Page 7 of Desecrated Reign

“Fuck you, Boss Man. Didn’t see you breaking any sweat.”

He curls his lips to the side, shrugging his shoulders. “Didn’t want to ruin your fun. Besides, I’ll have my turn later.”

“Did you find anything useful on your travels around the basement?”

“Few bits. Nothin’ too useful. Donnacha’s car keys, a few documents, and an address.” Reaching behind him, he grabs a rope from the table. “I did come across this, though. Suppose it’ll come in handy for tying this cunt up and gettin’ him out of here.”

He tosses the rope towards me, and I catch it with steady hands.

“While you restrain him, I’ll call Aodhán and tell him we’re on our way up.”

As Lorcan makes the call, I loop the rope around Donnacha's wrists and ankles with methodical precision, ensuring it’s tight enough to restrict any movements for when he eventually comes around. Once Donnacha is securely bound, we exchange a knowing glance, a silent affirmation that we’re one step closer to bringing this arsehole down.

With synchronised movements, we lift him off the ground, Lorcan taking his legs while I hold him beneath his arms. Each step resonates with a sense of purpose as we ascend the stairs, making the journey to the car feel like a pilgrimage towards justice.

Finally, we reach the exit, where Aodhán awaits, leaning against Donnacha’s car. “Well, looks like you two had fun without me,” Aodhán pouts before kicking off the car and walking towards us. Lorcan shifts Donnacha’s weight to Aodhán before raising the keys he found, popping the boot with a click. A few more steps and Aodhán and I lower Donnacha into the confined space.

“Hope you aren’t claustrophobic, motherfucker.” I slam the hood down with a resounding thud, satisfied that he isn’t going anywhere soon. Then, pulling my cigarette case from my jacket, I light one up. “What’s the plan?”

Lorcan tosses Donnacha’s keys toward me, and I catch them with my free hand. “Head to the cabins.” He looks towards Aodhán and then focuses back on me. “We’ll follow behind you and meet you there.”

Agreeing with a nod, I lower myself into Donnacha’s driver's seat and take off out the back laneway, finally heading towards my girl, her sweet revenge wrapped up with coarse rope.

In the rearview mirror, I glimpse the fading silhouette of the power station before focusing my attention on the road stretched before me. It’s a symbol, a reminder that, though delayed, justice will finally be served. And with Saoirse by my side, we can face whatever challenges lie ahead.

Here’s hoping she’s happy to see me once I arrive.

4

SAOIRSE

After I spent most of last night sitting by the dock, I finally dragged myself to bed sometime after two, then I tossed and turned for another three hours, fighting to keep my eyes open. A decision I now regret as I push off my mattress, exhaustion stretching my mouth into a yawn as I sit up and face another day.

Next to me, my phone rests on the bedside locker, judging me more than any inanimate object should. Guiding my hands to my face, I scrub the tiredness from my eyes with the heel of my palms, then drag my hands down my cheeks as I release an overwhelmed sigh. Finally, I reach for the phone and open up the thread of messages filling my home screen, focusing on the last two.

Rohan

Time’s up, mo bhanríon.

We both knew you couldn’t avoid me forever.

The time stamp reads 4:19 a.m. Almost an hour ago.

I knew this day was coming, and Rohan knows as well as I do… I won’t be able to ignore him when he’s standing in front of me, peering into the darkest corners of my soul with his earthy green eyes.

He doesn’t know the reason for my lack of response. Or how every time his name appears on my screen, I want to reach in and grab him, only to shatter in his arms all over again, but I can’t.

Sure, I’ve been running from him, but for good reason.

It’s said a true queen has no weaknesses, but I do, and his name is Rohan King.

I should have known he wouldn’t let me push for too long, at least not without pushing back.

Hoping to avoid the inevitable for a few moments longer, I head for my en suite and switch on the shower. Once I tug Rohan’s T-shirt over my head, I fold it neatly, place it on the vanity, and then step into the warm cascade of water. The steam envelops my senses, creating a soothing atmosphere within the bathroom. Droplets dance on my skin, washing away the remnants of my sleepless night. The water hits the tiles and echoes in the small space, drowning out the world and allowing me to retreat into my own thoughts.

My anticipation brews as I lather my hair, and the shampoo’s fragrance fills the air with its intoxicating scent. A renewed sense of determination washes over me as the water rinses away the suds. The past few weeks have been a roller coaster of highs and lows, but I have tried everything to shut down the emotions threatening to drown me. I focus my energy on driving the anger inside, knowing that if I let myself feel the pain, the grief will drag me down, and I’d never crawl out of that dark hole.

It’s one of the main reasons I’ve erected a dam around myself where Rohan is concerned. He’s the only person who knows the extent of my pain. He felt me break that night. He was right there to witness the hollowness consume me. I became nothing more than an unoccupied shell of rage, pushing everyone away, because if I let them close enough, they will chip away at my walls.

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