Page 19 of The Heir's Defiance

I step through the main doors and let them creak shut behind me. There's a steady drip of water somewhere near the loading dock and the crackle of gravel under my boots. The sounds echo across the empty space in the otherwise dark silence.

I don't hear any other movement or voices, but I don't call out to see if Nora's here yet. When she told me she needed to meet, I didn't question it. I'm itching to see her again, like an addict needing a fix.

There’s an old office on the second level. I take the metal stairs two at a time, avoiding the ones I already know are loose. The vantage point gives me a line on every entrance. Twomain doors. One loading dock. One side access hidden by the dumpster outside. If someone’s coming, I’ll see them.

But I’m not expecting a trap tonight. Nora and I have some sort of unspoken agreement, I think, or at least I hope so. We shared things with each other that would be massive red flags if our families were to hear them. I'd have explaining to do, and she'd be on lockdown permanently. It's mutually assured destruction and I'm here without thinking twice after her message.

I lean against the window frame, watching the far end of the block through a crack in the plywood. A van rolls by too quickly to be watching my actions. It doesn't stop, but I keep my eye on it until it's out of sight. Then I check my watch. Seven minutes early.

Just in case, I check the perimeter again, slower this time. I move from room to room, avoiding the worst of the buckled flooring. When I pass the side window, I see her car crawl to a stop down the block. She doesn’t kill the lights, just sits there for a second, then climbs out and eases the door shut and walks in my direction.

I head back down the metal stairs, not rushing. I don’t want her to think I’m nervous, or worse, eager. Even though I am. Even though something about her has been burning in the back of my mind since the last time I touched her.

The door creaks open. She steps inside without hesitation, but her movements are tight and controlled. Her coat clings in the breeze behind her and her hair's pulled back, like she didn’t want anything loose that might hide her expression. But she glances over her shoulder hastily, and I see the flicker of fear there. Something has spooked her, but it's not something here tonight.It's some moment she's lived through that she carries inside her thoughts.

We don’t speak right away. She closes the door behind her, turns the lock, then stands in the half-light leaking through the broken windows.

"You’re being watched?" I ask.

She nods. "Yes, I know. One of my father’s men followed me halfway here, then peeled off. He wanted me to know he was there." She steps closer, and her boots thud on the wet concrete. Her hand reaches for mine and I take it. "He’s decided to use me," she says. "Not just appearances now… Like actually use me…"

My jaw tightens. "Define use." I already know what's coming. The idea that Seamus Fitzpatrick would use his own daughter sickens me, especially given how fragile her heart has to be after nearly being forced to marry that bastard Russian.

"Leverage. Access. Distraction. He thinks if you’re watching me, you’re not watching the bigger play. He wants to see what information I can pull from you."

She doesn’t tell me how much he suspects or whether he knows about how we fucked in his safe house. But I suspect he knows more than he's even let on to her. Men in this business aren't stupid. If he's had eyes enough to know I'm looking in her direction, then he knows enough to bury me.

I cross my arms. "So this is the part where you stop talking to me, then." Something in my chest twists as I say the words because I've already staked my claim here, told her she's mine. And a part of me truly means that, no matter how irrational it sounds.

"No." Her voice is level, sharper than I expect. "This is the part where I warn you. After this, I don’t know what will happen." She steps closer and closes the gap more. We're not touching except for our intertwined hands, but it feels like she's part of me.

The silence stretches between us with a strange wired tension that crackles. The kind that feels like something might break.

Then I move one step forward. Then another. When my body is touching hers, hand pulling her into my chest, I study her face. She doesn’t flinch, doesn’t back away.

I kiss her without asking. It starts slowly, deliberately. Her breath catches, then settles. She leans in, just enough to meet me there, and the kiss sharpens. Her hand rises to the collar of my coat, fingers brushing skin. Then I pull back.

"We need to be smarter," I say. "We can't risk being caught."

"I know," she whispers, almost like she's terrified that I'm rejecting her or afraid to be seen with her. The truth is, I'm already bracing for what happens to her if her father finds out. There won't be any pleasant planning or pomp and circumstance of a wedding if that happens. He'll sign a contract and ship her to Russia to marry Volkov against her will, and he'll drug her if he has to.

My hand rises against the back of her head, crushing her mouth to mine again with a ferocity I have to control so I don't hurt her. She has to know what I'm thinking. "Nora, when a man stakes a claim, that claim belongs to him. Unless she says otherwise." My eyes burn with intensity as I stare into hers.

Her eyes search mine, nothing soft in them at all. It's inky fear I see, even as her lips tremble out the words. "Then you'd better be sure you’re ready to own it."

I know what that means and the consequences of it. Seeing her again carves something open in me, but it’s not weakness. It’s the opposite. I’m more dangerous with her in the picture because now I have something I’d burn cities for. And if Ronan found out, he’d do what Seamus is doing. Use it. Turn me inside out for leverage.

But I won’t let that happen.

She nods once and turns without hesitation, her back straight as she slips through the door and into the night. I watch her disappear into the darkness, that same tightness in my chest flaring. Then the air shifts. I’m alone again.

I pull the folded map from my coat pocket and set it on the rusted ledge beside the window. The scout car’s plate is still sharp in my head. I mark the corner where I saw it parked, then circle the adjacent streets. If they’re tailing me now, it’s because they’re nervous—or they’ve started planning something worse.

Either way, they made a mistake.

I walk out of the warehouse alone, hands in my pockets, thoughts already working angles. By the time I reach the street, I’ve got three plays ready—and one of them ends with someone bleeding.

12

---