Cillian
I stand there feeling helpless. Feeling a pull I can’t quite describe.
“Cillian.”
Sean’s urgent tone cuts through my muddled thoughts. I glance at him, but truthfully, I barely see him.
I barely see anything, really.
“Come on,” he says. “We gotta go.”
“Go?” I repeat, looking at him incredulously. “We can’t just leave.”
“Why?” Sean demands. “Because you want to play Prince Charming? Grow the fuck up, Cillian. We can’t be here when the cops arrive.”
His words feel like ice water down my back.
He’s right.
Sean’s bullet is the one that’s buried somewhere in Padraig’s stomach.
And the police are in Brian Murtagh’s pocket.
But the thought of leaving her like this…
It feels so goddamn wrong.
“Pa,” Saoirse sobs below us. “Pa, please stay with me. Talk to me, Pa.”
Tears stream down her face. I notice the way she’s clutching the front of his shirt. As though the strength of her grip can keep him from slipping over to the other side.
Blood sputters around his mouth. His mumbled words are lost in faint, wheezing breaths.
Sean’s hand closes around my arm, pulling me back, trying to get me away from the house.
I still resist.
I just want one more glimpse at her face. At those eyes.
All I see now is a wealth of wild red curls.
“Saoirse.”
I say her name, but it’s swallowed up in the ache of her sobs.
“Fucking hell, Cillian!” Sean explodes, tugging me around so hard that I almost slam into him.
My eyes lock onto his. I see the conflict in them.
In the past few minutes, something has shifted for my brother. Something has changed.
“Sean?”
“We have to fucking go.”
His eyes shift to Padraig. The poor bastard is bleeding out in his own front lawn. His daughter is still clinging to him and sobbing helplessly.
There’s no expression on Sean’s face, but I know my brother.