Page 25 of Desecrated Reign

Mo bhanríon wastes no time. She cocks her finger back and pulls the trigger, laying Donnacha and all the pain he caused her to rest.

15

SAOIRSE

As the bullet expels from the chamber, the reverberation travels through me, rattling my spine. Blood splatters across my face with the blowback, and my eyes widen as the breath rushes from my body faster than the ammunition that exited my barrel.

Trembling, I clutch the gun, and the taste of adrenaline lingers in my mouth. Around me, the room has turned suffocating; the walls closing in on me like a claustrophobic cage as I spy Donnacha’s lifeless body sprawled on the cold, unforgiving floor, his menacing presence forever silenced. The reality of what I’ve done takes over, freezing me in place. Everything around me blurs, and I close my eyes, trying to compose myself before I shatter. Panic grips my throat as I fight against the vomit bubbling in my stomach at the gaping wound covering half of Donnacha’s face.

Instead of feeling remorse for my actions, I remind myself of Donnacha's choices. His every move led him to the bottom of my barrel, staring at his bitter end. He didn’t deserve to live. He was a predator, and if given the opportunity, he would have stolen my last breath, just like he had attempted to do before.

My mind pendulums, swaying back and forth between condoning my actions and wondering whether I should feel guilt-ridden or not.

But that’s the thing… I don’t feel guilty—not one bit—and that’s the worrying part. If I’m honest, I enjoyed it far too much. Watching Rohan unleash on Donnacha fuelled a part of me I never knew existed, a darkness that’s stayed hidden in the furthest corners of my mind. When the time came for me to step in, I was more than ready to collect the debt due for Donnacha’s sins. I could feel it, the satisfaction that his groans brought me or how his pain-twisted face painted my face with a wicked grin. I loved every second of justice, and like karma’s in-house waitstaff, I was more than willing to serve.

So no, I don’t regret my actions, but the shock of that revelation has me spiralling. Drawing rapid puffs of air through my nose, I try to contain my wild, thundering heart as it threatens to rip from my chest with every erratic beat, but it’s no use. And even though my chest collapses with every exhale, it does nothing to stop the aggressive thumps against my ribcage.

Gun still suspended in the air, Rohan covers it with his hand and pushes down, lowering the weapon. “Look at me, love.”

Dazed, I flick my gaze to his, and his brow furrows at my blank expression. His hands run up my arms before curling my biceps and holding me steady. Concern dominates his emerald gaze as he searches for my soul behind my dead eyes. “Tar ar ais chugam, mo ghrá. Please. Come back to me, my love.”

When I don’t respond to his plea, he bends his knees and scoops me into his arms. Within seconds, the night air assaults my face, pelting my skin with icy drops of rain that soak through my dress. Rohan sets me on my feet next to Lorcan’s car, then he removes his suit jacket and hangs it on my shoulders as I encase my waist with my arms. “Breathe, baby.”

I follow his instruction, gulping the night and filling my lungs. Then, repeating the process a few more times, I finally steady my heart to a trot.

Rohan never breaks his stare as I trace the raindrops that cascade down his cheeks, finding solace in the fall of his soaked fringe and wild forest eyes.

“I killed him.” Those three words fall past my lips in disbelief, but somehow voicing them aloud eases the crushing grip that had weaved around my lungs. “I killed him in cold blood, and I don’t regret it.”

His fingers swipe at my cheeks, wiping the splashes of blood off my face. “And you shouldn’t, love.”

“But I crossed a line tonight, one I don’t know if I can return from.” By pulling that trigger, I allowed my vengeance to consume me, leaving me feeling disconnected from my moral compass. Tapping the side of my head, I announce, “It’s dark in here, Rohan. So fucking dark.”

Cupping my face with his palms, he draws me closer and rests his forehead against mine. “It’s okay to wander into the dark as long as you don’t get lost in it.”

“What if I do?”

“You won’t,” he assures me, confidence seeping from his pores.

I peer up at him from beneath my lashes. “How can you be so sure?”

“Because… no matter how dark it gets or how far down that hole you fall, I will always be right next to you, guiding you home. Chaill mé uair thú. Ní chaillim thú faoi dhó.” I lost you once. I won't lose you twice.

Our heavy breaths mingle, dancing in the space between our lips. Above us, the sky seethes, raging with a torrential downpour, but it doesn’t stop my trembling hands from gripping Rohan’s almost see-through shirt and sinking my fingers into the drenched cotton. “Then come find me.”

Releasing his gentle hold on my face, he slides a hand past my jaw to wrap around my throat, forcing my head to tilt back when he adds a little pressure. His other hand drops to my waist, and he circles his arm around me before drawing me closer. “Always, mo bhanríon.”

His mouth crashes against mine, delivering a sinful kiss that wipes away all the thoughts eating me alive. I lose myself to every stroke of his tongue, allowing him to take me away from the demons rattling the cage of my mind.

Needing him closer, I buried my fingers in his hair, tugging on the drenched strands as I fight his tongue for dominance. Within seconds, he lifts me off my feet, and my legs wrap around his waist, hanging onto him as if he’s the only thing tethering me to this earth. His hands are everywhere, roaming over every inch of my body as he walks us to the front of Lorcan’s car, our lips still joined by our ferocious, all-consuming kisses.

My arse hits the bonnet as he lays me out before him. Hands still clinging to his shirt, I pull him with me. His knees hit the quarter panel, but he bends forwards, kissing his way down my neck, each swipe of his tongue forcing my back to bow.

Finally, he pulls away, and I feel the loss immediately, but one look at the hunger burning in his eyes, and I know he’s nowhere near done. Reaching for his ankle, he pulls his knife from the strap of his army boot, the same ones he was wearing the first night we met. Then, using his teeth, he tugs off the leather case, exposing the blade.

The moonlight glimmers off the metal, showcasing the delicate carvings etched into the handle. Arms splayed beside me, I place my palms on the cool, damp metal and push into a half-sit, watching with wide eyes as he eats up the sight of me with a greedy perusal.

Bringing his blade to my throat, he teases it down the length of my neck, then glides across my collarbone, applying very little pressure—enough to make my thighs clench around his waist, where he’s stationed between my legs.

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