Page 129 of Lawless Rivals

“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.”