Page 237 of Lawless Sinners

Saint’s gaze hardens. “Do you know something about Rafe?”

“The Crowes came here with my father’s men. He built the evidence against Dane, then had him arrested.” Fionn hits send. The faint swoosh barely carries over the blood pounding in my ears. “I’ll find out whether Rafe disappearing was part of the same plan.”

The pounding in my skull intensifies. Alasdair framed Dane, and Rafe vanished that same night. I’ve been treating them as separate disasters, but both lead back to him.

“Since when did your da side with the Crowes?” I ask.

“I don’t think he sided with them. He’s using them, or they’ve found a way to use him. I’ll find out which.”

Saint holds his stare across the churned mud. “Press whoever ya need to. The second you find a link, call me.”

“I will.”

Saint answers with a single nod, without the usual warning or threat. Whatever else Fionn is to him, my brother has just let him into this fight.

Fionn selects a number, but before he makes the call, he reaches for my hand and pulls me close. Our arms press together as he lifts the phone to his ear.

Someone answers.

“It’s Fionn. I want every contact between my father’s men and the Crowes. Start before they came south.”

When he ends the call, he pockets his phone and turns me to face him, taking my face in his hands. “It’ll be okay.”

“Will it?” I whisper. “Ma’s dead, Dane could get locked up and Rafe’s missing. And I have no idea who Eilish married. If she’s even safe. How am I going to get out of this fucking nightmare, Fionn?”

“The way you always do. You fight.” Fionn bends and presses his lips to my forehead. “Then you’ll marry me, little wild thing, and I’ll destroy anyone who tries to come between us.”

The End…

Turn the page and meet Rafe and Tate in Lawless Vows, where a forced marriage binds him to the Crowe sister—and he has no idea his new bride is the masked assassin who wants him dead.

Tate

Rafe’s blood spatters like black ink on the wet concrete.

Under the security light fixed above the old farmhouse door, it marks a path where a bare-chested Tallon fights for his life.

I lean against the stone wall beneath the overhang, ignoring the cold night air working its way through my hooded jacket while I enjoy the ringside view a few feet away.

After dragging him out of Cork last night, I spent most of today waiting for whatever we pumped into him to finally clear his system.

I could’ve started his punishment while he was half-conscious, but where’s the fun in that?

I’ve already spent too long staring at Rafe, but the light streaming across his wet skin provides details that photographs don’t offer.

My hood sits low over my forehead, my hair scraped back under the balaclava I swapped with my usual respirator mask.

Callum charges him again, throwing everything behind a wild right hand, but Rafe slips outside his reach and catches him across the side of the head.

My eyebrows rise, and my head nods a fraction.

For a man built as sturdy as he is, Rafe’s sloppy technique is somehow giving him the upper hand.

Despite that, he’s standing tall after several rounds with one of the Crowes’ top enforcers.

Worse, he looks annoyingly cool as fuck doing it, which earns him perhaps three seconds of respect.

However, physical attractiveness and a semi-decent uppercut will not change how this ends.