Page 41 of Destructive Truths

Liam’s face falls, and I imagine he’s feeling something very similar to how I felt moments ago—unimportant and replaceable.

“How long have you known?”

“What’s this?” My lips curl. “Twenty fucking questions!”

“Don’t be a dick. Just answer.”

“A couple of years.” Two, to be exact.

“Unbelievable.” Liam shakes his head. “For years, I was going to those cabins, and what, he forgot to mention it?”

“Well, you don’t have the greatest track record for keeping your mouth shut. Can you blame him?”

Liam sits back, dropping his head against the couch. “I was just a kid, Rí. I didn’t know any fuckin’ better.”

I lean forward, balancing my elbows on my knees. “That may be so. But she’s his kid. There’s fuck-all people he’d trust to protect her when he can’t.”

“Yeah?” He mirrors my movements, eyes laser focused on my every move. “What makes you so fuckin’ worthy?”

My tongue slides over my bottom lip, quickly followed by my teeth. I contemplate his question, digging deeper than I thought possible. “You gave her up for a chance at everything. I gave up everything for a chance with her.”

“Things have changed.” Liam’s hand slaps against the table, his anger flowing over. “I’m not that kid anymore, Rohan. She means something to me. More than the syndicate.”

My teeth clamp tight, and jealousy seeps through me. I knew this was a probable outcome when I walked away from her, but hearing it aloud cracks my chest plate wide open. My fists curl into balls, and my fingernails bite into the soft flesh of my palms.Beneath the surface, a caveman bangs his chest, repeating the word mine.

The urge to jump from my seat and slit Liam’s throat is almost too tempting… but I created this. Now I need to pay the price for the choice I made.

“How do you do it?” Liam interjects a question into my thoughts. His voice holds a pensive note.

“Do what?”

“Tell your dad to go fuck himself.”

“Easy.” I rise from the chair, make my way over to the liquor cabinet beneath the TV, and pull out a bottle of Jameson and two glasses. After dropping the glasses onto the coffee table, I pour both of us a generous measure and slide one glass towards Liam. “Four syllables, one after the other.”

“Hilarious.” Liam reaches for his glass as I fall back into my seat.

“Do you want my honest answer?”

“I asked, didn't I?”

Downing the whiskey like a shot, I refill as I reply. “There comes a point when you have to decide if the person you’re trying to impress is who you want to become. For me, I was pretty fucking young when I realised I never wanted to be a reflection of the devil. From that point on, I knew I’d do whatever it took—and endure whatever hell I had to—in order to claw my way out from beneath his shadow. Don’t get me wrong,” I continue, “standing up to him is never easy. Hell, you saw me on Saturday. But Gabriel King and Oliver Devereux have one thing in common. They both think they’re untouchable. They thrive on power and greed. Taking them down is a marathon, not a sprint. You need to play them at their own game and bide your time.”

I reach towards the chessboard on the side table next to my armchair, and Liam’s eyes follow. “Then, when they think they have control of the board, you swoop in.” With my pointer finger, I knock the black king over, and it rolls across the board before falling to the floor. “And checkmate.”

“Why are you telling me all this?” His brow furrows, eyes narrowing with doubt.

My shoulders rise with an intake of breath. “Like it or not, we’re on the same side of the board, Liam—protecting the same queen.”

His head drops into his palm as his shoulders rise and fall with his heavy breaths. Finally, he brings his eyes back to me. “I can’t protect her from the entire fucking syndicate, Rohan. My dad, Donnacha, Gabriel… those I can handle. But we’re talking about the entire fucking organisation here. Reality is, once they find out she’s Lorcan’s heir, all hell will break loose.”

I had a feeling it would come to this. He’s in too deep, falling too fast and too hard. Like me, he’s never giving her up, not now. Not fully.

“What are you saying?” I prod, needing clarification on what I think he’s throwing out.

Liam swallows his pride, keeping his eyes on me. “I’m not enough, Rohan. She needs us both.”

“You’re right, but that’s not what she wants. She said it herself”—or rather, sang it—“she’s made her choice.” And so have I. At least, I think I have.

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