Page 82 of Lawless Rivals

I scan the crowd the way my father taught me to watch a field before a storm. Harrington never travels alone. He always rallies a circus of muscle who usually arrive long before he does.

This evening, the regular guys he uses haven’t appeared and my temper is fraying.

I check the main entrance again, then the side door.

The auctioneer rattles through another lot. A chestnut mare is pushed into the ring. Bidding rises and falls in clipped numbers. I nod at a neighbouring landowner as he passes, keeping my posture loose, giving nothing away.

Dane checks his watch. “The fuckers ten minutes late.”

“We’ll give him five more,” Rafe says. “Then we go to his place and toss a fucking grenade.”

I keep my eyes on the entrance. “He’s playing games.”

And I’m not in the mood to take part.

“Saint,” Dane says after a moment, lowering his voice, “I have a bad feeling about this. I don’t think he’s coming.”

“Me either,” I grit, pulling my phone from my jacket pocket to call Shay.

It rings off and goes straight to an automated voicemail service. Shay never misses a call, not even if the guy is taking a piss.

I hang up and dial Sera.

The line doesn’t even connect and my blood boils.

For a second, the chant of the auctioneer fades behind the thunder of my blood in my skull. The building narrows.

“Harrington moved us,” I say.

For one brutal second, I see the shape of it.

The false meeting. The late evening timing. The yard stripped of men.

They drew me out.

And I left Keira wide open.

“The fucker set us up,” Rafe growls as the three of us head toward the exit.

“Fuck.” I push through the doors and into the night air. “The bastard is going after Keira. If they take her before⁠—”

My chest tightens and rage feathers my vision. Shay and Sera are the only ones holding the yard tonight.

Chapter 22

Keira

There’s a thump on the cabin door.

I get off the couch and peer through the window to find Sera waiting on the porch. The second I pull the door open, she’s already backing away.

“Get your boots on, Harrington,” she says over her shoulder. “We’re light on the ground tonight.”

“Do I get a choice?”

She glances back, her expression unimpressed. “Nope.”

Her reply is pure Tallon.