Page 93 of Godless Saints

Moon laughed once, sharp. “Control? I’m the only one who has any. You’re the one out here doing whatever the fuck you want.” He turned and stormed toward the gas station.

“Hey…” I called after him. “Moonshine.” He didn’t stop. Didn’t even glance back. Just kept walking, head high.

I stayed by the bike pumping gas, gaze locked on the window. Under those harsh lights he looked small and furious. It twisted something ugly in my chest. Hair messy. Molars grinding. Grabbing water and a coffee, hands shaking so badly the cup nearly slipped. Steam rose from the coffee in thick white curls. He kept glancing toward the dark road outside, eyes darting like he expected Ronan’s headlights to cut through the black at any second.

Moon came back out.

“Don’t,” he warned the second I started taking off my jacket.

I stepped closer anyway, sliding it properly onto his arms and zipping it up so it would hold against the wind on the bike. “You’re freezing.”

Moon’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t pull away. “Stop acting like you know what I need.”

I didn’t answer. Just adjusted the collar around his neck, thumb lingering a second too long against his skin. The jacket swallowed him. My jacket. On him. He jammed the helmet on without another word. He climbed behind me.

I revved the engine.

He was here now. Still holding on. And I was never letting him go again. The frantic ride settled into something slower, heavier. Moon was warmer now. I could feel every shaky breath he took against my spine.

He didn’t speak.

Neither did I.

The road narrowed. City lights vanished. The Highlands swallowed everything. Just the headlight, the snow, and Moon’s arms locked around my waist.

The safe house appeared at the end of a long, snow-covered drive. Remote. Isolated. One single light burning in the window.

I killed the engine. The sudden silence was deafening. Moon got off first. He ripped the helmet off.

He stared at the dark house, then turned to me. Refusing to blink. “Start talking.”

I didn’t answer right away. I swung off the bike, dug my fingers into the snow beside the front step, and pulled out the hidden key. Metal cold enough to burn.

Moon watched me unlock the door. “Is this yours?”

“One of my family’s hideouts,” I said, pushing the door open. “Come on.”

The inside was freezing. Dark wood and stone. The air smelled of cold ash and old smoke. I moved straight to the fireplace, crouching to stack kindling and logs. My hands were still half-numb from the ride. The match shook between my fingers. Moon hovered near the door like he wasn’t sure whether to run or stay. I struck a match instead. The flame caught fast, crackling loud in the silence. I filled the kettle and slammed it on the stove, water sloshing.

Moon finally moved. He walked over to the fire, still swallowed by my jacket, arms wrapped tight around himself. He didn’t look at me. Just stared into the growing flames, nostrils flaring, elbows locked.

I made two mugs of tea and set one down on the low table beside him. He didn’t thank me. Just picked it up with shaking hands and wrapped both palms around the mug.

I nudged his shoe with my boot. “Hey. Look at me.” Moon slowly turned his head. He still hadn’t taken my jacket off.

My jacket looked right on him.

“Now what?” The words cracked at the edges. “What the fuck do we do, Cillian?”

CHAPTER 22

MOON

The fire crackled in the hearth. Warm. Golden. Fucking offensive. Dark wood beams. Cold stone floor that still held the winter chill.

I sat on the floor with my knees pulled tight to my chest, clothes still damp from the ride. My socks were ice. My hands wouldn’t stop shaking. I clenched the mug harder, but the tremors only climbed my arms and locked into my shoulders. My jaw ached. If I tried to stand right now, my knees would give out. I couldn’t look at him. If I looked at him, everything I’d been holding together would come apart. I stared at the flames instead.

Cillian hovered behind me. His stare burned into the space between my shoulders like he could see every fracture.