Saint
The man is already on his knees when I walk in.
Rafe slams the door behind us, drawing the man’s head up fast.
His wrists are bound behind him, shoulders pulled back, breath uneven from wrestling Dane before I got here.
He blinks at me the way they all do once reality clicks.
Dane leans against the far side wall, arms folded. He hitches his chin when I nod over to him.
I take the gun from my holster and let it hang at my side as I move closer to the guy who owes us money.
“I’ve got it, I swear to God. I just need—”
“I’m not interested in excuses.”
I crouch before him to bring us level and press the barrel under his chin, lifting his head up until his eyes meet mine.
His throat works around it, breath catching in short bursts he can’t settle.
“How much do you owe me?” I ask.
“You know how much,” he says in a hurry. “I just needed a few more days—”
The barrel digs in harder, and his words cut off. “I didn’t ask for an explanation.”
His jaw tightens, teeth baring until he realizes it won’t get him anywhere.
“Twenty k,” he says.
I hold his gaze while I nod once, as though we’re agreeing on something simple.
“And how much have you brought me?”
“Seven,” he says, swallowing hard. “I’ll get the rest, I prom—”
I smack the gun off the side of his head, not in the mood to tolerate bullshit. He slumps to the ground, blood blooming from his skull.
That’ll hurt, but it sure as fuck won’t get my cash any quicker.
Dane shifts off the wall, coming toward me.
“We taking the seven?” he asks, not quite stepping in, just close enough to be heard.
From the ground, the guy whimpers some shit about selling a horse or whatever.
“You knew what the terms were when you borrowed my money,” I say, gripping my gun tighter. “Miss the payment date, it costs ya.”
“I didn’t miss it,” he insists, voice cracking at the edges. “I’m here, aren’t I?”
I sink to my haunches and jab the gun under his chin again, pushing so his neck strains against it.
His breath stutters.
“You think showing up with less than half counts?” I ask. “I’m running a fucking business. Not a charity.”
“It’s a down payment,” his words rush out. “You’ll get the rest tomorrow.”
“No one fucks with me,” I grit. “Not you, not anyone. Are we clear?”
“I’ll get it,” he says. “You know I will. Trust me, Saint.”
“I don’t trust anyone,” I mutter. “Especially not people who do business with Alasdair Harrington.”
I keep the gun where it is, so it’s easy to pull the trigger and show this fucker who’s in charge around here.
Seconds pass as I consider it.
“You know anything about the Crowe brothers from the North?” I ask him. “Are ya working with them?”
His breathing turns rough and uneven, the sound of it filling the room. “Never heard of––”
“Bull-fucking-shit.” I grab him by the collar and shove my gun under his jaw.
Dane’s footsteps come up beside me. “Saint.”
The man’s throat works again, his voice dropping. “I don’t know who they are. You’ll get your money.”
“Bring the rest tonight.” I pull the gun away. “Or you don’t get another chance.”
The air leaves him all at once, his head dropping forward as he sucks in a deep breath.
He nods fast. “I will. I swear—”
I step back and holster my gun, already reaching for my smokes.
Rafe moves in, hauling the man to his feet. He stumbles as Rafe drags him toward the exit, still rambling, still promising, the words running together until the door shuts and cuts him off.
Dane watches me light up a cigarette, his gaze holding as he pushes off the wall.
“You good to keep going?”
I drag smoke into my lungs and let it out through my nose. “We’re done here.”
When he nods, I turn and head for the door, shouldering it open without slowing.
Despite the rain, I push out onto the narrow strip of concrete behind the shop. The alley is tight, brick on both sides, bins shoved against the walls, the ground wet under my boots.
Rafe trails the guy with him, one hand locked in his jacket, pulling him toward the side gate where he can run off.
Dane moves ahead, already pulling his keys free as he reaches the Ford parked along the curb.
I pull the peak of my cap lower and follow, my attention fixed on the puddles.
The wintry cold should bite, but I feel nothing.
Dane unlocks the car and climbs into the driver’s side. I pull the passenger door and wait for Rafe to catch up. Once he ducks into the back seat, I drop into the front and shut out the wind.
I crank the window lower and bring the cigarette back to my mouth as streetlights slide across the windscreen, washing the inside of the car in brief strips of light before dropping us back into shadow
“You’ve been quiet since she left.”
Dane glances at me before looking back at the road, one hand draped on the wheel the other resting on the gear stick.
“Didn’t think you’d let her walk knowing she could sign that land over,” Rafe shouts over the engine from behind me.
I flick ash out of the window and keep my eyes on the street.
“I’ll get the land.” I take another drag.
“How?” Rafe asks. “Does that involve her coming back to ours?”
My temper catches. I lock it down. “I don’t want to see her again.”
“Course ya don’t.” Dane glances at me.
I flick my cigarette out the window and look straight ahead.
“Shay say anything else about the south gate?” I ask, changing the subject.
Dane shifts gear and plants his foot on the accelerator. “Said the latch was off when he checked it.”
“Head back to the yard.”
Rafe leans forward between the front seats. “We’re not hitting Kearney then? He owes us.”
“Later.”
Dane signals and takes the road home, the car racing along the country roads as my focus drifts somewhere else.
The Ford comes through the gates and slows in the yard. I’m already reaching for the door before it stops.
A couple of lads look up as I climb out, but I don’t slow for them or give them anything to read.
“Shay at the south gate?” I ask over my shoulder, walking away.
“Yeah.”
The cabin sits where it always has, lights off, door shut. I take the steps two at a time and shove the door open.
When I stop inside, there’s no sound from the TV, no movement on the couch.
My attention goes to the table.
Her back arched on it. My mouth all over—
I go straight to the kitchen before the memory plays out, my hands closing around the table edge.
The legs scrape across the floor as the table comes with me. Tipping it onto its side, it catches the door frame before I force through and onto the porch, then down the steps, the weight knocking hard against the wood.
I leave it on the grass a few feet from the cabin and return indoors.
The kitchen cabinet door jerks wide. My hand closes around the nearest bottle, the cap twisting loose before it reaches my mouth.
Whiskey burns going down. On my way out, I take another drink and go straight to the table.
Whiskey spills over the wood when I soak the surface. It runs down the legs and seeps into the grass beneath. The empty bottle drops beside my boots.
The lighter is already in my hand, and a flame catches when I strike it.
I hold it there, watching it dance, then let it drop. The fire takes fast, licking across the lacquer, raging over the wood and climbing higher as heat pushes through the cold air.
I stand there and watch it burn.
After a few minutes, I head back inside, reach for another bottle, and drink.
The cold meets me again when I walk out onto the porch. I lower myself onto the top step and take another long drink, keeping my eyes on the burning wood.
“Saint—”
Dane comes running up the path, stopping short when he sees the fire.
“What the fuck—” He cuts himself off when he sees me, shaking his head.
I don’t look at him.
“Never liked that table,” I say, taking another drink.
He strides closer, eyes tracking the charred legs giving under the heat.
“That’s your solution now, is it?” he asks. “Torch anything that reminds ya of Keira.”
“Button it.”
Dane huffs out a low breath and reaches over, taking the bottle from my hand. He drinks from it and stares at the fire. “Bit much over a girl.”
My hand goes to the back of my neck, dragging up into my hair as I lean forward, elbows on my knees.
“Don’t,” I say.
Dane glances at me.
“Don’t what?”
“Go there.”
He studies me, then looks back at the fire.
“Alright,” he says. “So, what is this, then?”
I exhale through my nose and pat my jacket pocket for my smokes. “Doesn’t matter.”
Dane takes another drink and sits next to me on the step.
“I’m just off the phone with our solicitor,” he says, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “I asked him to do a little digging. Turns out the land was signed over to her while she was here.”
The fire spits. I keep my eyes on the angry flames, but I’m not seeing them properly anymore.
“She didn’t know, Saint,” he says. “Her da pulled a move.”
Jesus fuck.
I handed her back to him.