Page 12 of The Heir's Defiance

"Little of both," I admit, my voice quieter now, more confident. I glance down at the glovebox, where the photo still sits tucked behind the latch. I’m supposed to be focused on that, but my rebellious side craves her first.

Another stretch of silence passes between us, and though her voice is absent, I know she hasn’t left the line. The pause isn’t cold, and it isn’t warm, either. It just exists in that space where she’s deciding how much of herself to give. I don’t press. I know the value of waiting when someone like her is weighing something, and I’d rather let her fill the quiet on her own terms than try to force it with words she won’t trust.

"Where are you?" Nora asks.

"East side. Near the canals."

"And you want me to what, come find you?" My heart leaps in my chest at her words, a rush of adrenaline-laced excitement. My dick is already swelling.

I glance out at the street. A boy rolls past on a scooter, too fast for the broken pavement. "I’ll meet wherever you want."

She sighs, and I picture her leaning against a kitchen counter, barefoot, arms folded, deciding whether this is worth the effort. "You’re not good at sitting still, are you?"

"Only when I’m thinking of someone who makes it worth it."

She huffs once—amused, not charmed. "Fine. I’ll text you."

"When?" I ask, voice steady, though I’m already leaning forward in the seat, every part of me wired for her answer. I shouldn’t care this much about a single word, but I do.

"Soon." Her reply is casual, but there’s something under it, something she knows will keep me hanging there, checking the time even while I'm driving.

"You hesitated," I say, watching a gust of wind push a discarded coffee cup across the empty lot.

"I like making you wait." Her voice has a smile in it, the kind she knows I’ll hear whether I want to or not.

"Then we’re even," I say, and I almost mean it. Because for once, I don’t mind the waiting. Not if it’s her on the other side of it.

She hangs up without another word, and I stay there a few more minutes, watching the sky turn grey over the rooftops. Whatever tension followed me out of the docks is still here, but less pointed. I lean my head back against the seat and wait for her message.

8

NORA

Ihang up before I can second-guess myself. The phone screen goes black in my hand, but Connor’s voice still clings to the inside of my skull. That last thing he said—tell me when and where—lodges in my chest, causing a rise of energy that makes a smile spring to my lips.

I set the phone on my desk and stare at the wall for a long beat. The shadows stretch across the floor, curling toward me like black fingers. If I expect to get out of this house, I have to be a bit sneaky and underhanded. There’s no way to do this without burning someone. So I pick someone who deserves it.

Liam McKenna isn’t the worst of my father’s men—but he’s not the best, either. And he made a big mistake. One I can use, one that will haunt him if he doesn't do what I tell him to do.

I pull open the bottom drawer of my desk and flip through the photos I keep hidden there—printouts, not digital. I've been waiting for a reason to use these, much like the ones I would use in my teen years when I wanted to sneak out or stay out later than I was supposed to. One in particular slides out from the stack and lands face-up under the lamplight. I stare at it—Liam'shand on my mother’s hip, her face turned away from the camera, but his isn’t. And there's no mistaking that it's her, either.

It'll do.

By the time I find him, he’s just finished his shift, jacket half-off, one foot already braced on the estate’s stone drive while he lights a cigarette. The sun’s dipped low enough that his shadow cuts across the pavement. He doesn’t see me until I’m a few steps away.

“Nora,” he says, voice flat with surprise. “Everything alright?” His forehead creases with concern, like he's going to jump on whoever might be threatening to harm me. He loves my mother, and his concern comes out toward me. But he won't like me after this.

“Not even a little.” I stop in front of him, arms crossed, photo folder in hand. He flicks ash onto the ground and straightens, suddenly alert.

“You need something?” His eyes narrow, and I smirk at him.

“Yes,” I say. “Keys. To the Wexford flat.”

He lets out a short, breathy laugh. “That place? It’s condemned.”

“No, it’s under a shell LLC your boss uses to shuffle money.” I tilt my head slightly. “You think I don’t know which buildings the family keeps off the books?”

His jaw works from side to side. “Why the hell would I hand over the keys to that place?”

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