The Devil’s Keepsake by Somme Sketcher

Lorcan

She hates me again.

Good. I’m on comfortable ground, being the villain.

Staring down the corridor into the black abyss, I clench my fists and steady my breathing. Let her go.

A low whistle from behind me. My hand twitches towards the AK then I realize I’d know that noise anywhere. It’s a signature of Donnacha’s. When I turn, he’s leaning against the wall, hands in the pockets of his combat pants. “Her prince tried to rescue her from your ivory tower, Lorc. And you ain’t gonna pop a bullet in his ass? You must be whipped.”

I grunt in response, stalking away from him. “I’m going back to bed.”

“Sweet dreams, Mother Gothel.”

“Fuck off.”

I get halfway to the lobby when I stop. The rage is flowing through me thick and fast. I know I’m not sleeping this side of sunrise. I’m not angry at her. I’m pissed at the bastard who thought he could turn up at my estate and scream blue-fucking-murder in the hope I’ll hand over Poppy. I’m angry at the fact he called her baby. Had the nerve to stand on my turf and tell her he thought they were going to get married and have children.

And I’m fucking furious that he told her he fucked someone else.

The irony that she’s been fucking me this whole time isn’t lost on me, it’s just irrelevant.

Poppy thinks I don’t care. I wish. The problem is that I care too fucking much.

A gruff laugh echoes down the hallway. Donnacha hasn’t moved a muscle, studying me with a glint in his eyes. You’d never know we were in the middle of a fucking war with how laid-back that bastard is.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” He takes his time pushing himself off the wall and reaching for his burner phone. “My men are already tracking him. You’ll catch up with them if you hurry.”

After a beat, I give him a curt nod. Then, I pop the bullets out of my rifle chamber and let them bounce off the floor. “Just in case I’m tempted to use them,” I snarl.

Donnacha shakes his head, still chuckling to himself.

“You’re going soft, Lorc.”