Page 159 of Lawless Rivals

“Only the ugly ones.”

His hand closes around my jaw before I can pull another breath, firm enough to still me, careful enough that I can’t call it pain. “Then you should hope I keep the mask on.”

“Nah,” I counter. “I wanna see the coward hiding behind a stupid balaclava because he’s too scared to own his mistake.”

“Mistake?” he says, bringing his face closer. “The last man who spoke to me like that left this yard in the back of a livestock trailer.”

“Wow… A coward with threats. How original.” I strain away. “Then by all means, please show me your face so I can add ugly to your assets as well.”

When he releases me, he slides his fingers under the edge of the mask and drags it off.

I expect power to come with it, a rush of satisfaction and the clean little victory of making a man obey me, but then Fionn Vaughn Harrington is standing in front of me with his dark hair mussed from the ski mask and a shadow along his jaw, and the victory withers before I can enjoy it.

Of all the Harrington men Alasdair could have sent, he chose his son, the one I’ve only ever glanced at because I was never allowed to stare too long.

And God, his face isn’t the only issue, I tell myself, even as my throat tightens around the lie. It’s the fact that a man like him knows exactly what his looks can excuse, and I’ve spent my life hating his family.

“There,” he says, dropping the balaclava onto the stool. “An informed insult is always better. And you being here is a serious fucking problem for you.”

His sleeve rides up when he runs a hand through his hair, and I catch the edge of a tattoo curling around his wrist.

I’ve seen him across rooms before, across wakes and hotel bars, but never this close. Tallons and Harringtons never share the same space for long.

My fingers flex above my head, useless and half-numb, and his eyes follow the movement before settling on the rope cutting into my wrists.

“Has the penny dropped?” he asks. “Your brothers kidnapped my sister, and now you’re out here in the middle of nowhere with me.”

“Am I meant to be impressed by your big villain reveal?”

He shakes his head, all amusement gone. “Brave, considering you don’t know what happens next.”

“Ya think?” I hiss. “How about you untie me, and we’ll see how that plan of yours unfolds. I’ll have ya face down in the dirt, Fionn.”

His mouth curves and his cheek dimples. “All that fighting talk just to convince me you’re not afraid.”

“And you’re confusing fear with boredom.”

His gaze drops to my throat, to the pulse giving me away beneath rain-cold skin, and when he looks into my eyes again, the amusement has thinned into something far more certain.

“Then we’ll work on that.”

Fionn steps in and reaches above my head, tugging at the knots. I jerk my knee up, but he blocks the movement with his thigh against mine.

As he stands too close, I turn my face away from his throat because noticing things about a Harrington is unforgivable.

When my arms drop, they’re stiff and achy, though I don’t miss a good opportunity. I clench my fist and swing at him, aiming for his jaw with everything I have.

As if expecting it, he catches both my wrists at once, stopping the punch before it lands.

His grip locks around me, his strength more than I’d anticipated. Locked in place before him, our gazes clash, and a hot thread of fury burns through me.

He angles me around, driving me back until my ass hits a thick post and his body crowds the space in front of mine.

Fionn lowers his face inches from mine. “Point made. Try that again, and I stop being generous.”

His gaze lingers at my mouth for a beat, then returns to my eyes as if he has dragged it back by force.

“Shall we make this interesting?”