Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 98000 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 490(@200wpm)___ 392(@250wpm)___ 327(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98000 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 490(@200wpm)___ 392(@250wpm)___ 327(@300wpm)
Because I hadn’t expected Tiernan to be human. I hadn’t expected him to give a shit about anyone other than himself, except maybe his father, but there’s not a doubt in my mind Aislin is the most important person in the world to him. That Cillian and Rory are brothers to him and that he cares about them as well. Would he still put a bullet between their eyes the way his father did to mine?
Angry goose bumps spread down my arms at the thought, but then I turn inward, this quiet voice in the back of my head telling me Tiernan wouldn’t do that. He would, though. It’s who he is, and the dumbest thing I could do is romanticize him.
I pick up my sketchbook and flip to the last drawing I made—Tiernan asleep in Aislin’s chair, his head tilted to the side in a way that couldn’t have been comfortable. He slept with a frown on his face, something I’ve noticed he does more than not. What’s going through his head when he’s sleeping? What are the thoughts that plague him? Because I know they’re there. I see them, feel them on this level I shouldn’t and is probably all in my fucked-up head.
I rub my finger over his hair in the artwork as if I can feel the soft strands that always hang over his forehead. What if something happens to him tonight? To Aislin? What the fuck is he thinking, taking her with him? But then, part of me respects him for it.
I push the sketchbook away and pick up my laptop. I haven’t done any of my schoolwork, instead spending the day obsessing about him, drawing him. Oh, and hacking into Michael Jensen’s bank account. It would be very easy to take everything he has, making it look like he just…disappeared. The only reason I haven’t done it yet is because what if something goes wrong? What if Tiernan can’t do whatever it is he’s planning and Jensen is alive to find an empty bank account, which will just put heat on us.
Them, I remind myself. I might be the one with the computer skills to do this, but I can’t think of myself as an us with them.
My gaze shoots to the door when it unlocks. Ollie comes in, looking startled to see me, pushing his glasses up his nose. “I didn’t expect you to be here. You’re staying home tonight?”
I rub a hand over my head. “Um…no. I’m going out with Cillian.”
“Cillian fucking O’Shea?”
I roll my eyes. “Yep.” Not that I want to, and I can’t believe I’m doing it. Tiernan is all up in my head. If I had any doubts, me doing as he said is a clear fucking sign.
“Wow…you’re, um…really getting involved with them. You know they’re drug dealers, right?”
I chuckle. “No idea what you’re talking about.”
“And that they’re not so secretly organized crime.”
“Nope. Never heard anything like that. You’ve been watching too many movies.”
Ollie sighs. “I hope you know what you’re doing.”
I have no clue, but that’s not going to stop me from doing it. “I’m taking a shower.” I grab some clothes, then slip into the bathroom. Cillian should be here soon to babysit me, so I should make sure I’m ready.
The hot water feels incredible against my skin, probably too hot for comfort for most people, but a little pain has always brought me pleasure. It’s a reminder I’m alive.
Once I’m clean, I shave and get dressed. The second I open the door, I hear, “Hey. Don’t look at that. It’s private,” in Ollie’s soft voice. Great. The asshole must be here.
“Leave Ollie’s shit alone.” I step out, but it’s not something of Ollie’s that Cillian has in his hands. It’s my sketchbook. He’s flipping through the pages, seeing my personal shit, my fucking heart—if I have one—or hell, maybe it’s just what’s in my head. Whatever it is, he has no right to look at it. Red flashes in my vision, all thought cutting off as I charge him.
Cillian doesn’t expect it, so he doesn’t defend himself as I slam into him, the two of us colliding with the wall. The sketchbook tumbles out of his hands, Cillian immediately trying to fight me off, but I still manage to pull my arm back and slam my fist into his face.
“Motherfucker,” Cillian curses.
“Jesus, Dean. What the hell?” Ollie says, distracting me, and Cillian shoves me away. I hit Ollie’s small end table, which clatters to the floor, just before pain shoots through my mouth as Cillian punches me.
“I swear to God, if you weren’t Tiernan’s, I’d fucking kill you.”
“I’m not his,” I spit, tasting blood and feeling my lip begin to swell.
He shakes his head, his eye already getting puffy too. “You should feel lucky you are. He doesn’t claim people, but he’s claimed you, and that’s the only thing keeping me from losing my shit on you.” He picks up the sketchbook, and I tense, but he closes it and hands it over. “I didn’t know what it was. You need to learn some restraint. Especially if you’re going to be spending time with us.”