Page 158 of Lawless Rivals

His head tilts slightly.

“You know exactly what I’m talking about, Sera Tallon.”

I hate that the mask hides his expression, and all I get are intense dark eyes that scrape over the bruise forming at my cheekbone before flicking to the grazed skin on my knuckles, where I caught one of his men in the mouth before they tied my wrists.

“Oh yeah?” I bare my teeth. “And who are you?”

“I’m the one asking the questions,” he says. “If I were you, I’d start talking.”

“What do you want me to talk about?” I ask, twisting my wrists again, because if he’s focused on my mouth, he might not be watching my hands. “The horrendous weather we’re experiencing this evening? Or shall we go deeper into the sad little psyche of a man who needs a mask before he can act big and powerful?”

His laugh is deep and rough enough to hold my attention, and I hate that I noticed.

“Do the Tallons always talk this much when they’re losing?”

My brows hitch. “Do Alasdair’s men always mistake money for class?”

“You’re deflecting,” he says. “Do you really expect me to believe you had no part in it?”

“I expect you to use your brain, but I’m willing to accept that might be asking too much from a guy like you.”

His eyes narrow when I smile at him.

“That’s a brave tone for someone hanging in my barn.”

“Your barn?” I glance up at the leaking tin, then back at him. “Christ, times must be hard. Are your nice clothes from a thrift store?”

His stare holds on mine, and the lack of reaction annoys me more than a threat would.

“Harringtons don’t send men dressed like you to a place like this unless someone’s embarrassed them,” I say, letting my gaze pass over the open collar of his black shirt and lower to the gold watch half-hidden beneath his cuff. “So, you’re either his top man, or you’re pretending to be something you’re not.”

“That attitude will get you in trouble one of these days, Sera.” He says my name as if he owns the sound of it, and my fingers curl.

I lift my chin and stare right at him. “Take off the mask and say that again.”

He leans forward on the stool, elbows resting on his thighs. “You think my face changes your situation?”

“I think a man who hides is weak.”

Outside, a dog barks again, and somewhere past the barn, a man shouts for it to shut up.

I drag a breath through my nose. “I grew up with three brothers. I can handle you.”

He checks his watch with an air of boredom, then pins me with those dark eyes of his. “Can you?”

I glare at him. “Take it off.”

For a moment, he gives me nothing but the blank black shape of the mask and those eyes fixed through it.

Then he rises, and my pulse picks up.

In a few strides he’s before me, close enough for his body heat to press against the wet chill around my skin and for his clean scent of rain-soaked cotton and expensive whiskey to reach me through the barn rot.

“Say please.”

“That word isn’t in my vocabulary,” I say. “But fuck you and dickhead are right at the top, if you’re taking requests.”

The corners of his eyes crease. “You always this mouthy when you’re at someone else’s mercy?”