Page 134 of Ruthless Reign

“Oh. He was asking me who designed this shirt?”

“Fuck off. He did not.”

“He did.” I scoffed. “But I told him we should bond over whiskey instead of fashion when we survive this.”

When.

I caught Kaleb’s tiny smirk as Hardin came around to stand in front of me, adjusting straps and doing up the zipper. I’d never seen him look so taut.

“Hey,” I said, grabbing his vest to tug him closer. “It’s going to be okay.”

He brought a hand up, settling it on the side of my neck, his thumb stroking over my chin, but the hardness didn’t leave his eyes. “Tell that to your heart rate, Hawk.”

I could feel the pulsing of my heart like a ticking countdown clock, and clearly, he could too from where his thumb was pressed against my carotid. I swallowed. “I’m trying.”

“So am I, Hawk.”

His hand dropped and he checked and rechecked every inch of my vest, looking for anything that might be wrong. “How does it feel? Can you move all right?”

I twisted, stretching out my arms and going into a crouch. It was heavier than I thought it would be. And it did make movement a little more difficult. I wished I’d had the foresight to have worn one around when we were still at Hardin and Kalebs, if only to get used to how it felt.

“I think it’s good.”

“Do you have an elastic, mo mhuirnín?”

Before I could answer him, he’d already slipped the thin black elastic from my wrist and started to pull my hair back. “What are you doing?”

“You don’t want to give anyone something to grab onto,” he explained, running his fingers through my tangles before starting to braid it back from my face.

“Are you…braiding my hair?”

I could hear the smirk in his voice when he replied. “I used to plait my Ma’s hair for her like this.”

As his fingers brushed the nape of my neck, I shivered.

Everything felt bittersweet, and I wanted to hold onto it all—hold onto them—so tightly that nothing could ever tear us apart.

I bit back against the sting in my eyes and the burn in my throat as Aodhán finished braiding my hair. He tucked the long plait into the back of my vest, and I reached back to feel the ridges of his work. It was three braids. One that started at my crown and two more that began just above my ears, the three of them joining into one thick cord at the back of my head.

“Shit,” I heard Kaleb mutter. “I need to up my game. Will you teach me how you did that, man?”

“Yeah, mate. Anytime.”

My heart warmed despite the chill of dread still clinging to the air. I was so fucking happy they were all getting along despite all the what-ifs winding us up.

What if Séamas managed to replenish his weapons and ammo since yesterday?

What if he blackmailed some of the other gangs into joining him in this fight and we were even more outnumbered when it came time to pull the trigger?

Or what if they just barricaded us in and set the building on fire? Or blew it up?

Aodhán said they wouldn’t. His da thrives on fear. On Chaos. He’d want a proper battle. He said this was exactly the thing he’d been starving for since they crushed all their rivals in Ireland: a real opponent. Someone to make things interesting.

He said this was what his dad lived for.

A sharp whistle sounded in the open space, and the guys and I rushed out from behind the tires to see Zade in the doorway.

“They’re coming,” he shouted, breathless, and Damien gave one terse nod before his eyes moved to address every Saint and Sinner in the room.

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