Page 49 of Lawless Rivals

My chest tightens, and I look away first. He turns then and heads for the bathroom.

“Finish your coffee. You’re with me all day. There’s a pair of work boots for ya on the porch. We head out in ten minutes.”

“I didn’t sign up for yard labor.”

“This isn’t a holiday camp,” he says, not looking back. “You stay in my cabin, you work for your lodgings.”

“And what about the asshole host?” I call after him. “Is suffering him a bonus?”

He doesn’t answer. The click of the bathroom door closing fills the silence.

I blow out a breath and stand there, waiting for something else to happen.

Nothing does.

I tell myself I’m angry because he dismissed me, gave orders, and locked me inside.

With that list, I have ample reason to lash coffee onto his face. Instead, I take another sip, then pour the rest down the sink and head back to his bedroom.

Grabbing a pair of his socks from the drawer, I sit on the edge of the bed and pull them on. I don’t enjoy wearing pieces of him, and it’s worrying how my body doesn’t seem to care that they’re his.

The sound of running water fills the room, and my thoughts stray where they shouldn’t.

I twist and drive my fist into the pillow, breath rough in my chest, then straighten, snatch a baseball cap from the dresser, and head for the front door.

Of course it doesn’t open.

So, I give it a kick, more out of frustration than brute force, turn away, and plant myself by the window, arms folded tight across my chest.

That’s when I notice movement outside. A man passes the edge of the porch wearing a long coat, then stops by the fence. He lights a cigarette and waits there, gaze fixed on the cabin.

Eventually the bathroom door opens behind me, and Saint comes back out, towel hung around his neck as he rough-dries his hair, jeans already pulled on.

“There’s a guy staring at the cabin,” I say. “Who is he?”

Saint follows my line of sight and nods. “Shay.”

“That’s it?” I glance back at the window. “Just Shay?”

“He runs the yard when I’m not about.”

“And why’s he watching this place?”

“I told him to.”

Outside, Shay taps ash from his cigarette and leans back against the fence post, his attention drifting to the far-off fields. I step away from the window, and Saint notices my retreat.

“Ya feel that?” he asks.

“Feel what?”

“His eyes,” he says. “That man misses nothing. Try something clever and things get complicated fast.”

He disappears into his bedroom and comes back a few minutes later dressed, cap pulled low, dark green shirt buttoned to his throat.

“Let’s go,” he says. “Don’t make today harder than it needs to be.”

At the door, he grabs his coat, slips the key into the lock, and turns it before pulling the door open to the bite of cold air.