Page 3 of Ruined Vows

I stalk down the hall, footsteps echoing softly against polished floors. I don’t check to see if they’re following—I know they are. People like her always follow when they want something.

Dropping into a leather lounger beside Quinn, I sink into the worn comfort of routine. Quinn’s sub shifts slightly at her feet, and she taps his shoulder with the sharp tip of her heel. “Be still.”

Her eyes flick to me, one brow arching in silent question. I ignore it.

Moira’s the first to round the corner, her energy spilling into the space like a tide. Domhnall follows, all brooding presence and dark intensity, only gentling when he glances back at Anna, who follows him, with Kira trailing close behind.

The moment Kira steps into view, her gaze snaps to mine like we’ve got some invisible thread stretched between us. Our eyes lock for a beat—just long enough for something unspoken to spark—and then she looks away, her jaw tightening like she’s mad at herself for even acknowledging the connection.

I hear Anna whisper, “Just give him a chance,” her voice soft, meant for Kira alone.

They settle into the seats around us. Anna perches on Domhnall’s lap. His hand slides lazily and possessively along her thigh like he can’t help himself. Quinn sips her drink, indifferent as always to the human footstool beneath her.

But Kira… she sits with her spine too straight, her hands too still, and her eyes darting anywhere but me.

Good.

She should know I’m not here to make friends.

I’m here to keep her alive.

Domhn finally drags his gaze from Anna, his expression smoothing into something like professionalism. “So,” he says, voice low and steady, “now that introductions are done, let’s get down to it. Kira, why don’t you explain the situation?”

Kira straightens in her chair, her spine stiff as rebar, perched like she’s afraid the leather cushions might stain her. Her fingers tighten on her knees, knuckles pale against the dark fabric of her dress. “Oh.” Again, her voice is softer than I expect, breathy with a hitch of hesitation. “Well. Um. I need a new bodyguard because my last one?—”

“Personal protection officer,” I interject, mostly because I’m a dick. I can see she’s uncomfortable, but I still want to needle her. I shouldn’t. From the little information Domhn gave me, this would be a good gig.

She jolts slightly, eyes snapping to mine, and for a brief, satisfying second, I catch the flash of annoyance behind the polished veneer. Her jaw clenches, the tiniest muscle ticking near her temple. It’s so wrong—this is supposed to be an interview—but there’s something addictive about poking at her composure and watching the cracks spiderweb beneath the surface.

I hold her gaze, unblinking, letting the silence stretch until it hums between us like a live wire. She looks away first, back to her folded hands, lips pressed thin.

“My lastpersonal protection officer,” she corrects, her voice tight, “was reporting all my activities to Carol.”

Moira, ever helpful, chirps, “Carol’s her mom.”

Kira nods, swallowing like the wordmotheris a jagged pill. “Yes. Carol was paying for the protection detail, so she thought that meant she had the right to use him as her personal spy.”

Ah. Mommy issues wrapped in Prada. Figures.

I study her—sleek black dress, meticulous curls, the sharp lines of someone who measures her worth in perfect edges and the correct designer brands. She’s the type who probably thinks control is the same as safety. Spoiler: it’s not.

“And when I talked to Moira about the situation,” Kira continues, her voice smoothing out like she’s found her footing again, “she mentioned that Domhn often hired security for her.”

Moira grins, unapologetically wicked. “Yeah, but I also told her they weren’t very good. I could always distract them. You know…” She winks. “With incentives.”

Domhn sighs like this is familiar ground. “It’s hard to find anyone competent these days. Much less someone you can trust.” His gaze slides to me, steady and certain. “Which is why I thought of you.”

The words land heavier than I expect. I swallow, nodding once. Domhnall’s not the type to throw around trust lightly. We’ve got history—blood, sweat, and secrets. Some things bond men tighter than friendship. Like burying a body together.

“Thanks, brother,” I mutter, the words rough in my throat but honest.

Across from me, Kira inhales sharply, her chest rising just enough to pull my attention. The dress she’s wearing is conservative, but on her, it feels like silken armor. Polished. Pristine. But still fragile.

“Well,” she says, voice crisp as new paper, “Moira and Anna are my best friends. If they trust you…” Her eyes flick to mine, guarded but direct. “Then so will I.”

Will you?I wonder, but I don’t say it.

Moira’s hand lands on my thigh, casual like she’s done it a thousand times. It’s nothing, but out of the corner of my eye, I catch Kira’s gaze drop to the contact. Her fingers twitch against her knee before she yanks her attention back up, face blank. Too blank.

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