Total pages in book: 110
Estimated words: 107306 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 537(@200wpm)___ 429(@250wpm)___ 358(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 107306 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 537(@200wpm)___ 429(@250wpm)___ 358(@300wpm)
I want to feel scared, wait for something to hit me other than just disappointment at myself, but it doesn’t come.
“Let him go.” Rory’s voice is soft…rough…disconnected.
“Fuck that,” Cillian replies.
“Let. Him. Go, Cillian.” Then, “Please.”
The room is deathly silent—even I’ve somehow stopped fighting for breath—and then…then Cillian releases me, pushes away from me. I gasp, trying to pull air into my lungs as he kneels in front of Rory.
I don’t know how to explain it, what I feel in this moment. It’s not jealousy, though a part of me wants to be where Cillian is right now, wants Rory to need me that way. But as they press their foreheads together, speaking to each other in a way only the two of them understand, all I can think is how fucking beautiful they are. How beautiful what they have is.
“Talk,” Tiernan says, and even though it’s tough, even though my throat hurts, I find a way to do as he says, telling him everything—who Bruce is, the way he’s treated us, and everything that happened tonight. I don’t hold any of it back, despite some of it making me feel like a failure. “Next time, call me or Cillian.” He walks around me, points his gun at Bruce, and pulls the trigger, then nods at Dean, who walks into the bedroom, and a second later, there’s another shot.
Tiernan gets on the phone and calls someone, saying, “I need a cleanup.” He talks on the phone for a few more minutes, but I watch Cillian as he tries to get Rory’s hoodie back on.
When I see him fumble with it, I can’t stop myself from stepping forward, grabbing the sleeve. Cillian cocks his head at me, taking me in, then giving his attention to Rory as we work together to get the hoodie back on him. I’m surprised Rory is letting us take care of him this way, and also that Cillian isn’t shoving me away to do it himself.
When our fingers brush, there’s a strange spark that almost makes me pull away, but I don’t…I fucking don’t, partly because I don’t want to, because I don’t get it and it makes me curious, and partly because I don’t want him touching Rory without me. I don’t want to take away what the two of them share, the bond they have, but I’m not ready to walk away from Rory yet either. I want Cillian to know Rory is mine too.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Rory
The car is silent on the way home. Cillian’s driving, me in the passenger seat, Shai in the back.
I fucked up tonight, and there is no denying it. I shouldn’t have been there without talking to T first. I shouldn’t have been there for something that has nothing to do with our family anyway, and I shouldn’t have had Shai with me on something like this. But I just wanted to fix it for him, wanted to make his life a little easier. Instead, I could have gotten him hurt, could have gotten him killed, and the end result is the one thing he asked me not to do—kill them. I might not have pulled the trigger myself, but it’s my fault they’re dead.
I lost myself again tonight, first when I almost drowned Bruce, and I’m still lost, in that spot deep in my head that I struggle to get out of. I hate that Shai’s seeing me like this, hate that it’s probably too much. It would be for any sane person. Even Ollie hasn’t seen me like this, and I hope he never does.
Please, baby.
He’d called me baby tonight. It feels like another tangled thing in my head that I don’t know how to unwind. I liked it…fuck, I liked it, but am I supposed to like it? What does it mean that I like it? And why did he say it?
The second we pull up at the house, Ollie comes running out. Shai gets out of the back seat, and he’s there when I open the passenger door. I look up at him, knowing I should say something, but I can’t find the right words.
“Rory?” Ollie asks, standing a few feet behind Shai.
“He’s good, Kitten,” Cillian answers for me.
My gaze skitters away from Shai as I get out of the car and head into the house. I can tell everyone is walking on eggshells, unsure what to say or do around me, unsure how I’ll react; if I’ll sink deeper into that place where it’s hard to reach me, or if I’ll explode and let everything out. I fucking hate this shit.
We go in, Dean bringing up the rear, locking the door behind us. Cillian is holding Ollie’s hand, the worry clear on Ollie’s face, even as he’s trying to hide it.
“I’m fine, Bunny,” I say softly.
What if I’d gotten Shai killed tonight? What if what he saw was too much? It’s not the same as roughing someone up outside a bar for some spare cash.