Page 40 of Lawless Sinners

“Do you want me to come with you?”

“Nah.” I shake my head. “Stay here and drain Alasdair's expensive whiskey.”

I slip through the nearest archway, needing somewhere quiet to make the call.

Harrington wealth follows me along the corridor with its mahogany panels that make everything darker. I pass two men muttering out of earshot. One of them glances at me, then at the phone in my hand, but neither stop me.

Another corridor branches off to the left. I choose it because the party is distant now, and I only need a few minutes to plead my case.

At the end, I push open a door and walk straight into a glass room filled with potted plants and couches.

The air smells faintly of damp earth and citrus, and the temperature is just right.

A huge Harrington family portrait hangs on the only stone wall.

Fionn stands near the center in a dark suit, younger than he is now but already too controlled around the eyes. Keira is beside him, pretty and innocent, her chin raised like she came out of the womb unimpressed.

Their father sits in front of them, pretending he’s a king while their mother poses next to him, though her smile doesn’t quite fit.

The youngest sister with dark hair falling over one shoulder has a faint, guarded smile, probably because she’s been at St. Killians’ private boarding school for most of her life.

The last face is Lorcan. The cousin I’ve seen around at times but don’t know much about other than he’s a St. Killians’ alumni.

I take a deep breath and tap Rafe's number.

“What the fuck, Sera?” he hisses without a hello.

The way he says my name scrapes straight through the champagne and the dress and every stupid little thrill taunting Fionn has managed to pull out of me.

I glance towards the door. “Good evening to you too.”

“Don’t fuck with me, Gobshite,” he says. “You lied.”

“I creatively redirected.”

“You spun bullshit.”

I lower my voice. “How did ya find out?”

“I just heard from someone who’s at Fionn Vaughn Harrington's engagement party that my sister is there.”

“He’s engaged to Eilish.”

“You’re in their fucking house,” he bites out. “I don’t care who the hell he’s marrying: you shouldn’t be there.”

My silence answers before I do.

Rafe’s exhale blasts through the line. “I’m guessing Saint doesn’t know?”

“No.”

I look back at the portrait despite myself.

Painted Fionn watches the room with that same awful restraint, as though even a canvas version of him forgives nothing.

“It wasn’t my news to tell.”

“Don’t give me that loyalty shit. Not tonight.”