Page 30 of The Heir's Defiance

Brake fluid hangs in the garage air. I wipe my hands on a shop towel and close the hood on the sedan we pulled from the docks last night. It came back clean. I don’t trust clean. I trust people to be who they are and do what they do, and the last thing we need is a bug inside my brother's home.

Killian leans against the toolbox with a bottle of water, watching me. We've been at odds ever since the first time I fucked Nora, and now he's been staring at me like I'm the enemy. He can see right through my lines. I told them I had a contact inside the Fitzpatrick family and that I'd leverage it, but he knows I won't ever do that. Not to Nora.

“Engine's solid. But there was fresh paint on the undercarriage.” I toss the towel onto the bench. “Somebody tried to cover something up. I want it stripped. Full inspection.”

He nods and pushes off the bench. Whatever was in the car, it’s gone now. Someone cleaned it for a reason, and we need to find out what that reason is. My guess is a bomb somewhere, or maybe a listening device.

Killian doesn’t jump to follow my orders. He has a glare on his face that is very telling. I brace myself for his lecture. “You tipped them off,” he says. “You made a call to her so she knew where we'd be. What if she'd have told her da? You think we could've handled the hellfire if he brought a battalion of men?" My chest constricts as he stalks closer to me. My hands itch to curl into fists and take out my anger on his face, but he's my friend.

I meet his stare and step in closer, my shoulders square. “She put a bullet in her cousin’s friend to keep me breathing. That should count for something.” Nothing about this situation is easy. Nora is the enemy, but I'm falling for her—hard.

He huffs and then scoffs as he shakes his head. “If God’s willing to kill his own kid to save you, what do you think the devil’s willing to do?”

His words haunt me as I walk out. I head upstairs without changing clothes. The stench of the brake fluid still clings to me, and I feel like I could sleep for days.

I step into the war room. Ronan stands at the head of the table, sleeves rolled up, fingers tapping on a closed file. Three of our top lieutenants are scattered around—two talking over a map, the third watching drone footage.

Ronan looks up. “Tell me.”

I shift my stance and lock my jaw before I speak. “Shipment was clean. No casualties. Took the yard in under four minutes. Their side never saw it coming.”

He lifts a brow. “And the bodies?”

“Burned the evidence. Scrubbed the footage. No trace.” I rub the back of my neck and let some of the tension out of my shoulders.Fitzpatrick has been trying to whittle away at our territory and push the boundaries, and these latest shipments were just brazen.

He nods once but doesn’t sit. “Good.” His fingers keep tapping. “The Russians heard anyway,” he says, flipping the folder open without looking up. “They sent a message this morning. Want to know if we pushed the Fitzpatricks or if they’re trying to draw us out.”

He finally looks up. “You tell me. Did they know we were coming?”

I hold his stare. “If they did, they didn’t act on it.”

Ronan steps around the table and plants both hands on the back of the nearest chair. “That’s not an answer.”

I tense because I know where this is going. Killian said something about my alerting her, or maybe Ro saw the footage of her shooting that soldier and saving my life. I can't say I'm not grateful for that, and if he questions me directly, I'll tell him. I just have to play this carefully. The peace talks turned into more reasons to fight, and I'm not sure what he wants to do now, but using Nora is out of the question.

“You still talking to her?” he asks.

I don’t flinch. “Not since the last time.”

He watches me a beat longer. “You should be using it. She gave you a line. You don’t leave rope lying around when you can use it to drag someone under.” His eyes narrow on me and he straightens.

“She’s not giving anything up.” I grit my teeth against his obvious assertion that I'm hiding things and lying.

“Then push her harder.” Ronan steps forward, and I square my shoulders and clench my jaw.

“She already killed for us.”

He reaches out, smooths the front of my shirt, picks a piece of lint off it, and says, “No. She killed for you. That’s not the same.”

I grind my molars together. He knows it. He wants me to admit what this is, and I won’t. If I give him that, he’ll take everything.

“If she has information, we use it,” he says. “We can’t afford to let emotions get in the way, Connor. This is war. There are other war horses to ride."

“You want to turn her into bait?” I smack his hands away and back up a few steps. I'm used to this sort of thing—manipulation, murder, trickery. But I won't drag Nora into this. If I do, it's worse than what her father tried to do to her.

“I want leverage.” He moves back behind the table, tone flat. “I want something we can hold in our hands when they start making demands.”

I take a breath through my nose. “There are other ways.”

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