we hate each other…when we don’t.”
His gaze flicks to my mouth. “Precisely.”
“Then stop looking at me like that,” I murmur.
“It’s hard not to,” he says. “And we called a truce. Didn’t we?”
His thumb moves again, gliding along the curve of my jaw, the touch light enough to deny, firm enough that I can’t ignore it.
“We did…” I draw my lip between my teeth and clench my hands to stop them from reaching for him.
White noise crackles from the radio, tearing the tension apart before anything can happen.
“Saint, are you there?” Dane asks. “Can ya hear me?”
His hand stays at my cheek for a racing heartbeat, his gaze holding mine, the hunger there under the surface, unfinished and hot.
“You deserve better.”
Saint takes his hand away, closes his fingers, and heads to the workbench, replacing chemistry with restraint.
“Saint… Do ya hear me… It’s an emergency.”
“What’s wrong?” His tone turns glacial, full of iron control, the softness gone.
Dane’s voice pushes through, rushed and off, sending alarm bells ringing.
“It’s Sera…”
Saint’s grip tightens around the radio.
“She hasn’t come home. Ma sent her to Black Heath this afternoon. Then she was heading to the Kinnanes’ place after.”
The words hit, and my stomach drops, the reality of what’s happening flooding my mind.
“She’s not answering her phone, and Shay found her empty truck outside the store.”
“I’m on my way home.”
Saint drops the radio, already marching to the door. I go still, the echo of his touch still warm, but the burning ache in my core now twisted into pain.
Because I know what my father’s men are capable of. What orders he’s given in the past. How he treats his enemies.
And for the first time, I don’t know if that’ll work in my favor, or if Sera will survive.