He has no clue I’ve slit throats, broken legs, buried people alive for way less. My twin brother, Tristan, is known for being ruthless, cold, calculated, and he runs with guys with worse reputations, depending on who you ask. I helped out when needed, but I was never making a show of anything I was doing because my focus was on getting here with Livy.
That doesn’t mean I won’t take a half an hour out of my free time to torture him into understanding that in my world you don’t touch things that belong to other men. You don’t even look at them. And you certainly don’t threaten them.
Something feral takes over, and the next thing I know I’m on top of him, fists slamming into his face. The first punch lands before he even finishes turning toward me. His head snapssideways, and I feel bone give under my knuckles. Then I hit him again. And again.
Someone grabs my shoulders.
Another guy wraps an arm around my chest, trying to haul me back. Hands are dragging me away and the whistle is screaming in my ears.
I barely feel it.
I hear someone yelling my name and then the name Nathan, which must be his first name.
My knuckles are slick with McGuire’s blood, and my tongue tastes like iron from the punch he must’ve landed on me. I never even felt it, I was that enraged that he was so entitled to think he could speak about her.
I swipe the back of my hand across my mouth and glance toward the sideline.
My girl, who doesn't know that she's my girl yet, is still watching me.
Her eyes are wide. Not scared. Just fixed on me like she’s trying to figure out what the hell just happened.
Blood drips from my lips as I grin at her like the fucking psycho I've become.
She needs to know that I'll protect her at any cost, and I’ll ruin anyone who thinks they can claim her.
I lift my chin toward her slightly, the smallest motion, but it's meant only for her.
Mine.
LIVY
Juniper and I wait on the cobblestone walkway that leads from the gated rugby field back into the main campus. The game is over, and I couldn't be more glad about that. I thought from the way Kalen spoke earlier that number nine would be the biggest crashout on the field, but it was number eight who got into a really intense fight. I locked eyes with him, and I couldn’t look away. He’s handsome, really tall and muscular with black messy hair, but that wasn’t the reason I was drawn to him. Everyone on that field is conventionally attractive, big and strong, but something about him looked familiar.
Not really familiar, I think that’s the wrong word. I feel like I know him, have some kind of connection with him, but that’s impossible. I don’t have connections with anyone, let alone a rugby player in Ireland.
I don’t know anything about rugby, but Juniper and Miranda told me random facts throughout the game. Well, Miranda told me all the personal dating histories of each player she had info on, and Juniper pointed out when a player did something wrong and the refs missed it. If that doesn’t describe them in a nutshell, I don’t know what does.
Miranda lets out a squeal as she flirts with two guys on the team as they file out of the building that I can only assume is where they shower. Their hair is wet, and there’s not a speck of mud on their fresh clothes.
Juniper moves closer to me fiddling with her phone as we wait for Kalen who admonished us no less than three times before we left for the game that if we wandered off and didn’t wait for him he was, and I quote ‘going to be a problem.’ I realize why she’s being so quiet a little too late. Ronan, a guy I recognize from the criminology class I share with Juniper is headed right for us. Judging by the exasperated look on her face, she’s not in the mood for whatever he’s about to say. He’s always nice to me, but he can be sort of insistent when he invites us places and we decline. Juniper has exactly zero patience for pushy guys, but she must not think he’s dangerous because she hasn’t sent Kalen after him.
“Ladies, did you enjoy the game?” Ronan is tall, thin, and blond. I think he said he’s on the rowing team, but I honestly have no idea what that even is.
Juniper huffs, but Ronan doesn’t seem to notice. “It was pretty intense,” I say, because it feels awkward that he’s clearly waiting for her to talk to him.
“I texted you to see where you all were sitting, but I didn’t hear back,” he says, and I can’t quite put my finger on it, but something feels icky about the way he’s approaching this. It’s a veiled accusation that she didn't reply, which I’m not sure why he thinks she would. Everyone knows she doesn’t date, despite the fact that she has more unwanted attention from guys than anyone I know. And I’ve had someone break into my foster home and try to kill me before.
I lean back against the wrought-iron fence, tucking my hands into the sleeves of my sweater. When I glance down at my phone, I notice I have a text, but it’s not from a saved number.When I open it, the only thing that’s there is a question mark. My stomach sinks, but I tell myself not to panic. It’s a new phone number that I’ve only had since I moved here. It could be someone trying to reach the person who had the number before me.
I can’t let myself get too far in my head about this. I’ll never live a normal life if I don’t let the past go. Even though I’m trying to reason with myself, I know full well that I’m going to toss and turn tonight wondering if someone with ill intentions is just letting me know they have my location again.
I don’t get to spiral too far down the rabbit hole of my past because Ronan is speaking to me now. “Do you know him?”
“Who?” I glance around fully expecting to see the man who killed my parents. As if I’d even recognize him a decade later. I look so different than I did back then, and he must too.
But Ronan doesn’t need to point anyone out, because I see number eight immediately.
My breath catches just like it did when he was staring at me from the rugby field.
