Page 3 of Desecrated Reign

I tip my chin and curl my arms across my torso, holding myself tighter. My eyes bounce between my mother and Fiadh, and the heavy weight of guilt presses down on my shoulders once more. Fiadh’s icy-blue eyes hold my gaze, and the urge to look away and hide the emotion building along my lower lash line wins. Suddenly, the room is suffocating, so I toss my thumb over my shoulder and point towards the nearest exit, to the one place I’ve avoided since we arrived at the cabins after Liam’s funeral. Well, except for when I visit it in my dreams.

My feet carry me towards the exit, but as I reach for the door handle, a soft and gentle touch sets on my shoulder, stopping me in my tracks.

“Have you heard from Beibhinn?” Fiadh’s voice cracks on the last word, each syllable dripping with sorrow.

Craning my neck, I peer at her over my shoulder and shake my head. “Not in a few days.” Her swallow is audible with the jut of her chin. “If I hear from her, I’ll let you know,” I assure her, flashing a sad smile.

Something lights behind Fiadh’s eyes, something I can’t quite place. “My son loved you, you know… always did. That first summer he met you, he told me you were his missing piece.” She laughs, but there’s a sombre lilt etched to it, as though she’s enjoying the memory but mourning the loss behind it. “Promise me something?” I tip my chin, nodding yes because the words get trapped behind the lump in my throat. “Don’t let his death be for nothing, Saoirse. Prove to them what he always knew. Killybegs, the Leinster Syndicate, everything Gabriel King stole… belongs to you. It always has.”

Her words are similar to the ones Liam spoke in my dream, but it doesn’t make them easier to swallow. If anything, it makes it harder. How can she stand there giving me words of encouragement when I ripped her world apart? Liam is dead, and Beibhinn is MIA. “It’s my fault he’s gone. My fault Beibhinn is not here.”

Her hands cup my cheeks, eyes boring into mine. “Stop blaming yourself. You didn’t set this in motion, Saoirse. They did. And once I can prove who was involved, they will pay for every fuckin’ thing they took from us. Mark my words!”

Before I can respond, my phone pings with an incoming message. Without my permission, my eyes fall to my hand, and I glance at the screen.

Rohan.

Fiadh follows my gaze. “You should talk to him.”

Clamping my lips shut, I swallow the lump in my throat. “I know. And I will.” Eventually.

Finally, her hand lands on my shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze before she turns on her heel, leaving me standing alone in the hallway.

My eyes dart between the door and the stairs. Do I run, or do I face my fears?

The same mantra that has kept me going since I first stepped foot in Killybegs rings through.

Never feed your fears, Saoirse. Because if you do, they will eat you alive.

With a heavy inhale, I grip the handle and open the door.

2

ROHAN

The navy night sky does nothing to hide my piss-poor attitude, especially when I’m checking my phone every two seconds, only to be met with radio silence.

“My wee lass still ignorin’ your texts?” Lorcan’s Northern brogue drawls through the cab as the glow of my phone screen highlights my twisted lips.

“That obvious, huh?”

“If it helps any, Eanna said she’s doing better. She went for a run this morning.”

It’s been almost a week since we left Saoirse, Eanna, and Fiadh at the cabins—four days after the explosion that drastically altered everyone's world, and I’ve hardly heard a peep from Saoirse since—nothing more than brief one-word replies. Still, I’ll take those over her deliberately ignoring me and leaving every single message on read.

But since I’m a sucker for punishment, I shoot off one more pathetic text.

Rohan

Please, love. Just let me know you're okay.

Saoirse

…

When the three little dots appear only to fade away to nothing, I slam my phone into the passenger footwell, then turn towards Lorcan. Left eyebrow raised, he stares at me with a knowing smirk.

“Don’t.”

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