Page 41 of Lawless Rivals

The cuffs come off with a dull click. My wrists tingle as I rotate them outward.

“Thanks,” I mutter.

“Don’t thank me. Just behave.”

While I rub the skin, Saint steps into me, reaches past my shoulder, and turns the lock on the front door.

He’s close enough that my chest brushes his when I breathe, so close that I stop breathing altogether without even meaning to.

My pulse jumps hard against my throat as he stays there for a beat.

He pulls away, flips off his cap, and rakes his fingers through the messy hair on top of his head.

“I’m taking a shower,” he says, hooking the cap by the door and pulling his phone out as he backs away.

“Shay,” he says, calm as anything. “If the Harrington girl runs again, dispose of her body in the heath.”

Saint stalks toward the bathroom, and I kick off the track shoes I’d borrowed, furious at him for dragging me into the feud.

“What a guy. Did you order someone else to do it for you because you’re too much of a gentleman?” I say, my tone full of sarcasm.

He stops mid-stride and glances over his shoulder.

“The plan was never to kill ya,” he says. “I’m a busy man and you’ve taken up too much of my time already. Understand the way of it here so I can run things without ya fucking everything up.”

“Well, my plan was to never make life easy for my kidnappers,” I say.

His mouth curves into a slight smile. “You know what? I did your cheating ex a favor by taking ya off his hands. You’re hard work.”

I fold my arms across my chest. “And you’re awfully hung up on my ex.”

“Nah,” he says. “But one day you’ll learn there’s a difference between the men who lose you and the men who keep ya.”

“You sure as hell aren’t keeping me, Saint.”

He unbuttons his shirt, watching me as his fingers move. “Don’t forget you’re standing where I put ya. Push me, and that changes.”

With his shirt wide open, he turns on his heel and walks away. The bathroom door shuts, and the shower starts a moment later.

My feet stay rooted to the spot as I stand there, gaze flicking around his cabin as the situation finally sinks in.

Behind me, he locked the exit, yet my wrists are free.

I think about the distance to the yard, my failed attempt to escape, the men outside who’d leave me to rot in a peat bog, and take a mouthful of whiskey straight from the bottle.

The only sensible thing to do is wait… Wait for my father to figure it out.

I move to the couch and thump the bottle on the coffee table opposite me. The leather is cold through my clothes, and the wind has picked up again outside.

After a deep breath and a shake of my head, I get up again and round the furniture, kneeling at the hearth. I arrange the kindling in the grate, starting with the thinnest pieces before setting a chunky log on top. I flick the lighter until the kindling catches.

I stay where I am and stare into the flickering flames, not quite settled but content to be indoors.

When the water stops running from inside the bathroom, my stomach flips, and flutters burst against my ribs.

Saint returns with a towel wrapped around his hips. His hair is dark and wet, water dripping to his shoulders as he walks to the couch.

I look up before I can stop myself. With his bare chest and easy stride, he fills the space differently now, almost unguarded in a way he wasn’t before.