Page 12 of Desecrated Reign

Donnacha’s glazed eyes scan over the small piece of paper, and he nods, squeezing his eyes shut when I apply a small ounce of pressure on the burdizzo. “Yes. Yes. That’s it.”

“If I find out your lyin’—”

“I’m not. I swear. That’s the address Gabriel gave me. I was supposed to meet him there tomorrow night at eight o’clock.”

Over his shoulder, I catch Lorcan’s gaze with my wicked smile. Then I clamp down as hard as I fucking can. Nothing, absolutely nothing, compares to the ear-splitting crunch that resounds when it snaps shut. Call me a masochist because, fuck me, it feels good.

My menacing laughter rumbles up my chest, be it can’t be heard over the banshee screams coming from my half-brother. “Don’t cry, big brother. It’s not like you’ll need your dick when my fiancée sends you to hell.”

7

ROHAN

Lorcan decides he’ll watch over Donnacha until Aodhán arrives to take over for the night shift, so I make my way back to the cabins without him, more than ready to rid myself of the blood stains coating my clothes and skin.

It’s later than expected, so I’m surprised when I steer the car down the long driveway and find Saoirse and Fiadh sparring on the dock, highlighted by the moon’s glow. Once I’m parked, I climb out of the car and lean against the bonnet, far enough out of sight but close enough that I can watch Saoirse follow Fiadh’s instructions, punching the pads on Fiadh’s hands in quick succession—left, right, right, left, uppercut. Rinse. Repeat.

As always, I find it hard to pull my focus from her, hypnotised by every movement she makes. I’m too far away to decipher the features of her face, but I don’t need to because I have every inch of her memorised—from the top of her stubborn head down to the tips of her toes.

I observe her form for a few more uninterrupted minutes, noting how much faster she’s become with her defence. Fiadh isn’t going easy on her either, giving her everything she’s got. A strange sense of pride washes through me. She’s grown so much since the first night I met her. But even then, when I had her pressed up against a tree in the forest at the back of her house, I saw the fight in her eyes. She just needed a reason to use it, and what better reason than the one thing she’s spent her life looking for… a family, a place to call home. Killybegs.

Stalker behaviour aside, I was kind of hoping to avoid Saoirse tonight. Not because I don’t want to see her… but because I don’t want her to see me. Not like this—the monster, not this man. But the second her whiskey eyes lock on mine over Fiadh’s shoulder, I know I won’t be able to hide. Not from her. Not tonight, and probably not ever.

Her eyes scan my body, lingering on the blood staining my white T-shirt, but instead of the disgust I anticipated, all I find is concern on her features.

Using her teeth, she undoes the strap of one of her boxing gloves before dropping it onto the decking and prying the next off with her fingers. She’s coming for me. I can see it in how she holds herself—her spine straight, her shoulders back, radiating confidence.

Too afraid of what she might find, I push off the car bonnet and turn my back toward her as I stride towards Lorcan’s cabin, the opposite cabin to where she’s been sleeping every night—a silent message to leave me alone. One she blatantly ignores.

“Rohan!” she calls out, but I keep my pace steady, pushing through the front door and taking the stairs two at a time before I close myself into the main bathroom.

I waste no time striping off my filthy clothes, then toss them into a pile on the floor. Suddenly, the bathroom door—the one I locked—swings open. Saoirse stands there, arms crossed over her chest with one brow raised in a look that screams Really, Rohan? That’s how you wanna play this.

Turning away from her, I reach into the shower and turn on the spray. “How did you get in here?”

When she refuses to speak to my back, I turn around, giving her a full frontal view. “Well?”

She holds up a small brown hair clip. “My mam taught me a thing or two, like how to get out of—or in this case, into—a locked room.”

“Great! Now get out.” I hate being like this with her, but she’s too close to the demon I unleashed tonight, and I need a fucking second to lock him away.

“I think I’ll stay.”

“Saoirse!” I warn, my tone clipped and strained.

Ignoring me once more, her eyes linger over every inch of my skin, checking for cuts and bruises. When she doesn’t find any but the ones on my hands, she drops her gaze to the pile of stained clothes on the floor. “Whose blood is that?”

She steps closer, leaving mere inches between us as she stares me down, waiting on a reply. I scan her face before latching onto her steady gaze. I promised her once I’d never lie to her, and I won’t. Without blinking, I look her dead in the eye. “It’s Donnacha’s.”

Her face creases with confusion. “You found him? When?”

“Last night.”

“Why didn’t you say something this morning?” Her hand reaches out, resting on my shoulder as she rubs the pad of her thumb across the healing wound—the one I got when I shielded her from the falling debris the night my car exploded with Liam inside.

Craning my neck, I follow her slow, calming touch with my eyes, then bring my attention to her face, hating the look I find when I do. I’m lost in her sadness when she lifts her gaze, waiting for my response.

“I was going to, I swear. But then, well, you didn’t seem like you were ready to hear it.”

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