Page 143 of Lawless Rivals

When he reaches for my throat, I ram my forearm across his neck, pinning him there while I lean close enough for him to smell the liquor on my breath and the control beneath it.

“Open the fucking gate.”

Behind the bars, another security man raises a gun.

Dane joins me and he draws his gun. “We’ve got a cocky fucker here, Saint.”

I release the guard and turn toward the barrel pointed at me.

The guy holding it is young. His hands are steady enough, but his eyes keep flicking past me to the men on the ground. He’s heard stories about me. Everyone has.

I put a hand on the gate. “You’re not really going to fire that thing when there’s a big gate between us.”

“No one gets through these gates without Mr. Harrington’s say.”

I stare past him toward the mansion. “Then get him and lower your fucking gun.”

Dane keeps his gun aimed at the guy through the iron bars. “Saint, listen to me. If we go through him, this becomes something we can’t walk back.”

“This guy has ten seconds to stop pointing that at me.”

Headlights flare at the top of the drive.

For a second, everything in me stops moving except my pulse.

The car comes fast, its beams slashing through the iron bars and washing the guards in blinding light.

The car brakes on the other side of the gates, and the rear door opens first.

Alasdair Harrington steps out as if he has arrived for dinner rather than to face a man with blood on his knuckles and three of his guards trying to breathe.

He fastens a button on his jacket and assesses the carnage I’ve left at his front gates.

Fionn gets out on the other side, and then I realize she’s not in there. My heart kicks hard enough to make my ribs answer.

Alasdair smiles. “I heard you’re looking for my daughter?”

I spit blood onto the tarmac at my boots. “She’s not your daughter anymore. Keira’s mine.”

Fionn strolls to his father’s side. “She’s not here, Tallon.”

I lift the gun before the last word leaves his mouth.

The guards behind the gate react, hands moving, bodies shifting, but Alasdair doesn’t flinch when the barrel settles on his chest.

His confidence comes from years of men raising their weapons to protect him, so his hands stay clean.

“Bring her to me,” I demand.

Alasdair glances at Dane and laughs, quiet and rich with contempt. “Christ, boy. You really think she’d be with a man like you?”

My gun stays steady.

Smugness tugs the side of his mouth. “Your plan backfired, boy. This is my victory.”

I move to the iron bars, aim locked on Alasdair through the gaps.

“Let me see her, Harrington.”