“Nothing to do with me?” I repeat furiously. “I know you don’t mean that.”
“What—”
“Do you really think that Tristan isn’t going to be with the Kinahans when they show up here?” I demand. “You remember Tristan, don’t you, Cillian?”
His eyes are hard, angry. He starts to talk, but I cut him off.
“In case you don’t, let me jog your memory. He’s the man who’s going to drag me back to that prison he calls a home and rape me every time he wants, just to prove a point.”
Cillian flinches violently at that one. It’s harsh, physical pain.
But for some reason, I can’t bring myself to stop.
I pull up the sleeve of my right arm and thrust the scars in his face.
“You asked me if I did that to myself,” I continue. “I didn’t. This is what he did to me. Every time I talked back, every time I fought back, he’d give me a new scar. I have a body full of them. You wanna see the rest? Or maybe it’ll wait for another time. Because if I get started on the full tour, we might be here a while.”
“Saoirse…” There’s so much emotion on his face now that I can’t quite keep up with all of it. “He’s never going to touch you again.”
“I know,” I growl fiercely. “I won’t allow him to. Because I’m going to fight him right alongside you.”
His eyes grow stubborn again. “Or how about you let me fight him and you can—”
“So I can stay locked up in my tower until you come to rescue me? Grow up, Cillian,” I say. “This is the twenty-first fucking century.”
One corner of his mouth twitches up. But he manages to fight the smile.
“This is not a game, Saoirse,” he says soberly. “This is real life. It’s war.”
“Great speech. I’m still going to be there.”
His jaw hardens into a perfect square and he balls his fists up tight.
But unlike with Tristan, I have no fear that he’s going to throw a punch or try to hurt me.
I’ve forgotten what that’s like. To feel so safe with someone that, even in the face of their fury, you feel absolutely untouchable.
“Why do you have to be so… so…”
“So what?”
“Infuriating!”
I flinch back. Not because of the volume. But because of the emotion that underpins it.
It’s not fury. Not quite. It’s something different. Something more.
We stare at each other. Two caged lions circling and circling and circling. Not sure whether to fight or fuck or something else altogether.
I take a deep breath. He does the same.
“You can’t fight them alone, Cillian,” I whisper.
“Doesn’t mean I’m not gonna try.”
“For fuck’s sake!” I cry, throwing my hands up in the air. “Can you really be that stubborn?”
“I’m quite good at it,” he throws back at me. “Almost as stubborn as you are.”