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With a confident swagger, I set my feet in motion, creeping forward like a lion seeking his prey.
Once I reach the octagon, I haul myself up onto the edge of the canvas and lean against the enclosure. Liam shoots me a glance from the corner of his eye, then pushes himself to his feet.
The animosity behind his poison-tipped gaze is unmistakable. But as always, I don’t let other people’s emotions faze me. So, wasting no time, I enter the octagon, unwanted and undoubtedly uninvited.
Oh, well, the devil never knocks. He just waltzes right in. Consequences be damned.
Honestly, I can’t care any less about what the elite prince of Killybegs thinks of my intrusion.
I’m a King. And he just had his grubby hands all over my queen. Correct me if I am wrong, but that’s a dangerous move. Not to mention a stupid one.
Alas, Devereux does not know of his wrongdoings, so I let it slide…for now. He’s used his oneget out of jailfree card. Next time, he won’t pass go.
“What do you want, Rí?” Liam asks, his head sloping slightly to the left as his eyes narrow at the corners.
His cold, clipped words cause my lips to tip up in amusement. Although we both hang out in the same crowd, it’s no secret that both Devereux twins hate everything about me and the surname I wield as though it is a nuclear weapon.
Jealousy will do that to people. They can’t stand that they’re a step below me on the food chain, and if I have my way, they’ll stay that way indefinitely.
Unfazed by his dominating demeanour, I peer past him, earning myself a growl.
“Easy there, tiger. No need to show teeth,” I taunt, raising one brow in challenge.
I anchor my gaze to Saoirse’s. “Hello, love.” The words slide off my tongue. “Seems we meet again.”
Seconds pass before she’s brave enough to seek my stare. Then, finally, she turns those unique amber orbs my way, capturing every ounce of my attention. Something foreign pricks my skin, and for a split moment in time, Saoirse’s widened eyes power the blood in my veins.
Is that fear I see dancing in her depths? Yes, the pulsing vein in my cock confirms.
Feeding off her fear, I propel forward, taking slow, unfazed steps until I come face to face with her falsely trusted protector.
He won’t protect you, love. No one can. Not from me.
I don’t miss the forceful swallow or the breath she catches behind her pouty lips.
Her whole body stiffens, her backbone stretching as she forces herself to stand tall. Whether or not she recognises me from that night remains a mystery. But, one thing’s for sure: her body recalls how I made her feel — violently paralysed by crippling trepidation.
I can see it written plain as day across her tight shoulders. Fear dominates her wide eyes, a fear directed towards me and me alone.
I step forward, and her breath hitches. One audible intake of air, and she somehow sucks all the oxygen from the room. Then, with a back-step scramble, she places herself behind Liam, using his solid frame as a barrier. Little does she know, I could take him down with one small manoeuvre, but I won’t. Not yet, anyway.
Liam jolts into motion, expelling himself forward and closing the minimal space between us. Then, nose to nose, he tries, but fails, to intimidate me.
“What did you just say?”
“Liam,” I tease. “I am not a parrot. Therefore, I will not repeat myself.” I peek past him, ignoring his death glare, and shoot a cheeky wink towards Saoirse. Her shoulders hunch forward, and folding her frame inwards, she shrinks in size.
Nope, that won’t do. A queen should never bow, no matter how frightened she may be.
“Don’t look at her,” Liam growls like a cave dweller, dragging my focus back towards him. The landscape of his face tightens, seemingly unimpressed with my lack of shits to give. My presence unnerves him, as it should.
It’s clear he has a soft spot for the returning Ryan heir, and as much as I hate to admit it, Liam is not as stupid as he looks. He’s well aware of her importance, and he’s threatened by my presence, so he’s determined to keep her from me.
“It’s a little too early in the game to be showing your cards, wouldn’t you think?”
The twitch in his jaw showcases my theory, and it’s not a good look for him. If I’m being honest, that is. Clearly, Daddy never taught him to hide his true feelings from the enemy. Showing weakness is a sure way to get yourself killed. That’s Killybegs syndicate 101.
“Fuck off, Rí.”
