“Sorcha,” his tone is a warning, so I suck in a sharp breath and lay it all out on the line for him.
“I worked at a bar. I really wasn’t supposed to, because I was under-21. But I told the owner my parents were aggressive and borderline abusive, and he agreed to let me work there, under the table though. I took the year to work my ass off and save money, and still worked at the bar when I was going to school. It didn’t hurt there was this local big shot businessman pedophile that liked girls, so he’d come in and tip a lot. Okay, God, that sounds horrible. Of course, it hurt. I’m sure he hurt many people. He was never touchy with me, but he was very creepy. He once paid me five hundred dollars to spit in his drink.”
“So, you have always been like this? A manipulative hard-ass, I mean,” He surmises, and I scowl until his light chuckle reaches me. Fighting a smile, flames lick up my neck, and he crosses his ankles and takes a deep breath. “So, if you worked under the table and had that guy as a regular, and you had no bills, you must’ve had close to a hundred grand by the end, right? And you lived off that? It’s not a lot of money.”
“A little less, but it was worth it,” I mutter more to myself than him, resting my cheek on my knees to stare down at him. “I had so much fun. I did so many things I never did before. I met people that understood that we were only best friends for a few hours, and then we’d be strangers again. I don’t remember a lot of what I did, but I do distinctly remember the moment I woke up one morning hungover and decided to stop.”
“You’re prettier when you smile . . . well, almost smile,” Cian says, reaching to caress my cheek, and I tense at the fire that flickers in his eyes. “Are you gonna tell me that you don’t remember being happy? Or that you were never happy? Did you forget how to smile with Byrne? When we first talked, you were so cold and hostile, Sorcha. And now. . . you jump at everything and shake uncontrollably, and you’re always so tense. Is it because you’re starting to get comfortable?”
Flinging questions at me unrelentingly, Cian captures my gaze to hold me captive, and a miserable anxiety invades my gut. I tear my eyes off him to turn away, staring into the shadows driven into the corners of the room. My mind churns furiously, spewing out bad idea after bad idea of how to reply. His eyes bore into me, the pressure mounting, and my chest tightens. Licking my lips heavily, I glance over at him warily.
“I’m happy that I’m not unhappy,” I rasp, my mouth drying as Cian’s furrows his eyebrows in thought. “What?”
“I’ll take that for now,” Cian replies gruffly, reaching a long, muscular arm to turn off the lamp. Descending into darkness once again, I blink hard, my skin tingling when he grabs my arm to drag me down. I tense as he wraps his arms around me, even slinging his leg over my hip, and buries his face against the back of my head. “I’m glad you came, Sorcha.”
Chapter Sixteen
Cian
I was right. She does like cuddling. I can’t help but smirk as I stare down at Sorcha, and our conversation floods my mind. It’d taken her hours to relax enough to get to sleep, but it did happen. Even if she was afraid, she wasn’t afraid of me and I needed to know that.
So many questions whiz through my mind. Did her parents ever contact her? She said no one looked for her, but was that really true?
Reaching to brush back wisps of spun gold, I thumb the dark bags under Sorcha’s eyes. All this bullshit she went through, and for what? I hold my breath when she suddenly tenses and shudders, cracking open her eyes to blink hard. Dazedly, her clouded blues meet mine, and I let the abyssal depths of her gaze drag me down. Caressing her cheek, I count the seconds as they slowly tick by until she realizes where she is.
Part of me expects Sorcha to jump and run, but she surprises me when she opens her mouth. That glazed look in her eye starts to clear, and she sniffles before speaking up, her voice crackly and husky from sleep.
“Siobhan ordered Kaitlyn to do that,” She croaks, and surprise raises my brows as the beautiful shine of her hair dulls a little. Rolling onto her back, away from me, Sorcha pulls her sheet over her head to bluster a shaky sigh. “Why else would Kaitlyn directly disobey you by burning me? She’s your sister, so Siobhan can demand things and has a considerable amount of clout to swing around.”
“That’s what you’re gonna say to me after we spent the night together for the first time?” I ask incredulously, and I prop myself on my elbow to frown at her, hiding beneath that stupid sheet. “What makes you think Siobhan did it?”
“She’s making it a competition,” Sorcha completely ignores my first question, but I let it slide as I grunt, urging her to continue. “She wants Marrin, because of what he did to her, and she’s afraid I’ll get to him first. Maybe she lied to Kaitlyn and said she had proof I was a spy, or maybe she just told Kaitlyn to do it, because she wanted to. I don’t know. Does it even matter? No one but Siobhan could do it, or one of your other siblings, but I haven’t even seen them yet. Even if she didn’t have to explicitly threaten Kaitlyn. That old bitch . . . she enjoyed watching me. I’m sure she was all too happy to have ‘permission’ to be a little vindictive.”
“What? What did he do?” I feel stupid the moment I hear my own question, and Sorcha peeks out under her sheet with a knowing glint in her eye. Sitting up fully, I rake my hand through my hair as frustration builds against my ribs. “Why would she not try to get your help, then?”
“I just said, she’s making it a competition. Who’s got more reason to want him dead? I came this close,” Sorcha murmurs, holding up her fingers to pinch together. “This close to destroying him. And you said it, I did it by myself, without anything or anyone. Your sister is probably afraid she won’t get a chance to do the job, because she’s inadequate and slow.”
Harsh. But true. Siobhan hates getting her own hands dirty, and she’s indecisive during emotional decisions. Arching my back, I stretch my arms under my chest with a sigh and shake my head viciously. “Okay. Even if you’re right, and Siobhan undermined me, because she’s insecure, how does that get her any closer to Marrin? He’s in a federal prison, even if he’s going to get his deal approved, because Byrne bribed the judge.”
“I don’t think she wants to get closer to him. When we talked after my meetup,” Sorcha pauses when I snap my eyes to her. Shit! I totally forgot about that! God, this woman is going to be the death of me. Holding her sheet over her mouth, she can’t hide her frown before taking a preparatory breath. “She knew that Byrne knew I was going to tell you I wanted revenge. She shouldn’t have, but she did.”
“If you’re right, that means Siobhan has been betraying us all, and she will be executed for betraying the family,” I mutter to myself, my chest devoid of any sympathy. It’s plausible, though. “She’s a fucking coward, but this would be a new low for her. I have to inform my father, but first, I need confirmation. I can’t just bring those accusations against her without something to back it up.”
“No, you can’t do that,” Sorcha says quickly, hastily standing up to hold out her hands. Her ruined, abused hands that still aren’t healing properly, because that fucking bitch kept working her too hard. She wouldn’t let me stop it, either. Since when did I need permission to do anything? Clenching my hands into tight fists on either side of me, my nails dig into my palms through the layers of sheets. “You can’t tell your dad. I can handle this.”
“Why the fuck not? If her personal vendetta is endangering us, which it is, she has to be p—” I snap my mouth shut as realization dawns on me. Sucking in a sharp breath, I frown darkly at Sorcha. “You think that has anything to do with why my dad chose Bella?”
“I don’t know,” Sorcha admits, and I ruffle my hair roughly with fiercely stinging fingertips. “But I doubt it. If Siobhan’s only goal is to make Marrin pay, it explains a lot. She was horrified, but she wasn’t surprised or shocked. I think Siobhan really does believe that if she tries hard enough . . .”
Sorcha trails off thoughtfully, and I scan her shrewdly as skepticism clings to the roof of my mou
th. Like fuck did she hit her hands on the wall just to see Bella’s reaction. Sorcha wanted to see what would happen and who’d come running . . . and who did? My sister, who then swooped in and controlled the conversation.
“Siobhan kept saying stupid shit, turning everything back on Bella and her attempts to fuck me,” I mutter harshly, the memory of that ‘baby trap’ line racing behind my eyes. “Why, though?”
“Because she found out what she needed to know,” Sorcha replies lowly, reaching to grab my hand absentmindedly as irritation slithers through my veins. Reaching to grab her, I pull her between my legs to thread my fingers through her silky, golden locks. Her little gasp of shock dampens my rage, and I flop back against the wall with a hard thud. “. . . Cian?”
“Hold on and let me think for a second,” Who the fuck am I kidding? I don’t get how any of this is connected. If Siobhan wanted to get back at Marrin for whatever the fuck he did, Sorcha would only be helpful . . . right? “Why don’t we just ask Siobhan and Kaitlyn, then?”
“Yeah,” Awkwardness lilts her tone, and I glance down quizzically. My hands tangle deep in her hair, lost in a sea of gold that frames her glimmering, bright eyes. “What’re you doing?”
“I’m trying to salvage my morning,” I smile as Sorcha shivers, her eyelids fluttering closed when I tug gingerly on her hair. The pressure eases off my chest; at least, for right now, I don’t worry about my sister. “Do you think up devious plans in your sleep or something? That’s not what I thought you’d do, waking up next to me.”
“No. I was awake . . . mostly,” She confesses, her cheek twitching as if she’s fighting a smile, or a grimace. “What’d you think I’d say?”
“It’s a tie between panicking and trying to escape, or you freezing and makin’ me feel bad about the fact that the only time you look peaceful and safe is when you’re in my arms,” I declare, and Sorcha’s eyes pop open to widen in surprise. Her face pales, and I knead her scalp gingerly with a low grunt. Unease darkens her eyes, and I bite back a frustrated sigh. “Exactly like that.”
“But why would you feel bad?” Confusion colors Sorcha’s question, and I inhale a deep, calming breath. Leaning my head back against the wall, I don’t protest when she hoists herself onto slender arms. Instead, I tug her to sit in my lap, untangling my fingers from her hair reluctantly. She’s stiff, her jaw ticking when I take her face and force her to look at me.
“Because, when you look at me like that, it makes me wanna fuck you until you can’t think of anyone’s name but mine,” I murmur, my lips brushing hers to catch her breath hitching. Sorcha’s eyes glitter with uncertainty and carefulness, and I thumb her lower lip tenderly. “Even though I know I can’t. That in my office was as close as I’ll get, for now.”
Sorcha trembles against my chest, her heart beating furiously to reverberate between my ribs. I saw so crystal clear the exact moment she errs on the side of caution, and I don’t stop her turning away from me. Her rejection only sets fire to my blood, desire to push harder flooding my system. Releasing her chin, I press my forehead against her experimentally, and Sorcha relaxes a little with a shallow, hot sigh.
“When we’re done here, you can stay. I’ve got some business to get to before we deal with my sister.” I murmur reluctantly, my mind shying from the notion that this was ever going to end. Sorcha’s quiet, and this time, I don’t push her.
Chapter Seventeen
Sorcha
Hoisting a laundry basket up the stairs, I pause when I come face-to-face with Bella. She jumps, her perfect, model face drawing in surprise before she recognizes me. My heart leaps into my throat at her nasty sneer, and she scoffs harshly. Anxiety thrums between my shoulder blades, and I try to step aside only for her to block me.
“You’re that dirty, little slut from the party,” She starts, her words full of venom dribbling from her perfect, cupid’s bow lips. Ducking my head, I refuse to meet her accusatory glare, and Bella chuffs angrily. “Oh, no, you don’t. Whatever you’re planning, you’re not gonna get away with it.”
I purse my lips thinly, once again trying to step around Bella, but she steps in front of me again. She grabs my laundry basket, and irritation floods my veins when she tries to pull it away from me. The small, bathroom towels morph into some kind of strange, powerful item that she just has to get her hands on.
“Don’t think I don’t know what’s going on,” Bella hisses, her knuckles whitening against the edge of the basket. Suddenly, she snatches my face, her nails scraping my skin as she forces me to look at her. Disgust skitters down my neck, and brown, flashing eyes meet mine. “I know my dad sent you here to stop me from marrying Cian, but it won’t work. My dad doesn’t control me anymore. I’m not gonna go down like he did.”
Defined, purplish fingerprints mar Bella’s throat where Cian had grabbed her, and a vicious satisfaction surges through me. Staring at her blankly, I can’t help but like the way she gets angrier. Her beautiful face tinges red, twisting with irritation, and I suck in a sharp breath when she squeezes my cheeks. Well-manicured nails are daggers, digging into my skin, and she smirks maliciously.
“I will be an O’Dea, and once I am, you’re not gonna escape the consequences of trying to get in my way.” She says lowly, her eyes flashing, and a little grunt escapes me when she flings my face away. Shuffling around me, Bella shoves me with her shoulder, and I grind my teeth as I drop the basket to avoid crushing my hand. The hard thump of my body against the wall reverberates down the hallway, but all I can hear is the blood drumming in my ears. All I see is an ocean of white and pale green, like soft, baby grass of a new spring.
Questions roll through my mind with the strength of earthquakes, and I stare down into the blurring, soft colors. Did Bella think marrying Cian would give her power? Was her reasoning not as superficial and frivolous as he thought? What, exactly, did she think I’m doing here?
“Sorcha,” I jump, whipping around to face Siobhan’s concern, and her brows rise in surprise. “You’re bleeding. What happened?”
“No, it doesn’t hurt,” I mutter, dropping to my knees to pick up the hand towels, and Siobhan kneels next to me. She snatches my hands, rubbing the soft, new skin with her thumbs, and goosebumps blanket up my arms. “What?”
“It must be awful to always be caught in the middle,” She starts, and my chest tightens as ice lodges deep in my heart. “I admire you, you know? Despite being used as a tool all the time for other people’s power plays, you still maintain your own autonomy.”
“I guess,” My noncommittal response earns me a glance, too brief to decipher, and I throw the towels haphazardly into the basket. I’d spent a long time, too long, folding them, and now. . . I had to do it again. Siobhan pauses to turn the weight of her gaze on me, and I purse my lips thinly as the gates holding back my agitation with her suffers a critical failure. “You have no right to look at me like that. You’d be dead if you had to go through what I went through, and you’d be delusional to think you wouldn’t.”
Stunned silence meets my grumble, and I grab the basket to stand up and prop it on my hip. Siobhan’s long, shocked face cradles wide eyes, and my lips twist in irritation. Does she think she’s doing me a favor somehow, trying to relate our experiences? That is, if she’s telling the truth about it.
“You got your own problems, but in the end, you’re a spoiled rich girl that’s never suffered by yourself. You have never pulled through on your own, with only your own strength to carry you. You know what I think, Siobhan?” My tone sharpens with my anger, but I bite my cheek before revealing too much accidentally. She’s slack-jawed, tearing up, and I glare at her coldly as a shadow passes over the very top of my field of vision. “I think you’re the pitiful one. You can’t do anything by yourself. You can’t even find your shoes without help. And that’s really, really sad.”
I step around her, leaving her shocked, staring into space, only to pause when I catch sight of Cian. Unease floods my system, replacing my anger, and the b
lood drains from my face. Silently, he gestures me with a flick of his wrist, and my heart races wildly. Tightening my grip on my basket, my palms sweat as anxiety roils in my gut.
Cian closes the door to his bedroom, twisting the lock with a damning click. Tension eats away at my shoulders, and my sides burn fiercely. Holding my breath, black spots assault my vision when he wraps his arms around me. Conforming to my back, his hands engulf mine, forcing me to drop the basket. I cringe, shrinking back when he crosses my arms to lock them with a powerful arm across my abdomen.
“Why are you so scared?” Cian murmurs in my ear tenderly, and my throat tightens. “I thought we were past this, sweetheart.”
“I’m sorry,” I croak, my voice scraping my throat painfully. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I wo-won’t do it again. Please . . .”
“You’re not in trouble,” He soothes, and I tremble as my lungs shriek for fresh air. Gently rubbing his cheek against mine, Cian groans softly, and the sting from my cut shocks down my neck. I heave a wheezing breath, his rough palms reaching to rub my chest gently. “I’m not mad at you, sweetheart. You did nothing wrong.”
“M- my chest-t . . .” I gasp in pain as I tear a hand from Cian’s grasp, clutching at my breast tightly. Fire engulfs me as my heart sputters, and I crane my neck as my knees struggle to hold me up. “It hurts—”
“I know, my sweetheart. Just try to breathe.” His voice anchors mine, his touch soothing the pain as he tangles his fingers between mine. Squeezing me to him, his hold envelops me in security. Grinding my teeth hard, a strained whimper escapes the tight confines of my chest.
Why is love so painful? My mind stalls, my heart skipping a beat as the thought knocks out my knees from underneath me. Against my back, Cian stiffens, swooping to hook his arm under my legs hastily. Flames lick my very bones, and I wheeze furiously as panic slams into me. His grunt spears my brain while he picks me up gingerly, carrying me to his bed.
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