Page 9 of Desecrated Reign

My chest rises as I suck in an audible breath, and then I turn, but I keep my eyes on the ground. Rohan’s fingers find the underside of my chin, tipping my gaze towards him. For the first time in what feels like forever, I fall victim to the kaleidoscope of greens colouring his irises, and suddenly, the black-and-white world I’ve been hiding in springs to life in the reflection of his hypnotic eyes.

A tear slips from my eye, rolling down my cheek, damping my skin, but Rohan’s gaze never wavers as he swipes it away with a brush of his thumb. “Seans go bhfuil tú beagán caillte, a ghrá. Ach geallaim duit, gheobhaidh mé tú.”

Then he’s gone, slamming the door behind him and leaving me wondering what those pretty Irish words mean.

5

ROHAN

Forcing myself to put one foot in front of the other, I beeline towards Lorcan’s Mercedes with my last words to Saoirse playing on a continuous loop. You might be a little lost, love. But I promise you, I will find you.

Once inside the car, I slump back against the headrest, tilt my face to the ceiling, and try to gather what’s left of my shit. I draw in a few deep breaths, inhaling until my lungs burn before releasing a steady stream of air.

Another promise, one I have every intention of keeping, no matter how stubborn Saoirse wants to be about it. I get it. I do. She’s terrified of leaning on me or allowing herself to feel any sort of fucking emotion. To love is to lose, right? At least, it would appear that way after everything she’s been through. Losing Liam tossed her into a downward spiral, and she’s closed herself down.

But I see her, every internal scar—the small superficial ones and the gouging wounds that continue to bleed. Deep down, I know she’s hurting. And if she thinks I won’t wield a sledgehammer to the wall she has around herself, she has another thing coming. But today is not the day.

When I came to the cabin this morning, I planned to tell Saoirse about Donnacha, but I didn’t think she was ready after our interaction. Sure, she’s been putting in the physical training, but she’s one Jenga block away from crumbling mentally.

I know I need to tell her eventually, but she needs to remember who she is first. Some paths need to be walked alone, and this is something she needs to work through by herself. Sure, I can hand her the tools she needs, but ultimately, she’s the one who needs to dig deep.

In an ideal world, I’d march back in there and take her up against the fucking wall. But as much as I want her to remember how good we are, there is a long game here, and I’m willing to play it for her.

So, even though it’s the last thing I—or my cock—want, I convince myself I am doing what’s best—for us both—by leaving her to stew over her thoughts while I try to figure out our next move. Like it or not, the syndicate world is ruthless, and although Saoirse has dealt with a lot of shit these past few months, she hasn’t dipped more than a toe into the chaos that’s coming.

Men as powerful as the High Kings don’t remain in power by spreading love to the world. As it stands, we’re already on a borrowed clock with the information about Saoirse’s lineage leaking. It’s only a matter of time before Gabriel pops out of the hellhole he’s crawled into, and if I were a betting man, I’d put everything I have on him using what he knows to save himself from the firing squad.

Lorcan and I have been working behind the scenes, trying to put together a contingency plan for when that day comes, but even with all the chess pieces in place, we can’t predict the countermoves when we can’t see all four corners of the board.

The pressure is building, and one of these days, the pot will boil over. But right now, I need to focus on more pressing matters. Mainly what to do with Donnacha now that Lorcan and I have him restrained on the neighbouring farm grounds.

Putting the car in drive, I take off up the winding driveway before veering left at the top of the lane. On the right, about five-hundred metres from the cabin’s driveway, the entrance to the farm comes into view. Overgrown with weeds, I follow the old gravel driveway through a tunnel of large evergreens until the main house comes into view—a traditional Georgian-style farmhouse, typical of the ones dotted around rural Ireland. Beyond the house are some stables, sheds, and a large workshop, not to mention the green-and-gold fields as far as the eye can see. Although the property has seen better days and isn’t exactly habitable, the rotted wood-framed windows and the ivy climbing the exterior walls add character.

When this farm estate went up for sale a few years back, Lorcan snapped at the chance and bought it in a cash sale, turning his and Éanna’s little lake hideaway into three-hundred acres of private property.

There’s only one road in and one road out, making the lake houses a perfect place for them to be together without being under the watchful eye of the syndicate. Not to mention, owning the surrounding land makes the cabins secluded while allowing Lorcan to set up shop near Killybegs but away from Gabriel.

I think Lorcan hoped one day he’d restore this place to its former glory, and maybe now that Saoirse has returned to claim her throne, he and Éanna can finally build a life together where they don’t need to hide.

Thankfully, his foresight in buying this place has made things easier for us, leaving everything we need right on our doorstep, close enough to keep an eye on things, yet far enough from Killybegs that we won’t raise any unwanted eyebrows.

Pulling Lorcan’s car up to the main house, I put it in park, but before I can get out, my phone rings from the centre console—Beibhinn Devereux’s name fills the screen. It’s only been a few hours since we last exchanged texts, so I know whatever she’s calling for will affect my mood. Picking up the phone, I swipe accept and hope it’s good news for once.

“Bev! Everything okay?” I start, not wanting to beat around the bush. Liam’s death has affected her the most, sending her into a dark and dangerous place. I can’t imagine what she’s feeling, losing her twin, because although Liam and I weren’t exactly close, his death shook me more than I’d like to admit.

“Yeah. Just have some news. Are you free to talk?” Her tone has no emotion, and the normal sassy flare is non-existent these days, too. Honestly, I’m worried about her because she’s yet to shed a single tear as far as I know. Her sole focus has been revenge, and she doesn’t give a fuck who she needs to eliminate to get it. She’s running on anger, and rightly so, but I don’t think it’s hit her that no matter what she does, it won’t bring Liam back. All I can hope is that she doesn’t lose herself trying to save a ghost.

“Yeah, we’re good. Did you find out anything useful?”

On the day of the funeral, when Oliver Devereux failed to show his rotten face, Beibhinn went searching for answers, and let’s just say she didn’t like what she found. After that, she threw herself into avenging Liam’s death by helping us take down Gabriel and Oliver.

Working with what we knew about the night of the explosion, Gabriel enlisted the help of Finn Connelly—the Munster Syndicate King—to put his plan in place. We know for certain he had a role to play in what happened the night Liam died, especially after the conversation I overheard in the hallway moments before Gabriel called Saoirse to the stage.

With Gabriel still at the helm of the Leinster province, we were left to align forces with the remaining two. Luckily for us, Lorcan is still the King of Ulster, and even though his nephew, Keelan Reilly, is manning that ship, we can rely on him to be on our side if and when the shit hits the fan.

That left us Seamus Murphy, the Connacht King. Once we forged a plan, Beibhinn agreed to pack up Liam’s Mustang and head west, hoping to get him on our side. Only when she arrived, she found more than we expected—her mother’s twin sister, also known as my mam, Elouise King. To say I was shocked by that revelation would be a vast understatement. I knew she was hiding out west, but I never expected her to be shacked up with Seamus Murphy’s right-hand man, Cathal Keogh—a ruthless sonofabitch with a hot-headed temper. But according to Bev, he treats my ma like a queen, my sister too, which is all I can ask for. They had enough heartache for a lifetime, so knowing they’re both happy and far away from Daddy Dearest eases a part of my soul I like to keep hidden, the soft spot I don’t allow many to see.

“Actually,” Beibhinn teases, “I found the smoking gun.”

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