I shrug, amazed at how calm I am under the circumstances. Perhaps a part of me still thinks I’m imagining this whole scenario.
“I pissed off a man I shouldn’t have pissed off,” I reply. For some reason, I’m unwilling to say Tristan’s name.
Cillian growls low and deep in his chest like a feral animal.
“Oi! Your five minutes are up. What are you doing?”
I hear heavy footfalls before one of the cops in charge approaches my cell. He’s wearing a slightly panicked expression as he looks between me and Cillian.
“She’s none of your concern.”
“Let her out,” Cillian orders coolly.
The cop blinks at him. “I… That’s not possible.”
“I’m not gonna ask you again.”
“You don’t even know what she’s done!”
“Because I don’t give a fuck what she’s done,” Cillian says. “Let her out.”
“Cillian,” the scrawny man beside him says in a forced calm tone, “this is really not our business.”
Cillian’s eyes flicker to mine. “I’m making it my business.”
Then he whips out a gun and pivots to aim it at the officer.
“Aw, for fuck’s sake…” the sharp-nosed man sighs like this isn’t the first time he’s seen this.
The cop facing the two of them turns purple with fear.
But there’s a certain indignation about his expression, too. As though he can’t quite believe Cillian has the balls.
I can, though. I believe.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” the sergeant protests in a nervous warble.
“If you need a fucking explanation, then this department is in trouble,” Cillian fires back with a laugh.
Jesus.
That fucking laugh.
That fucking smile.
One look at him and I’m eighteen again.
And I’m reminded of just how I felt back then. When his presence had consumed my world and made me feel like anything was possible.
“Open her cell door.”
“You—”
“Do you like walking?” Cillian asks, cocking his head to the side. He points the gun right at the cop’s knees.
The man goes from purple to ghostly white.
He finally seems to understand that Cillian isn’t joking as he moves towards the door of my cell.