Page 36 of Destructive Truths

“Hit me.”

“Right now—today—if you had to choose between Rohan and Liam, who would it be?”

My heart raps against my rib cage, pounding so hard it echoes in my eardrums. A knot coils tight in the pit of my gut, and my mouth dries up. Dampening my lips with a swipe of my tongue, I mull over her question. It should be a simple answer, but for whatever reason, I hesitate. My eyes flick toward the table. And then, as if summoned by Beibhinn’s question, Liam appears, striding across the pathway with an air of confidence only he could possess. He’s a man on a mission, and his mission is me.

Everything from his clothes to his hair is meticulous. He’s an enigma, a bad boy canvas wrapped in a classic clean-cut bow. There is something so delicious about the tease of tattoos and piercings that peek out from behind his perfectly put-together exterior. Butterflies take flight in my stomach as flashes of last night invade my mind. With him, I can let my guard down, and if I jumped, I know he’d be right there, waiting to catch me.

Liam Devereux is my lighthouse, shining his calming beacon and guiding me back to shore.

“Liam.” I tilt my gaze towards Beibhinn, catching the slight tilt of her smile. “I’d choose Liam.”

“Go get him, then.” Beibhinn slaps at my thigh, urging me to get out of the car.

When my eyes flick back out the windscreen, Liam is leaning against a nearby pillar, arms folded across his chest and his bottom lip caught between his teeth, waiting for me to make the first move.

Pushing Rohan to the back of my head, I exit the car and make my way towards Liam.

“Good mornin’, darlin’. How’d you sleep?” Liam leans back, a slow and lazy smile on his face. Without hesitation, I close the distance between us. His arms wrap around my waist, and he effortlessly lifts me off my feet and moulds his mouth to mine.

The world is watching, but I don’t care.

Only love a king when he deserves it. That’s when he’ll need it most.

TWENTY-TWO

ROHAN

I’m seconds away from crossing the courtyard and forcefully removing Devereux’s arms from his fucking body. I’m walking a delicate tightrope, one frayed thread away from snapping and saying fuck it.

My fingers grasp the edge of the picnic bench, the force turning my knuckles white as my teeth grind, biting through the anger clawing through my veins. I only have myself to blame. This is what I wanted. Saoirse, as far away from me as possible—safe and protected from my father’s plans.

Two more days until she turns eighteen, two more fucking days, and she steps into a role my father aches to keep. But his time is running out, and he and I both know the syndicate will descend on her, testing her strength and searching for her weakness.

Saoirse has no idea what the syndicate will take from her, and she won’t until she passes her first trial. Gabriel’s plan isn’t far from my desires, but no matter how much I want her, I can’t let her choose me. Not when my father will use it to benefit himself.

Mine.

Mine.

Mine.

Those four letters play over and over in my mind, but I fight against them and remind myself to stay fucking calm, to hold in the boiling rage bubbling to break free.

Tilting my head to the sky, I draw my joint to my lips and inhale, allowing the smoke to fill my lungs and ease the ache in my chest. Nothing can erase how she’s looks at him as though he hung the moon in her darkened sky. But without me stealing her light, he’d never shine.

Needing a reminder, I rob another glance, torturing myself when I see Liam’s hand dance along the hem of her school skirt.

My stomach clenches, and I know if I am to make it through the day without committing murder, I need to get far the fuck away from Devereux and the show he’s putting on.

We’re both liars, love. Ligeann sé aire. Ligean orm nach bhfuil. He pretends to care. I pretend I don’t.

* * *

Avoiding Saoirse is proving to be rather tricky, especially when we share most of our classes, given we’re both honour students. But, unlike in English, she sits on the opposite side of our music class next to Beibhinn, as far away from me as she can get, eyes focused straight ahead, successfully ignoring my existence.

At the top of the class, Mr O’Dowd gains everybody’s attention. “Good morning, class. Close all books. Today we are covering the importance of”—he picks up his whiteboard marker and scrawls today’s lesson across the board—“expressing emotions through music.”

It may come as a surprise to most, but music is one of my favourite subjects. At an early age, my mother taught me how to channel my emotions through the keys on the grand piano in my pool house. Long after she left, that piano was, and still is, the only thing that makes me feel safe enough to speak my heart aloud.

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