Page 151 of Lawless Sinners

Then I hunt him like he’s always hunted me.

I skirt the edges of the room, teetering past the flower arrangement in my heels, past a waiter with his back to me, and dodging three women gossiping about someone else’s marriage.

The side door opens into a quiet corridor with cream walls and the muffled noise of the ballroom behind me.

Fionn stands halfway along with his back to the wall, phone to his ear, one hand in his pocket.

“I can be there tomorrow afternoon,” he mutters. “And it’s the one I want?”

I walk up behind him and stop, my heart hammering in my chest.

“Fine, text me the time.”

He ends the call and pockets his phone before turning and meeting me face to face. His pupils flare, though his expression stays neutral.

There's no taunting smile, or hint of heat. Just a stillness that gives me goosebumps.

I glance over my shoulder to make sure the corridor is empty, then step into him.

“You’re doing a good job of avoiding me,” I say.

“Not good enough, apparently.”

My stomach drops a little, and I tell myself this is the game we always play, so I lift my hand to his chest.

He catches my wrist before my fingers reach his lapels and pushes my hand away.

“Don’t touch me.”

My brows snap together, and I straighten slowly because there’s no tease in his voice that gives me an opening to fire something smart back at him.

“You can’t have it both ways, ya know,” I say.

“I only need my way, so if you’ll excuse me.”

When he goes to walk away, confusion splits under my ribs, small at first, then wider when I reach for his hand, and he brushes me off.

“You can drop the act,” I say, but my voice isn’t as steady as I’d like it to be because this isn’t the same as before. “No one’s here.”

He runs his tongue under his top lip and takes a noticeable step away from me. “Who the fuck do you think you are?”

His eyes narrow with anger, and my breath stutters.

“Following me out here,” he says. “Putting your hands on me. Acting as if one night in my bed gives you some sort of claim.”

The air leaves my lungs in a rush, and every muscle in my body braces against the hit I didn’t see coming.

“I didn’t think that⁠—”

“No, you didn’t fucking think.” His voice stays low, but there is enough venom in it to make my skin go cold. “My fiancée is in that ballroom.”

Heat crawls up my neck.

“I told you I was marrying her,” he says. “So back off.”

For a second, all I can do is stare at him because this isn’t the same man who drove me home, fed me in his kitchen, and slept with his arm around my waist. This is someone else wearing his face.

“What part of that don’t you understand?” he continues, his tone almost mocking. “I’m marrying Eilish. She’ll be my wife, she’ll sleep in my bed, and she’ll have every right to stand beside me in public. You will not.”