Lochlainn drew a sharp breath. Then, silence.
I was going to be sick.
The tightness in my chest spread to my stomach, making it knot and churn. My throat thickened until I could barely breathe. I was drowning.
Finley.
Finleyspiedon me?
The fresh memory of us in the old, sacred ruins—his lips on mine, my body arching toward him, feeling safe in his arms. The images twisted, blackened, then rotted from the inside out.
My eyes burned.
And Lochlainn . . .
Oh my god.That first day. That first job.
My hand clutched to my chest. As if I could hold myself together, as if I could keep my heart from being torn out of my rib cage.
My brain screamed,this can’t be right.But my ears whispered,it’s loud and clear.
The. Whole. Fucking. Time.
I couldn’t take it any longer. The dam broke. A single sob escaped my mouth. The muffled sound was raw and agonizing, bleeding through the hand over my lips.
The door immediately flung open.
Lochlainn stood, looking struck. His face immediately paled as eyes shot to Pogue. Deep rage and sinister accusation swirled in them like a storm.
Pogue’s mask cracked, ever so slightly. A small frowntugged at the edge of his mouth as he took me in. His facade wouldn’t hold up. I saw the strain—the war behind his eyes.
“This . . .” I gasped. “Whole time?”
Lochlainn opened his mouth, but the words were stuck. He just stood there. Frozen. Scanning me as if looking for external wounds—wounds he wouldn’t find. Not the kind he’d left.
My hand brush against my soaked cheek.
“Did you take bets?” I fumed, voice shaking with rage.
Lochlainn flinched. “What?”
“Who’d fuck the foreign freak first?” My words were like poison, venom injected into each syllable. “Kingpin getting first dips, of course.” My chest quivered, the threat of more tears clawing up my throat.
“No,” Lochlainn said quickly. “I—” He hesitated, having the gall to look pained as he searched my eyes. But I didn’t believe it. Not anymore.
Slap!
My hand cracked across his face with vicious force.
He’d always been able to see it coming—to catch my wrist before it hit its mark. But he didn’t bother. Not this time. He took it like the dog he was . . .
The paleness of Pogue’s skin was haunting next to the inky dark aura that thickened around him. The muscles in his jaw worked. It was almost as if I could feel his gaze begging me to look at him—but I couldn’t.
My hand curled tight into my chest, and without another word, I turned and walked out.
I was about to reach the end of the hallway, back to the ballroom, when the door creaked open.
Finley appeared, smiling like the sun itself.
