Page 99 of Lawless Rivals

It’ll be pitch black out here soon.

With just me and Saint, miles from civilization.

He follows behind, and when my boot catches on the step leading into the mobile, the worn strip of metal wobbly underfoot, he grabs my arm to steady me.

His grip is quick and sure, with no hesitation in it. As I get my foot under me, he lets go before I’ve time to pull away.

I ignore how my pulse goes wild at the simplest of touches.

The dirty pan from this morning sits on the counter, and with Saint moving past me to get further inside, I hold my breath.

This space is way too small to avoid close contact.

He drops the backpack onto the counter and pulls out a few tins, stacking them in a high cupboard.

If things were different, I’d help. However, making me traipse after him all day while subjecting me to glares and whispers, has worn away my patience.

I fold my arms across my chest and stand there. The silence is loud out here under the haze of dusk.

“What did your mother mean earlier?” I ask. “About history repeating itself.”

A tin thumps against the cupboard.

“Your da and mine fought over boundaries. The hatred started with our grandparents. And here we are fighting all over again.”

I move closer, stopping at the counter, my gaze lifting to the tins he’s lined up with the labels facing outwards.

“She looked at me when she said it.”

“It’s no secret Ma doesn’t like ya.”

“Your mother doesn’t know me,” I say, picking up a jar of coffee, unscrewing the lid and sniffing the granules. “Thank God you brought coffee.”

That earns me the smallest flicker of a smile.

“Seems we both like coffee in the morning,” he says. “We’ve got eggs and sausages too.”

I pull open a slim cupboard and put the jar out of the way.

“I’ve never been camping before,” I murmur, quieter now, more to myself than to him.

Saint grunts out a half-laugh. “Yeah, I can’t imagine your family slummin’ it in nature. Especially that pretty boy brother of yours.”

When I glance over at him, he’s looking right at me. Flutters burst inside my chest.

“Have you ever spoken to Fionn?”

“Never needed to.”

“So, your opinion of him is based on⁠—”

“That he’s a self-righteous prick.”

I make a face at him. “Right. You think Fionn’s a prick, and I think your brothers are Neanderthal ‘yes men’.”

Saint chuckles and stops unpacking the supplies to look at me again.

“That makes us even.”