Cillian
Sometime Later
A scraping metal sound grates across my subconsciousness. Pulls me from the depths of sleep.
“What is that?” I mumble incoherently.
It feels like I’ve only just shut my eyes. But the first rays of morning light searing through my eyelids tells me that we’ve slept for a few hours at least.
I can feel Saoirse’s warm weight nestled against my chest. Her wild red hair falls like a curtain over my arms.
The sense of peace and contentment I feel lasts only seconds.
Then a nagging feeling of worry rushes through me.
Because the first thing I see when I open my eyes is a face, leering down at me like some unwelcome rash.
“Well, well, well. Isn’t this cute?”
Brody fucking Murtagh.
How the fuck did he find us?
Why the fuck is he even up here?
At the sound of his voice, Saoirse gasps awake. She startles upright but I manage to hold her down before she exposes herself completely.
“Cillian!” she cries out, still half-asleep.
It’s pathetic that my heart expands when my name is the first sound out of her mouth.
But it gives me strength.
“It’s okay,” I tell her softly. “I’m right here. I’ve got you.”
Brody laughs scornfully. I realize that he’s got two men with him this time, too. But they’re different than the ones he brought to Saoirse’s house.
Whatever. It doesn’t matter anyway.
They’re all just stooges. Interchangeable. Equally useless.
“You certainly have got her,” Murtagh snarls with the same sickening smile on his face. Then his gaze falls to Saoirse. “Tell you what, hon: if you do to me what you did to this poor bastard last night, I’d be more than happy to forgive your father’s debt.”
“Fuck you,” she snaps.
His eyes widen a little. I guess he wasn’t expecting quite so much fire from a woman who’s completely naked.
She squeezes the rug around her body, but her legs are still exposed. I can see one of Murtagh’s stooges eyeing her up down.
I decide that once I’ve handled Murtagh, that gléas is gonna be the next one on the ground bleeding from every fucking orifice.
My eyes flicker over his features. Thin face, pale coloring, dark eyes. Ugly black birthmark on his cheek.
The second Kinahan soldier is standing a few feet away. He’s mostly out of my line of sight. He’s a big guy, though. Probably as tall as I am, but much broader. Much heavier.
Murtagh moves a little closer. I realize his eyes are bloodshot. He’s drunk, maybe.
“When did this little arrangement start?” he demands. “Has it been going on for a while? If I knew you could be bought, I’d have offered a fair price. A penny for your pussy, perhaps?”