“Cillian O’Sullivan,” Brody says, breaking the pregnant silence. His voice is as hideous as the rest of him. Like dragging shattered glass over concrete.
“Brody, mate,” I say casually. “Long time no see. How’ve you been?”
Kian glances at me as though I’ve gone mad. But I can’t help it. I was never one for gravitas. Especially in situations that call for it.
Always feels a bit too heavy-handed.
“You stole years of my life,” he growls, ignoring my chipper question. “And when I did finally wake up, I couldn’t walk or stand or talk.”
I nod sympathetically. “Given that you never had much worthwhile to say, I’d say I did all the people around you a favor.”
“What the fuck are you doing?” Kian hisses quietly to me.
Brody’s face darkens, twists. He definitely can’t fight. He may have gained his wits back. But the capabilities of his physical body are limited.
Which means he’s only here to give orders.
He’s here to watch me die.
“You’re going to die today, Cillian O’Sullivan,” snarls Brody. “You and every single man and woman who fights for you.”
“I’m flattered you came all the way down here to tell me that.”
He laughs. At least, I think it’s a laugh. But it’s even worse than his speaking voice. The same broken glass quality, but this time like it’s been chucked in a blender and cranked to high. Makes my fucking skin crawl.
“Is it true? You came back to Ireland for her?”
“I came back for my family,” I correct.
He smiles, but the effect on his half-melted face makes it look more like a grimace.
“I was surprised to learn that one of our men married the bitch,” he says. “I always knew she’d come in handy one day.”
“I bet she will. Could help you get stuff off the low shelf, for example, you broke-backed motherfucker.”
He laughs again and I immediately regret the joke because fuck me that is a godawful sound.
“Once I’ve killed all your men and dragged her down here, you can watch,” he promises me. “You can watch as I fuck her. And when I’m done with her, Tristan can fuck her. And when he’s done, I’ll hand her over to every single man standing behind me now.”
I feel sick to my stomach. Sweating with fury and adrenaline.
But it’s not time to strike.
Not yet.
“You can watch it all,” he continues. “And while she’s screaming and begging and pleading for it to stop, you’re going to wish that you just let me fuck her thirteen years ago. It’s time you learned your place.”
Hot, black rage courses through my veins, and I genuinely feel like I can take them all on single-handedly if it means saving Saoirse from the fate he’s describing.
“I asked her to leave,” Kian whispers to me again. “She’s probably already gone.”
I know he’s trying to comfort me. But I also know Saoirse.
She’d never leave.
I can still feel her presence up behind that window, watching this all unfold, completely oblivious to the fate that awaits her if we lose.
Or maybe not oblivious. Maybe she just doesn’t care anymore.