Page 21 of The Warrior's Salvation

She hesitates, and my blood runs cold at noise in the background of wherever she's at.

"I'm at home." I hear the irritation in her voice, but it doesn't register until after I've spoken again.

"Who the fuck are you with, Evie?" I interrupt sharply, unable to keep the betrayal from creeping into my tone. "You can't disappear and expect me not to notice. Not with everything going on."

"You wouldn't understand," she says with a shaky voice, distant.

The words send a jolt of anger straight through me. "The hell I wouldn't," I bite out, each syllable cutting deeper. "You’re being reckless. I'm trying to protect you—damn it, Evie."

"I came home because I'm sick, alright? Don't be an ass," she blurts out before ending the call.

In my anger, I think of calling her back. I pinch the bridge of my nose and growl loudly, then slam my fist against the brick exterior of the building. Between feeling betrayed and fearing that somehow, Doyle had gotten to her, my fight or flight is ready to kill someone. The reaction comes so fast and so sudden, now I can't stop it. My hands turn to fists and my blood boils.

I'd like to go by and check on her, but if she's really at home on O'Leary property, she's safe. Besides, she won't like the fact that I hover around her. She'd tell me she doesn’t need a sitter, and she'd be right.

I turn to head back into the office, and something across the street piques my curiosity. A long, black sedan is parked there, a man leaning on it. I narrow my eyes and shield them from the sunlight reflecting off the windshield and recognize the man's face. Cormac Doyle stands with his arms crossed, staring at me.

My pulse immediately spikes, hostility pumping hot through my veins. Doyle’s presence here isn’t a coincidence. It can’t be. He’s always got an agenda, always making his moves three steps ahead.

I cross the street without hesitation, locked onto him like a missile, weaving between cars whose horns blare at me. Doyle doesn’t flinch, doesn’t even blink, just keeps watching with that coldly amused smirk on his face as I close the distance between us.

"What the hell are you doing here, Doyle?" My voice comes out in a growl, lower and rougher than I intend.

Cormac chuckles lightly, pushing off the sedan and straightening his jacket sleeves with calculated ease. "Enjoying the view, Lochlan. You seem a bit wound up."

"Don’t fuck with me," I snap, stepping closer until barely a foot of space separates us. "Your threats don’t impress anyone. Back off, or you’ll regret it."

His dark eyes glitter sharply, something dangerous flickering beneath the polished veneer. "Threats? I don’t make threats. You should know me better by now. When I say something, I mean every word of it."

Anger twists in my chest. Cold fear lurks just behind it. I fight to keep control of myself, knowing the street cameras are catching every move we make, every word we speak. He knows it too, the bastard. Doyle is playing me, waiting for me to slip up so he can make his next move.

"I warned you once already," I say, keeping my voice carefully even, though fury simmers just beneath the surface. "Keep pushing, and you'll find out exactly how serious I can be."

Cormac’s smirk widens, cruel amusement playing openly across his face. "You and your boys seem nervous lately. Problems with your shipments? You know what happens to syndicates that get sloppy."

My fists clench at my sides, the muscles along my jaw tightening painfully. I hold myself back, though every fiber of my being screams at me to tear the smug look off his face. He’s provoking me, baiting me into doing something reckless—something that could blow up the fragile balance of power we've been holding onto.

"You talk a big game, but you're all bark," I spit out. "Step over the line, and I’ll show you how quickly things get messy."

Doyle leans forward slightly, lowering his voice, eyes hard and unforgiving. "Careful, Lochlan. It would be a shame if someone you cared about got hurt because you couldn’t keep things under control. You’ve got enough blood on your hands already."

My vision tunnels, blood pounding deafeningly in my ears. Evie’s face flashes through my mind, and every protective instinct inside me surges with violence. Doyle sees the reaction instantly. His eyes glint with satisfaction, the trap sprung exactly as he intended.

My fists tighten, muscles coiled like a spring ready to snap. "You don’t want this fight, Doyle. Trust me on that."

He laughs softly, stepping backward and pulling open the car door. "I’m counting on it. We’ll talk again soon."

He slides inside smoothly, shutting the door and leaving me standing in boiling rage. As the sedan pulls away, the restraint keeping me in check snaps, and I drive my fist into the side of the car as it passes, the pain in my knuckles nothing compared to the fury burning in my chest.

Cormac Doyle’s car disappears around the corner, and I’m left on the sidewalk, my hand bloody, adrenaline pumping viciously through every nerve. Doyle has made his point clearly enough—he’s coming, and everyone around me, especially Evie, is at risk.

The game just changed. And now, it’s personal.

15

EVIE

Kelly sits cross-legged on my bed, a steaming cup of peppermint tea balanced carefully in her hands. She eyes me with concern, brows furrowed, as I tug at the frayed edges of my quilt. I haven’t been in to work for two days, and the exhaustion clinging to me isn’t making this conversation any easier.

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