Page 72 of Lawless Sinners

Then he puts it on the wheel, and I stare out the window because grief has made me stupid enough to miss the warmth of his touch.

Once we get to the country roads close to home, I let out a heavy sigh. “Leave me at the top of my lane.”

“It’s raining.”

“I’m used to the rain.”

The Range Rover slows, and just as I think he’s going to pull in, he reaches into the back seat and grabs a black baseball cap.

He puts it on without looking at me.

A plain black cap. Nothing special. Nothing that deserves my attention.

Except it changes him.

The suit is still there, the clean shirt, the expensive watch, the controlled Harrington persona, but the cap drags something rougher out of him. Something younger. Meaner.

My stomach tightens before I can stop it.

Fionn glances over. “What?”

“Nothing.”

His eyes hold mine from beneath the brim.

“They’ll never know it’s me,” he says, putting his foot on the gas and driving straight past the Black Heath Stud plaque at the top of our lane.

Adrenaline pulses through me the closer we get. I know Shay will be around somewhere, even if my brothers have hung their coats up for the night.

“You heard of the Crowes?” he asks out of the blue.

I frown and glance over. “Yeah.”

“Their people killed a Tallon foreman and dumped his body in one of my containers.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

“Because you’re smart, Sera.” He keeps driving, his face shadowed, voice a deep rumble. “They’re waiting for us to fight each other. Harringtons and Tallons. It’s the cleanest way to take over the port.”

I stare at him, trying to find the lie in his face.

“How do I know you’re telling the truth?”

“You don’t.” He shrugs. “It would be wise to inform your brothers that the Crowes are closing in on your territory…and mine. Don’t dismiss the warning because you hate who said it.”

“Stop here,” I say quickly when we reach the main gate.

The car rolls to a stop, and I glance over my shoulder. “There’s a stupid part of me that wishes we didn’t hate ya so much.”

“Get out of my car, little wild thing.”

And I do. I climb out, close the door and jog toward the gate, not looking back.

“Who’s that?” Shay asks, dragging the gate open.

“A Kinnane driver,” I lie. “I drank too much vodka.”

As I head for the main house, the Range Rover tears up the lane, and my stomach knots.