I’m fighting two different wars, but both have the same stakes.
“I should have killed Lorcan,” I mutter.
“Killing Lorcan won’t stop Adrian,” Kieran says carefully.
“No. But letting Lorcan breathe won’t help either, and at least that’s one enemy taken care of. It feels dangerous having my attention so divided.”
I scrub a hand down my face, trying to rein in the rage clawing its way up my spine.
But it’s not just anger. It’s terror that is strong enough to make my hands tremble.
Scout has no idea how close he is to being dragged into a war that has been going on long before he was born.
I picture him asleep upstairs, his limbs sprawled out across the bed, his stuffed dinosaur tucked into his side, blindly trusting me to keep him safe.
The image brings something feral alive inside me.
I won’t let anyone near him.
Not Lorcan.
Not Adrian.
No one.
I straighten, suddenly feeling a cold sense of calm wash over me. “Get Ronan. We’re done waiting.”
Kieran watches me, then nods once. “About time.”
As he turns to leave, I glance down at my cracked phone.
Adrian can think he’s already won, but he has no idea how far I’m willing to go to protect my son.
Chapter Thirty-One
FIONA
I’ve been replayingit on a loop since last night.
Not the fact that Lorcan is out for my blood. For some reason, that threat sits tucked away in the back of my mind.
No.
What I can’t seem to let go of is the look on Cormac’s face when he told me Lorcan knew of our plan. The way his jaw tightened. The subtle, accusatory tone of his voice.
Someone told him.
Cormac hadn’t said my name, not out loud, but he hadn’t needed to.
I tell myself I’m being unfair, that he was angry and exhausted and running on adrenaline.
But the truth is uglier and harder to swallow. The thought that I betrayed him crossed his mind, and once it takes root, it doesn’t just disappear.
I’ve spent weeks proving myself not just to him but to his brothers. I’ve bled for them, lied for them and walked willingly into a trap that could have gotten me killed, andstill,when something goes wrong, I’m the first one to blame.
At what point do I decide enough is enough?
I move through the house on autopilot, the low hum of voices and footsteps following me down the hall.
