She doesn’t answer me, only moves to the pile of furniture to sit on a conveniently empty armchair. Staring at the bucket, I clench my hands into tight fists.
Just do it. I’ve been through worse. I can handle this.
I undo my bun then tie my hair tighter before pulling up my shorts. Determination threads my veins, and I pull the bottom of my t-shirt through the neck to get it out of the way. Foreboding roils my stomach as I get on my knees, and Kaitlyn’s stare morphs with sick satisfaction palpable in the air. Fighting a wince when I go to reach to grab the scouring brush, prickles race up my arm as the water scalds my fingers.
I can handle this. I grind my molars against the fiery sting, tightening my grip on the plastic handle of the brush. Chemicals eat into my skin, and I glance up at Kaitlyn to frown at her smirk.
I can handle this. I repeat to myself, and tear my eyes off Kaitlyn to focus on clearing my vision of pained, dense tears. Inhaling a shuddering breath, I flex my fingers around the pommel and bite my inner cheek hard. Forcing the brush back and forth with weak strokes, I struggle to control my breathing. My throat clogs full when I dunk the brush back into the bucket.
I can handle this. The stench of chemicals burns my nose and eyes.
I can handle this. The burn peels the skin around my fingernails, creeping up my fingers.
It hurts. A choked gasp escapes me when I pull my hand out of the bucket, the cool air shocking my burning skin. My hands tremble, a cold sweat breaking out under my shirt as prickles rampage up my arms. The weight of Kaitlyn’s eyes bear down on me. I blink back my pain and steel my resolve.
I can handle this. I can handle this. Repeating my mantra viciously in my head, I scrub. My wrists set afire where slivered scars cried out in wretched shock. Glancing over my shoulder, dread coils deep in my gut at the vast space sprawled out behind me. And at the opposite end, sitting there with a smirk, is Kaitlyn, a disgusting, righteous indignation blazing in her eyes hotter than the water.
Chapter Eight
Cian
“Has anyone suspected anything of you yet?” Posing my question carefully, I cup my chin thoughtfully. “You’re not in danger of being exposed, are you? If Byrne has the balls to try to plant a spy in my home, he must know he runs the same risk.”
“I’m sure, Boss. If he did, I wouldn’t stick around long enough to call you with an update, I’d give it to you in person,” Jack says lowly, his side of the line crackling quietly. “I’ve been here for four years, there’s no way he’d suspect me. Ever since your birthday party, he’s been holed up in his office by himself. I managed to eavesdrop a little bit over the past few days, and he’s been contacting every one of the Irish families he can. I even heard him on the phone with the Mackenzies.”
“What? Why is he contacting Ireland?” I snap, jerking upright in my chair with a jolt. “Byrne doesn’t have any reason to call them unless it’s to offer himself up for the gallows.”
“He called a few of the higher Irish families, too. I heard one of his personal security talking shit about it. That Byrne has a once in a lifetime deal lined up that’ll not only restore his reputation, but make tons of money. I don’t know the specifics, but according to the security guard, Byrne’s fuckin’ pissed, because none of the big boys took his bait. He’s calling around the houses. After what happened, the established heads of the other families aren’t even taking his phone calls, but the minor ones are worried,” Jack explains, his voice a mere whisper and slightly muffled. Alarm bells ring in my head, and I clench my free hand into a tight fist. “That woman, Sorcha . . . is she okay”
The abrupt question knocks the air from my lungs, and I groan in frustration as I lean far back in my chair. Drumming my knuckles against my desk, I flex my fingers around the thick landline phone before licking my lips in preparation. “What do you know about her?”
“About six months after I started here, Marrin brought her home. He constantly bragged about having her. According to him, he kept her chained to a toilet in his apartment for six months until he felt she was appropriately broken in,” His voice drips in disgust and antipathy, and I tense at his revelation. Searing, white-hot hatred boils my blood, and I crane my neck as my throat tightens. “He tried to talk shit about workin’ her so good she never tried to escape; that he even loaned her out to his buddies, and she still came back. When I first saw her, though, I knew he was blowin’ smoke outta his ass. She was the one that worked him, not the other way around. He was just too stupid to realize he was bein’ played.”
“What about after she arrived?” I probe deeply, anger biting my tone and souring my tongue. “Six months in captivity like that . . . how was she?”
“She was angry and bitter,” Jack says solemnly, and surprise rockets through my chest. “Not even the kind you expect after bein’ a cum dumpster for months. Sorcha had that cold, calculating, living anger. It was honestly . . . I remember thinkin’ I didn’t want anything to do with her, good or bad,” He confesses, and I nod curtly in understanding before the line rustles loudly. Jack holds his breath, his anxiety thrumming over the line before he sighs softly in relief. “Anyway, yeah. Sorcha played Byrne like a fiddle. Got some freedoms and protection from Marrin after Byrne decided to keep her for himself. That pissed Marrin right the fuck off. And then, she started playin’ them against each other, which eventually led to Marrin fuckin’ up that arms import last year.”
“What does that mean? Are you saying she set this all up?” Alarm rings in my tone, and I reach stiffly to pinch the bridge of my nose. “Even if she had a hand in it, she didn’t know what the fallout would be.”
“She doesn’t give a shit, Boss. I talked to her after it happened. She said it was only the beginning, and she got plans. That she wanted to obliterate the entire family, and that’s a direct quote.” Jack says, but his breath hitches before he hangs up on me. I scowl as I set the phone down, steepling my fingers to take a staggering breath of my own.
“That doesn’t answer any of my fucking questions,” I growl, slamming my fist on the desk in agitation. Standing up sharply, I roll my shoulders and neck, raking my hand through my hair roughly. “I could’ve guessed that on my own. Fuck.”
Seething as I leave my office, I shake my head viciously against the imaginary scenarios playing against my eye sockets. Six months couldn’t have been easy on Sorcha, but she’d managed. Not only that, but she orchestrated their downfall, or the start of it at least. Thanks to her, Marrin ended up in prison. Does she know things she shouldn’t? Is there something more going on? Why were both Byrne men so infatuated with Sorcha?
“How hard do I push, though?” I mutter to myself as I pass through the kitchen, and my voice bounces off the stainless steel and tiled floor. “She’ll block me out if I so much as look at her wrong. I have to be careful.”
Emerging into the living room, my gaze locks on Sorcha’s sharply hunched body instantly. Her scars writhe like snakes along her back from the tense strain of her muscles. She was only two or three feet from where the furniture was piled up directly to my left, but she hasn’t noticed me yet, so I lean against the wall. Short, harsh gasps breach chapped lips, and the anger in my veins morphs into a cold fury.
Sorcha pauses to grab the hose of the shop-vac with horrendously red, raw, trembling fingers. Standing in the lip of the hallway, out of view, I cup my mouth and bite my inner cheek when she hisses. The muffled clatter of the brush head falling off the hose cracks through the living room like a bolt of lightning, but Sorcha’s whimper is louder and sharper.
“Be careful with that!” Kaitlyn snaps nastily, and the hairs on the back of my neck bristle. My eyelid twitches, a fire igniting in my gut as I squeeze my jaw. “It’s worth more than you, you know.”
“I told you to give me gloves,” Sorcha responds dryly, and Kaitlyn’s scoff echoes just beneath the blood drumming furiously in my ears. “Am I going get in trouble for breaking it, or are you going to get in trouble for making me break it by not
giving me gloves and burning my hands?”
“Don’t talk back.” Kaitlyn’s reply earns her a scoff from Sorcha, and I take my moment to step into the living room. She leaps up with a squawk of surprise, and I arch a brow quizzically.
“I want an answer, too, Kaitlyn,” I say, my voice low and threatening as I lock eyes with the older woman. She pales, fiddling with the hem of her shirt nervously. “I gave you explicit instructions on what she was allowed to do, did I not?”
“Y-yes, but,” She sputters, her face a mask of unease as I stare expectantly. “I misinterpreted your instructions, sir. I apologize. It won’t happen again.”
“You better. Sorcha, with me.” I stare down Kaitlyn, growing angrier as the seconds tick by. She doesn’t know whether to scurry off or stay, but clearly realizes I’m unhappy with her. Out of the corner of my eye, Sorcha stands stiffly, her knees and elbows popping loudly. Her hair is dark and wet, and she shakes uncontrollably. My chest tightens, and I sneer at Kaitlyn in disgust. Blanching in shame, she ducks her head, but I can see her withering glare towards Sorcha as I turn around.
Why the fuck did she even have her on her knees like that, with a bucket and a shop-vac? I’ve seen her shampoo the carpets with an actual carpet shampooer. I don’t understand this shit, or the shit Kaitlyn was trying to play.
“Don’t touch me,” Sorcha whispers shakily, and I frown at her exhausted body sagging against the wall. She flings out her arm back at me, and her shoulder crackles harshly. “Don’t touc-ch . . . me . . .”
“I won’t. Have you been doing that since I left you with her?” I ask warily, and the fire in me flares when Sorcha nods heavily. She could barely keep her head up, barely walk, shuffling along like a corpse held together with tension alone. We reach the kitchen at a snail’s pace before she pauses, casting me a tearful, cautious look. “This way.”
The journey up the stairs was excruciating for her. I stuff my hands into my jean pockets to stop myself from grabbing Sorcha, lifting her up, and carrying her into her room. Anger and sympathy battle in my chest, hot and ice-cold clashing between my ribs and assaulting my heart from all sides. She can’t hold the railing, taking one step at a time and stopping for a few seconds on each one. Under her tucked shirt, her muscles writhe, and her skin twitches under the thick glaze of sweat dripping down.
“What’re you doing?” Posing my question when Sorcha pauses at the top of the stairs, facing the wall, I purse my lips thinly in thought. Determination twists her delicate features, and her eyes are fever bright when they flicker to mine.
“Setting a precedent.” My breath hitches when Sorcha rears back her arms, her vicious whisper cutting my cheek. Before I can even think of stopping her, she slaps the backs of her hands against the wall hard, the thunk reverberating up through the soles of my feet. Her red-rimmed eyes boggle, and a shocked silence thickens the atmosphere for a fraction of a second.
Sorcha’s bloodcurdling scream could break glass, and I wince as goosebumps rush down my back and arms under my shirt. Her pain is real, and I tense when the sound of rushing feet clatter through the floor. Sinking to the floor, her piercing shrieking could probably be heard throughout the entire estate—hell, I wouldn’t be surprised if the entire neighborhood heard her.
“What—!” Bella rushed up next to me, immediately covering her hand with her mouth in horror. Sorcha holds up her hands, the impact of her slap so terrible that her nails had come up from their beds. Blood dribbles down her fingers, but I watch Bella’s expression out of the corner of my eye. My fiancée turns green, and my eyes narrow shrewdly before a flash beyond Sorcha catches my attention.
Siobhan kneels next to Sorcha, worry painting her long features. She says something, my sister, but Sorcha’s blubbering shriek drowns her out. Still, my attention pulls toward Bella as she gags lightly. A flicker of black draws my eye, and Kaitlyn stands at the bottom of the stairs with a horrid look on her face.
I know Kaitlyn isn’t regretful for how she treated Sorcha, but what she is regretting is how she got caught. Why did she go so hard on her the first day? Did she want to get Sorcha out of the way? Was Kaitlyn simply trying to defend me, assuming that Sorcha was a spy?
I’m going to have to have a conversation with my head housekeeper about why she shouldn’t interfere with my decisions. She’s lucky she had such an important relationship with my mother. If she were anyone else, I’d send her to the basement to rot away.
“Cian!” Siobhan’s hiss steals my attention, and I snap my head to her as she helps Sorcha up with gentle hands. “Get the first-aid kit, you dummy!”
Chapter Nine
Sorcha
“Why did you hit the wall, Sorcha?” Cian questions, and Siobhan pauses blotting my hands to cast me a surprised look. She frowns under tightly knit brows, and I can see the resemblance through my watery, achy eyes. Clenching my trembling teeth, I gaze down at my hands blearily and wheeze a sigh.
“You c-can’t do anything to her,” Mumbling unsteady, I gulp down the hot tears clogging my throat. “She thinks you won’t. You can’t-t. I can handle it.”
“Like fuck—” I hold up a hand, the air slicing my sensitive, burning skin, and Cian’s eyes widen in alarm.
“If you have a sp- spy . . . Byrne will know. He’ll know my ha-nds, and . . . that you,” I turn to Siobhan, interest rising her brows high. “You help me. Not Cian. Byrne isn’t gonna c-care if he does. He w-wants it, but he knows Cian won’t tell anyone anything. It’s gotta be y-you.”
“When did you come up with that theory?” Cian questions, and I wince with a whimper when Siobhan ever so gently dabs my fingers with a soothing gel. The pain’s so intense, so consistent, that it’s nothing more than a buzz behind my eyes and up my forearms.
Dazedly, I blink back the sting in my eyes and sniffle harshly. “Byrne wants information, so wouldn’t he expect you to go right for it?”
“No, she’s right,” Siobhan mutters tightly, and I nod at the knowing glint in her shrewd, brown eyes before they turn to her brother. “Now, she can’t give him an update. It’s been a whole week, so he’d be expecting something, even if it’s small. If there’s another spy, they’d know about what Kaitlyn did with the scene she made and back her up. That gives you time. A couple weeks, at least, until her hands heal. Now, Kaitlyn will be afraid of going too far, but she’ll probably still be pissed. She’s a bitter, old bitch, after all. Which means Kaitlyn will be very careful who she complains to, so it doesn’t get back to you.”
“You saw something,” I point out, glancing over at Cian as he jerks his head in a nod of acknowledgment. “Or you noticed something you d-didn’t see.”
“Yeah, Bella looked absolutely sick to her stomach,” Cupping his chin thoughtfully, Cian’s eyes brighten when a little lightbulb flickers on. “She’s gonna stay far, far away from you now.”
“You’re an idiot sometimes,” Siobhan remarks, casting her brother a dull look before grabbing a big roll of bandages from the first-aid kit. She smiles at me, almost in awe, as she gingerly positions my hands. “Now, Bella has an explanation for why you’ve been spending so much time together, Cian. She’s not gonna see Sorcha as a threat to her position. In her mind, Sorcha can’t possibly be better than her, and eventually, the novelty will wear off, and you’ll settle on her. To Bella, Sorcha is disgusting, maybe even thinks she’s mentally ill somehow.”
“You thought all that with such limited information, Sorcha?” Cian asks quietly, pride and bewilderment thickening his tone. Sitting next to me on my bed, he takes my chin to force me to look at him. I blink and flex my face hard. Through the pain, the impressed gleam in his eyes is blindingly bright, and sniffle harshly. “I didn’t think I gave anything away.”
“You never asked me . . . why you? . . .” I mumble, and his eyes widen almost comically as I take myself from his grasp. Squeezing my eyes shut, I brace myself before Siobhan begins wrapping my hands from mid-forearm down, and she hums in agreement.
“
Why you . . . why did Byrne let you come here?” I nod shortly as Siobhan works closer to my wrists. My hands are on fire, the soothing gel doesn’t do a thing to relieve the pain even if it helps with the damage. “Why did he let you come here? According to my source, you pitted everyone against each other somehow, and you’re directly to blame for the FBI catching up to Marrin.”
Why am I not surprised? My breaths come quick and hot, scorching my nose, and a strangled whine wraps around my heart and squeezes. Siobhan fingers the thin lines on my wrists before softly covering them, and I can’t hold back my sob.
“This is why you need me around, brother,” Siobhan mumbles shortly, her slender brows furrowing in concentration. “Byrne thinks Sorcha is in love with him, right? True emotional fervor is almost impossible to flip, so he can trust to an extent that Sorcha will do what he wants. Not only that, but if he makes you think she’s a spy, you’ll be suspicious of her from the get-go. He put on a huge show so you’d be less inclined to look at others. Buying time by burning her hands gives Byrne the impression she already fucked up. Byrne has to acknowledge that if he can’t get to Sorcha, either the spy or Bella has to move on their own.”
“What? You’re saying she’s involved? That seems far-fetched, doesn’t it?” Cian questions his sister.
“If it was, why does Bella only try to seduce you every once and a while?” Combatting Cian’s question with her own, Siobhan shoots her brother a dull look. The conversation officially shifts out of my purview. I shudder and shake my head of the dense, black clouds that threaten to overwhelm me. “She does it when she can get pregnant, you fool.”
Stunned silence meets Siobhan’s declaration. I gasp to shatter the quiet when she tugs too hard, and she mumbles a soft apology. Shaking her head, she ducks to focus on my hands as Cian flings himself gingerly on my bed and sighs heavily. Out of the corner of my eye, he covers his face with his arm.
Callous King (The O'Dea Crime Family Book 1) Page 5