Page 93 of Ruthless Reign

I pinched the bridge of my nose, trying to ease the ache starting behind my eyes.

Yeah, I couldn’t sleep, either, but if I didn’t soon, I knew every living thing in my immediate vicinity was at risk of being subjected to my monster.

Hawk sat on the edge of my bed amid the messy covers, close enough that I could reach out and touch her if I wanted, but after earlier…

There was something between them. Her and this Aodhán fucker.

It didn’t matter if supposedly he was going to help us. If he’d already done so much to try to keep her safe.

She was mine.

Ours.

Not his.

“What did your Dad say?”

About him. She wanted to know about what Damien thought about Aodhán, not what happened with Pope. I supposed I shouldn’t have been surprised.

I bit my tongue, feeling something twitch in my jaw.

“He’s not counting on anything,” I told her. Neither was I.

Dad was absolutely livid when I told him we met with the bastard who shot Kaleb, but he seemed more cautiously optimistic than Kaleb and I were. He said he knew firsthand the lengths a man would go to in order to try and protect someone he cares for. I knew it, too.

But Becca wasn’t his to protect. She was ours.

“He said to let it play out,” I continued. “If the little Irish fucker comes back, we’re supposed to bring him in.”

Little wasn’t exactly a fair description, but I didn’t give a fuck. Over six feet tall or not, Aodhán O’Sullivan was no better than the dirt under my goddamned boots.

Becca shifted on the bed. “Will Damien kill him?”

“Worried, Hawk?”

She dropped her head, wringing her hands in her lap.

I scoffed, shaking my head as I turned back to the cameras just in time to see a black car roll up to the front of the house.

“Get Kaleb,” I hissed, shoving out of the chair to draw my gun.

Becca didn’t question me, she was up and out the door, almost tripping in her haste to run back to Kaleb’s room.

A dark shape fell from the driver’s side door, struggling to get to its feet.

What the fuck?

I squinted, trying to make out the make of car, half wondering if this was one of ours, but no one I knew had a late sixties model Impala.

Kaleb crossed the threshold of my door, and I followed him into the living room, Becca on our heels, her weapon mercifully aimed at the floor. She was getting better, but I’d rather she didn’t keep that shit level with my damn head.

“What is it?” Kaleb whispered harshly in the dark as we silently slipped into the living room.

“Don’t know. Someone in an Impala.”

“An Impala?” Becca echoed, and something in her tone shifted, changing gears from fear to relief. “Aodhán has an Impala.”

“Is the idiot really fucking dumb enough to drive that shit right up to our house?” Kaleb hissed as I crossed to the window, keeping to the side, out of sight, to peer out into the pre-dawn streets.

---