Page 106 of Lawless Rivals

My heart pumps faster when he yanks me to his side and pulls me with him.

“Are you even that?” I ask, a little breathless.

His pace doesn’t slow as he guides me out of the yard and along the uneven path, heading toward Máirín’s house that I’ve only ever seen in the distance.

“I’m all you’ve got, princess,” he says in a low rumble as we climb a couple of wooden steps to the porch. “People know better than to go up against me.”

The front door swings open before we reach it. Dane stands in the light, his gaze jumping from Saint to me, his arms folded.

“The pet stays outside,” he mutters. “Chain her to a post if you’re worried she’ll run.”

Saint’s grip on my wrist tightens as we walk straight for the entrance.

“Move,” he orders.

After a beat, Dane steps aside, and we cross over the threshold, where the smell of liquor and cigarette smoke hits fast, followed by a wave of heat.

We reach a wide kitchen with a central oak table and men seated around it, maps spread out between mugs and ashtrays.

Máirín sits next to the only unoccupied chair, a cigarette in her fingers. Her forehead creases when her gaze settles on Saint’s fingers cuffing my wrist.

“This is a private meeting, Ciarán,” she says. “Get rid of the girl and take your seat.”

The room falls silent while Saint moves to the chair, pulls it out from under the table, sits, and drags me onto his lap with a firm yank.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Rafe mutters a few seats down.

I lock my spine as every eye in the room burns holes in my seated position on Saint Tallon’s knee.

Part of me hates the attention, whereas the other part is tingling all over.

“There aren’t enough seats for everyone,” Saint points out. “This conversation involves her too. Does anyone have a problem with that?”

The bearded guy next to me slams a hand on the table, the bang loud before he drags his cap off. “You bet I have a fucking problem sitting around the table with a Harrington whore. Her da destroyed my⁠—”

Saint’s hand moves at speed. His gun is out and level with Jake’s head before the rest of the room catches up.

“You have three seconds to apologize, Jake.”

Jake clenches his jaw, and he looks over at Máirín.

“Havin’ the girl here is causin’ trouble, Ciarán,” she says under her breath. “Remove her.”

“One,” Saint begins.

The word drops into the silent room after Máirín’s order.

Jake’s throat works as he swallows, his jaw muscles ticking as he raises his eyebrows at Máirín instead of the gun.

“She can’t help ya, Jake,” Saint grits. “Get on your knees and say you’re fucking sorry.”

Jake doesn’t move, except for his eyes. They move to me and narrow as if I’m his worst enemy. I’ve never met this man in my life.

“Two.”

Jake’s chair scrapes back as he sinks to the tiles, slower than he should, but he still ends up kneeling.

“Sorry, Saint,” Jake mutters.