Page 82 of Irish Reign

“Samantha.”

I hear my name from a distance, too far away for me to respond.

“Mo chailín maith.”

That’s different. That’s better than my name. That’s a promise and a bond.

I look up to find Braiden on the far side of the desk. He has a gun in his hand, a pistol, and it takes me a lifetime to realize that he meant to use it. He ordered me to kneel so he could take out Russo. So he could save me.

A long, rolling shudder starts at the base of my spine, at the heart of mysegno. It climbs my body like a time-lapse of ivy, weaving in and out of my ribs, my lungs, my heart. It ripples up my neck and across my head, and then it travels down my arms. My knees break, and I start to drop to the floor.

But Braiden’s there. Braiden has me. His arms are around me and his body braces me and his lips touch the tangled scar above my temple. His hand is firm against the back of my head, and I’m safe and I’m warm and I’m his.

“Let’s go,” he says, when my legs are firm enough for me to stand.

I turn to the desk, to my neatly folded clothes. The thought of working buttons and zippers overwhelms me. I can’t imagine finding my shoes and socks.

Braiden shrugs out of his rumpled jacket and settles it around my shoulders. The heat of his body melts into mine, and I fill my lungs with cedar and spice. He reaches past me and grabs my clothes.

I point to the papers. They’re important. They’re why I came here. They’re what I have to do.

I see the flash of annoyance on his face. He wants to argue, because no documents are worth what we almost paid tonight. But they’re here, and they’re ours now, and he gathers them up with the rest of my things.

“Can you walk?” he asks.

I nod, not certain if I can. But he takes my hand, and he leads me to the study door, and I discover I’m not lying.

“Keys?” he asks. “For the Bentley?”

I had them. They’re in the pocket of my jeans. I point, until he digs for them.

He leads me down the hall then, and through the kitchen, past two blasted bodies. Madden’s car sits just outside the door, glinting in the light from the kitchen like it’s been dipped in toxic waste.

Braiden takes a moment, propping me against the passenger door. He opens the driver’s side, and he reaches into his pocket for a handkerchief.

I remember that night in a snowstorm, the night Russo murdered Eliza. Braiden had a handkerchief then, too. He gave it to me after I was sick in the snow.

Now, he uses the white square to wipe down the car—the steering wheel, the dashboard, the gearshift, the door. He wipes the shotgun as well and tosses it onto the driver’s seat. He pulls a key fob from his pocket, cleans it, and leaves it next to the gun.

Then Braiden helps me around to the front of the house. He opens the Bentley’s passenger door, and he guides me to the seat. He folds his jacket around me and buckles the belt across my lap.

I watch him cross to the driver’s side, quick and confident, a panther returning from his kill. With a push of a button the car hums to life.

“Ardmore?” he asks before he starts down the short driveway to the gate.

I nod once. My voice sounds strange in my blasted ears, small and hollow and very far away. But I don’t hesitate. I don’t question. I only confirm my choice: “Home.”

41

BRAIDEN

Samantha’s steadier on her feet by the time we get to the new house. She’s aware enough to pull my jacket around her before we get to Best’s lads on the street. She unbuckles her own belt when I stop at our front door.

She follows me up the stairs like we’ve been doing this every night for the past six months. She glances at Aiofe’s room, a faint smile ghosting her lips.

I lock the bedroom door as soon as we’re inside. Samantha’s clothes go on the dresser, along with the stack of papers she insisted we take. Nothing there is important, not with Russo dead.

First things first—mypiscínneeds a shower. She hasn’t looked in a mirror; she doesn’t know her face is spattered with Russo’s blood, and her hair too. That means I’m a mess myself, because I couldn’t keep my hands off her. I couldn’t let her stand alone as the shock of what she did grabbed hold.

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