Page 133 of Lawless Rivals

Fionn almost smiles, but whatever humor tries to appear gets swallowed before it can soften him.

He crosses the room, his gaze traveling over the dress, the shoes near the wardrobe, the make-up spread before me.

I turn back to my reflection. “Does the green dress get your approval, brother?”

“Your dress choices aren’t mine to make.” He threads the tie between his fingers. “Anyway, I came to see how you are.”

I make a face at him in the mirror. “No, you came because he didn’t get what he wanted, and now it’s your turn.”

Fionn comes up behind me, his face reflected over my shoulder. He checks himself out, runs a hand through his dark hair, and flips up his shirt collar.

He looks too much like our father when he’s concentrating on knotting his tie, but his eyes aren’t cold enough. Not yet.

“You were with them for ages, Keira.”

“I know where I was.”

“With Saint Tallon, to be precise.”

My finger dabs a little harder beneath my eye, leaving a faint smear in the concealer. “What are you getting at?”

“Just stating facts.”

“No. You’re trying to see how I react when you poke me with his name.”

He fixes his tie in place. “Does it poke you?”

I reach for the powder. “This conversation is boring.”

His eyes stay on me in the mirror. “There’s a reason they call it Stockholm syndrome.”

I pause, brush hovering over the compact. “Jesus, Fionn. How educated of you to try to psychoanalyze me before dinner.”

“They trapped you. You depended on him for food and basic needs, like using the toilet, right? Maybe he showed you a little kindness, or what passes for kindness in a Tallon house, and your head started confusing not being hurt with being protected.”

The brush moves over my cheek in a smooth sweep because I make it. “Did you find that information online, jotting down key points? It sounds rehearsed.”

He narrows his eyes and folds his collar back into place. “I sound worried.”

I roll my eyes at him. “You sound sent.”

His jaw tightens, revealing the small fracture beneath the expensive suit. He didn’t come into my room as a devoted brother. Fionn wants the dirt on Saint.

“I need to get ready,” I say. “You should go pour yourself a drink downstairs.”

“I know men like him,” he continues.

“No, you know men who talk about men like him.”

“Saint Tallon has a reputation.”

I toss the powder into the makeup bag and swivel around to face him. “And you don’t? Come on, Fionn. I heard all the rumors at school.”

“He enjoys screwing with women, Keira. He fucks them, gets bored, and cuts them off. That’s not classroom gossip. That’s his pattern.”

I stand before I decide to, lipstick still in my hand, uncapped and red as a warning. “Are you finished?”

“No.”