Page 108 of Godless Saints

Every small sound outside made his spine lock. He stayed alert, scanning shadows.

“We’ll stay here another day before heading back,” I said quietly, burying my face in his hair.

Moon stayed quiet for a long time. When he finally spoke, he sounded tired. “Today… seeing you like that…” A shaky breath escaped him. “Today I finally saw the version of you that exists outside of us.”

I tightened my arms around him and slid one hand under his sweater, palm flat over his heart. It hammered against me.

“That’s who I am,” I said against his ear. “That’s the world I live in. You saw all of it today.”

Moon turned his head. His eyes met mine. He looked exhausted. “I saw you,” he whispered. “The real you.”

I kissed him, hand still pressed over that frantic beat. “Yeah. And you stayed anyway.” My thumb brushed once across his skin. “Dangerous fucking thing to teach me, Moonshine.”

CHAPTER 27

MOON

Chop. Chop. Chop. The knife moved clean under my fingers. Years of fencing made every cut exact. Warm light over the counter. The smell of butter and boiling water.

“Pass the potatoes. I’ll do those too.” Cillian shoved the bowl across the counter. Our fingers grazed.

“You Irish eat potatoes with everything. We serve rice with every meal back home.”

A smirk tugged at his mouth. “Yeah. We fucking love our potatoes. Keeps us grounded.”

A twig cracked outside. My hand jerked. The blade nicked the edge of my thumb.

Cillian snatched the knife and caught my wrist. His grip was steady. “Breathe. It’s just Ashbourne men. Lorcan posted them.”

I tried to pull back, but he caught my thumb, lifted it to his mouth, and licked the blood clean. One slow, deliberate drag of his tongue.

“Are you insane?” I yanked my hand back, heart hammering. “That’s my blood, Cillian.”

He let me go, but his laugh rolled out rough, completely unbothered. “Relax.” His eyes gleamed with pure mischief as he licked his bottom lip once. “You taste good, though.”

“They’ll freeze out there all night,” I said, pulse still racing, trying to find something, anything else to focus on.

“They’re paid for worse. You’re safe. That’s all I care about.”

Cillian took over the potatoes, slicing them. I slid onto the stool at the bar. My thumb throbbed. I grabbed a paper towel and pressed it tight against the cut. Small sting. Nothing more.

“You cook often? Or does the staff handle everything while you play mafia prince?” I kept my tone light, but the edge slipped through.

Cillian dumped the potatoes into the boiling water and turned. Arms braced on the counter. Eyes locked on mine. “Mafia prince? Cute. By staff you mean Ma? She cooks for the whole damn clan every Sunday if we let her.”

“Edwin prepared every meal for me growing up. I never needed to learn.”

He leaned in. Steam rose between us. “Edwin, huh? Sounds like a proper fucking butler.” He sounded amused. “You should learn to feed yourself, Moon. Though I don’t mind cooking for you. Watching you sit there looking all spoiled and pretty.”

I met his stare, fighting the smile that wanted to break. Part of me still waited for another door to burst open. “My money isn’t going anywhere. And I manage just fine, thank you.”

“Yeah?” His grin turned sly. He reached past me for the salt, chest brushing my shoulder on purpose. The contact lingered. “You wouldn’t survive a week without your money, Moon. Look at you. Parked on my stool, watching me cook like it's entertainment. You’re enjoying this way too much. I could be your new Edwin. Just hotter. And way more charming, obviously.”

I swallowed, pulse kicking harder. “It’s the potatoes I like. Not your ego.”

Cillian laughed low, but he didn’t back off an inch. “Sure. The potatoes.”

“I’ll give you credit for breakfast,” I added, fighting a smirk. “Eight out of ten on the Irish spread. I deduct two points for personality.”