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“You’re part of this clan now, Fallon. You should know that you can trust me with your life now.”
Part of the clan?I shook my head. “I’m not part of the clan. I made a mistake.”
“A mistake that saved my life.”
Startling yellow-white lights began to cover his features, and I turned my face back toward the road. The truck was maybe a hundred yards away now—close enough for his headlights to wash over the car’s interior.
The lorry driver blew the horn in warning, flashing his high beams at us, but Orin kept us steady. My pulse was beginning to crawl out of my throat, and I clutched the door release, wondering if I could survive rolling out at this speed—although, to be honest, there was nowhere for me to roll. If I opened this door, I would be slamming into a stacked stone wall and either sustaining a head injury or internal injuries—both of which could kill me.
If Orin didn’t do it first in a fiery crash.
Orin’s eyes cut to where my hand rested. “Trust me, Filly.”
I froze, the use of my nickname jarring coming out of his mouth. I wanted to know how he knew that was what my mom had called me, but clearly now was not the time. The truck was less than fifty yards away now, and no matter how badly I wanted to shut my eyes and not watch what was about to happen, I knew I had to. If I was going to die, I had to do it with my eyes wide open.
Thirty yards.
Twenty.
Ten.
The whole car was awash with flashing lights and a blaring horn. Orin looked behind us, an evil grin spreading across his mouth. He yanked hard on the wheel, sending my car into the small space between the side of the lorry and the wall. Sparks flew when metal and stone met, showering the night with a riot of fireworks. I spun around in my seat to peer out the rear window just in time to see the Rover slam into the wall and go through it—his momentum carrying him into the field beyond.
The lorry driver was still hitting the horn as he passed but didn’t slow down.
“…you okay?”
I turned to find Orin’s gaze zeroed in on me. It looked like he was waiting for something. Waiting for me to say something. “What?”
“I asked if you were okay.”
Running a shaking hand through my hair, I nodded. “Yeah, I think so. Orin, that was fucking terrifying.”
He grunted. “We lost him. For now, at least.”
Suddenly, all I wanted was to crawl into bed and pretend it was all a dream. Or better yet, crawl into a bottle and never come back out. I shook my head at that last thought. That wasn’t my sobriety talking—that was my trauma—and I’d worked too damn hard to backslide now.
“I want to go home.” I’d accidentally let the words out, and they were a pitiful whimper. I felt Orin’s eyes on me but couldn’t bear to look at him.
“You can’t go home.”
Flickering my eyes to him briefly, I found that even though his dark eyes were on the road, they somehow felt like they were all over me at the same time. “What?”
“You can’t go home. You killed a rival clan member. You’re public enemy number one to them now. You can’t go home.”
My eyes dropped to the center console, and I licked my suddenly dry lips. “Ever?”
His jaw tightened. “Once the threat has been taken care of, I’m sure you’ll be able to.”
“How long will that take?”
“However long it takes.”
We fell into silence, and I stared at everything and nothing as we drove through the night. I didn’t even know where we were.
“Not far from Ballymahon.”
Shit, my mind must’ve spat the words out unconsciously. “Ballymahon? That’s at least sixty miles from Galway. Are we going back to the safe house or something?”
