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He wants me to be lying. That’s all I need.

“Oh shit, Saint…” I shake my head. “Did you fall for⁠—”

His fist slams into my jaw.

The impact jerks my head sideways and drives me into the side of the Range Rover. My shoulder slams into glass. The blow knocks the breath from me, and a hot jolt shoots down my arm until my fingertips go numb.

Blood spreads when I run my tongue over the split inside my mouth and smile. Saint wants a fight, and I’m happy to give him one.

At the edge of my vision, Sera keeps the shotgun trained on me. Her aim remains steady, but a line forms between her brows as she watches us.

Then Saint closes in again.

I spit blood onto the gravel, pull up my defense, and drive my fist straight into his face.

He takes my punch and returns it harder. He might know how to throw a fist at his brothers, but I’ve been training since I was a kid.

Boots scuff the concrete underfoot as Tallon men circle. Saint catches me across the cheek, but I stay upright and swing again, knuckles connecting before he drives me into the fence.

“Stop it!” Keira yells.

Neither of us listens.

Saint catches me low, driving his shoulder into my middle before taking us both into the dirt. Gravel tears through the knee of my trousers and strips the skin beneath, grinding grit into the raw flesh.

A little pain has never distracted me from a fight, not even when his fist catches my mouth and tears the split open against my teeth.

“Saint!”

Keira rushes towards us, but Dane catches her around the middle and drags her back.

“Let me go!” she yells.

Saint’s attention breaks for a fraction of a second.

I laugh through the blood coating my teeth and drive my fist into his jaw.

At that very moment, a gunshot cracks overhead, leaving my ears ringing.

Saint releases me and glances over his shoulder. I follow his attention to Sera, who’s standing with the shotgun raised as smoke drifts from the barrel.

She fired to stop the fight. Whether she thought Saint needed saving or simply wanted the show to be over, I can’t tell.

I wipe the blood from my mouth with the back of my hand and straighten my suit jacket.

Saint draws his gun, leveling it with my face. If he expects the weapon to make me flinch, he hasn’t been paying attention.

“Saint—” Keira says.

He doesn’t lower it.

“Don’t.” Her voice is quieter this time, but it reaches him.

Sera lowers the shotgun as her gaze holds mine without apology or regret, carrying the same glare of challenge that she brought into the barn.

Just then, Saint’s phone rings. He ignores it and keeps the gun trained on me.

It rings again as I check my watch.