“No, you don’t,” Cillian interrupts. “Because if you did, you would understand that Artem can survive a firing squad if he has to. But he won’t be able to survive losing you.”
“I’ll be fine—”
“He barely survived losing Marisha, Esme,” he says, raising his voice this time. “He’s not going to survive losing you. And he’ll never forgive me for leaving you, either.”
I feel desperate tears slip down my cheeks. My voice falters.
I turn away from Cillian as a new round of gunshots pelts the silence. I lunge for the cupboard under the sink and pull out one of the guns that Artem has stashed when he thought I wasn’t looking.
It feels heavy and ungainly in my hand. I hate it instantly.
But I’m determined to use it if I need to.
I rush to the door, ready to go out.
Only for Cillian to block my path.
He shakes his head sadly. Those mirthful blue eyes are brimming with sorrow.
“Esme, you know I can’t let you walk out of here.”
“Too bad you won’t be able to stop me.”
For some reason, I didn’t really believe Cillian would go this far.
But as I tried to walk around him, he blocks me again.
“I can’t just leave him out there,” I say desperately, my eyes looking past Cillian into the darkness of the mountains.
“You’re right.”
Relief floods through me. I see the panic and fear in Cillian’s eyes, too.
We’re both aware that the gunfire has ceased.
Now there’s nothing but silence—dark, taunting silence that could mean absolutely anything.
“Let’s go,” I say fiercely. “I’m ready.”
To my surprise, he shakes his head again. “No. You’re staying. I’ll go.”
“Cillian, I—"
He moves so fast I don’t even have time to react. He rips the gun suddenly from my hands and pushes me down onto one of the chairs on the table.
“What the fuck are you doing?” I demand once I’ve processed what the hell just happened.
“Making sure you can’t leave.”
Acting quickly, he grabs the sheet I gave him earlier that night and uses it to tie me to the chair.
I try to struggle, try to thrash, but my movements are sluggish with shock and his knots are swift and secure.
By the time he’s done, I can barely budge.
“Are you fucking serious, Cillian?” I hiss at him.
“I’m sorry,” he says, voice drenched in apology. “I’m sorry, Esme. But I’m not taking you with me.”
“Fuck!” I scream.
I tug as hard as I can.
The knots don’t move at all.
Cillian takes the gun, as well as one of his own, and heads out the door. He glances back at me from the threshold, his blue eyes catching the moonlight for a moment.
Then he disappears into the darkness.