Page 39 of Lawless Rivals

A brand-new black Range Rover swings around the corner and rolls to a halt. Smoke leaks from the half-open driver’s window even before it settles.

Máirín Tallon steps out wearing heavy jeweled rings, thick gold hoops in her earlobes, and a black bun pulled so tight it makes her eyes look feline.

The cigarette between her fingers glows as she stares at us.

“Ciarán,” she says, voice hoarse from years of smoking. “Explain to me why the girl ya stole is strollin’ around my yard while Crowley was here sniffin’ for answers.”

Saint’s jaw ticks. “I have it handled.”

“Handled?” Her smile is thin. “Is that what we’re callin’ it now?”

Her gaze drops to my cuffs before cutting back to her son.

“This wasn’t the plan,” she says, flicking ash. “She was supposed to be kept out of sight, son.”

Saint sighs. “Plans change.”

Máirín lets out a humorless breath, smoke curling from her lips. “Aye, and usually when you’re involved, that means bodies hit the dirt. Don’t tell me she’s gettin’ the better of ya?”

“Of course not, Ma.”

Her attention drills into me again while she speaks to Saint. If her eyes were weapons, I’d be dead.

“The Harrington woman is prettier in real life,” she says. “A girl like that will cause a lot of trouble.”

“I said I’ve got it sorted,” Saint replies, voice dropping into that low, dangerous register that even his brothers listen to.

“And I’m tellin’ ya,” she counters, stepping closer, “that this isn’t how leverage works. We can’t risk her gettin’ loose before her old man signs.”

“She’s cuffed,” Saint says. “And under my supervision.”

Máirín slaps on a sudden fake smile.

“Well then,” she mocks, “welcome to Black Heath, Miss Harrington. I do hope my son is keepin’ ya comfortable.”

Saint bristles. “Ma.”

She ignores him. “If there’s anythin’ ya need, do let me know. Hospitality is our pride.”

Her tone is sweet enough to rot teeth while her glare tells me she’d gut me if I stepped out of line.

“Keep her at arm’s length, son,” she says. “Harrington women are lyin’ bitches. Your da wouldn’t want ya makin’ foolish decisions. Especially one that involves one of them.”

His mother flicks her cigarette to the ground and grinds it under her boot.

Then she climbs into the Range Rover and drives off, dust swirling in her wake.

Saint watches her go, fists clenched at his sides.

“You’re too much trouble,” he says, stepping closer, lowering his voice until it slides down my spine. “And I’m done lettin’ you think ya can get the better of me.”

My breath stutters. “What does that mean?”

He studies me for a long, cold heartbeat.

“It means from now on, Harrington, I keep you where I can see ya. You’ll sleep in my cabin. You’ll eat when I eat, and you won’t leave my sight.”

My pulse punches against my ribs. “Are you serious?”