“He’s just a kid. He’s upset, and he’ll be scared. I’m a familiar face who he trusts.”
God, I hope he still trusts me. Seeing a dead body coming out of my husband’s strip club while I sit on the steps and then being dragged down to a bloody torture chamber might have ripped some of that trust away.
“We’llallgo,” Seamus growls, shutting down Paddy’s complaints.
Expelling an annoyed breath, Paddy reaches down to seize my arm again, but Seamus knocks his hand away, extending his own for me to take.
Shooting a smug look at Paddy, I place my hand in Seamus’s, his long fingers curling around it as he helps me stand.
Seamus doesn’t drop my hand, holding it tightly instead, which annoys Paddy even more. He storms off ahead, wrenching the door open and striding through it.
We follow him at a more measured pace down the stairs to the basement. I have never been down here before, but it gives me the creeps.
We stop at an innocuous white door with serious ominous vibes rolling off it. So creepy. Seamus opens the door, ushering me inside.
I’m glad to see Tristan isn’t strapped to the table in the middle of the room with fresh bloodstains. Rather, he’s huddled over in one of the corners of the room, curled up over his knees, head buried, sobbing softly as he shakes.
Connor is standing near the door, frowning at the kid. I stalk through the door, glaring at him, and Connor’s eyes widen, his hands moving in a surrender motion.
“I didn’t touch the lad.”
Whatever. Tearing my hand from Seamus’s, I shove at Connor’s chest until he moves out of the way.
“You did enough.” I turn to glare at the three of them. “If you insist on being in this room, you stay over by the door and don’t make any sudden movements.”
Seamus’s hand shoots out, grabbing my arm. “He might lash out,Tig.I don’t think you should go over there.”
Really, Captain Obvious? Thank you for that incredible observation.
“He might lash out,” I agree, jerking my arm out of his grip. “But not at me.Idon’t have a penis.”
I hesitantly cross the concrete floor, three silent sentinels beside the door watching me. Stopping halfway across the room, I slowly sink until I am sitting on the floor.
“Tristan?” I call out.
He keeps sobbing, so I fall silent, my heart aching for him. He came here for help, and now he will probably be psychologically scarred for life. Some social worker I am. No one speaks or moves for about ten minutes. Once Tristan’s sobs have quieted, I try again.
“Tristan?”
He lifts his head, his tear-soaked eyes finding mine.
“Is it okay if I come closer?” I keep my voice even and low, not wanting to spook him. He stares at me for a beat, stiffening as his eyes flicker behind me. Shit. I should have made them waitoutsidethe door.
“They aren’t going to touch you, Tristan,” I call his attention back to me. “Can I come closer?”
His eyes fix on the three men again, but he nods. That’s progress. I’ll take it. Standing slowly, I take a few deliberate steps until I am next to him. Sliding my back down the wall, I sit beside him, about a foot away. His eyes don’t leave the trio by the door the entire time.
“They brought me down here.” His voice breaks. “They’re going to hurt me.”
“No, Tristan,” I say soothingly, shaking my head. “See the one in the blue shirt. That’s my husband, Seamus. He’ll make sure no one hurts you.”
My eyes find Seamus’s. He reads the plea there, nodding slowly. Thank God.
“The dark-haired one, his name is Paddy, he’s Seamus’s best friend. He was the best man at our wedding.”
“He grabbed you,” Tristan says, still sounding broken. “He grabbed your arm.”
“He did.”