by Fiona Keane
“Of course not,” he scoffed. “Why do you think one of us wants you dead all the time?”
“Don’t you?”
He paused, his blue eyes squinting while he thought of a response. “Well, I don’t. I can’t speak for Julian, but…I’m almost certain he’d sooner die than let you. Anyway, here’s your treat. Sit. We have salad, steak, and fries, some pasta…oh, and coffee. I asked for honey, but I don’t think it’ll help. Their brew is horrendous.”
“Liam,” I reluctantly sat across from him, waiting for him to return to his seat, “may I ask you something about yesterday?”
He bit his lip, lifting his vibrating phone from the table, mindlessly replying to me while he typed a message. “Sure…what?”
“Who was there all night? You, your brother and sister…who else?”
Liam’s blue eyes shot to mine, processing my curiosity, before a gentle smile trailed his mouth. “After everything that’s happened to you in the last twenty-four hours, your curiosity hasn’t shifted. My word, bird, you are less caged than I thought.”
“Did you go to school to learn how to speak in riddles, or is that just because you’re Irish? I don’t want your fucking limericks, Liam.”
“Liam the limericker,” he teased, the corner of his mouth lifting mischievously. “Our dearest Julian has my lips sealed. After what happened with your—”
“Elliott,” I uttered, my mind drifting back to him. That wasn’t Elliott, the kind, warm friend who made mistakes and took advantage of me. That was not him. That was someone hopped up on drugs so debilitating that it changed his appearance, his sunken eyes, the gray, depressed skin, all of it. That wasn’t Elliott. Elliott wouldn’t have tried to kill me.
“Right,” Liam continued, sipping from his coffee mug and wincing at the taste. “Elliott broke in. And as I told you earlier that doesn’t simply happen. He had help. Until all of that is sorted, the old man has my lips sealed. I cannot divulge anything else to you.”
“Bullshit, Molloy,” I snarled, tossing a fry at him and watching his shock as the greasy stick tumbled along his navy sweater. “I’m still on the explosion. My mind isn’t even on the fact you and your brother killed my best friend, in front of me. Tell me who was there.” Liam picked up the fry and, with his head shaking, threw it back at me. It tapped my forehead before plopping against the table.
“Nope.”
“Where’s your brother?”
Liam groaned like a toddler. “You’ll see him tonight. You have me right now, though, so let’s eat lunch.”
“What a privilege.” I rolled my eyes, eating the lonely fry. “Why aren’t you nice anymore? Was that just an act before? An act, like all of this other shit.”
His coffee cup tapped the side of his water glass as Liam placed it back on the table, his eyes shooting to mine like daggers. Both forearms leaned against the table as Liam’s posture shifted forward, his expression determined and serious. He looks so much like his brother that it physically hurts. I’m in pain. Ouch. Swallow. Breathe.
“It’s never a game with you, never an act. You’ll get your wings back soon enough. I’m always kind, but I agree with my brother that there are some things from which you, as the lovely birdie you are, need protection.”
“Who has my wings?” I mocked him, watching his eyes narrow in such a manner that twisted my lungs, suffocating my heart.
“Who do you think?” Liam whispered with resentment, his tone stiffly soft. “Julian, of course.”
Chapter Eight
Liam finished his second cup of coffee while watching me fester in the stew of his riddles. Julian has my wings. Honestly. What the hell does that even mean? He has control over me? Oh, hell to the fuck no.
“You told me,” I swallowed a sip of coffee, building my caffeinated courage, “you said he knows that I know.”
Liam leaned forward, his bright eyes looking to each side before whispering, “We both know that you know.”
“I didn’t sign his contract…so…you’ll kill me?”
He let out a hearty laugh, a melodic sound that vibrated my periphery. “I get that the guns and secrecy, plus whatever crazy shit Julian does to you at his house, has you thinking we want you dead, but I can assure you that Julian and I want you alive.”
“Because I’m a pawn for something? Is this something to do with Malcolm? Am I bait for you people?” My eagerness to know was mixed with the obnoxious lift in my voice, clearly humoring Liam. His fingers scratching against his chin covered the beaming grin spread across his mouth.
“Jesus, bird,” Liam snorted. “Why are you always playing the victim? I mean that as your friend. Yes, Malcolm Young almost killed you, he plotted to kill you, and then somehow his cousin gains access to Julian’s home to kill him. With all of that aside, you’re perfectly fine. You’re safe. Sure, you’re stuck at Julian’s, but you’re fed, right? You have access to a bath, correct? You have no wants or needs there. Am I mistaken?”
“No,” I muttered, unable to force my gaze away from his hypnotic stare. Liam sighed in defeat, his hands slowly rubbing his temples. His face lifted to mine, and he reached for the pot of acidic coffee, seemingly avoiding further thought.
“Bird?” I was wrong. “Aren’t you eager to know about it?” he pressed, his eyes wild. “Don’t you want to ask me why we do what we do? Don’t you want to know what we do?”
“I’d rather not be an accessory,” I stated, reaching for the cup he refilled, “and honestly, I also don’t appreciate your lack of manners by barging in here. This lunch is nice and all, but you’re quite rude.”
“For that, I apologize, but I had been knocking for ten minutes and…okay, I know I said you’re not a victim, but I was worried about you. You’ve been through a lot in the past day alone, and…you…you’re…well, you’re important. I was worried.” His posture changed, legs crossed and weight shifted. “Let’s leave it at that. I was worried. I do have a soul.”
“Ha!” I snorted in disagreement. Maybe Julian…sometimes. I observed Liam while I picked at the fries and pieces of steak, my heart and stomach far from desiring sustenance. I wondered where he was, watching Liam across from me while eating, but then I remembered I wanted him to leave me alone because he scared the hell out of me. Right. True. He does. The puzzle became whether it was him or what he did to my heart that was truly terrifying.
“Liam,” I interrupted his last sip of coffee. “What do I need to know or do for tonight?”
His soft blue eyes wandered up from his mug to meet my gaze, a delicate smile forming along his mouth. “Relax, take a bath, put on a dress, go to dinner, then we all go to bed. We’re staying here too. The whole lot of us. It’ll be easy.”
“Easy,” I scoffed. “Your grandfather met me once. He was a huge ass. And, quite frankly, I’m not sorry I said that to you. Sorry…” Liam snickered as he stood from the table and approached me, placing his right fingers beneath my chin, lifting my head toward his towering figure.
“Bird.” He leaned down, softly pressing his lips against my forehead, the gesture calm and affectionate, harmless. “It doesn’t matter anymore. You’re with Julian. He has your wings. Nobody else matters. Unfortunately.”
“Unfortunately?” My eyes fluttered up to meet his, watching his posture straighten as his tongue slipped through his lips in thought.
“We can’t all be as lucky as Julian in everything we do.” Liam shrugged, leaning to kiss my forehead once more, and with his mouth hovering over my ear he tortured my mind. “We can’t all have what we wish for.”
His fingers grazed my jaw as they methodically left my skin, leaving my heart aching for his compassion. No. Liam isn’t the one you want; he isn’t the one you’re still thinking about. He isn’t the one who leaves your heart desperately craving an answer. He isn’t Julian. He also doesn’t scare the shit out of you.
“Bye, bird,” he sang in departure. “I’ll see you tonight.”
“Sure,” I uttered, the word barely
escaping my mouth while I touched the burning mark left from his gentle kiss against my forehead. Liam.
My blurred focus was on the exorbitant abundance of food displayed before me, but my ears caught the latching door with Liam’s exit. Alone again, I sank into the leather club chair and gnawed away on the same pathetic fry while my mind overwhelmed itself with consuming anxious thoughts about the evening.
The only time I met their grandfather was at the party I catered—the party during which I fainted, people spoke rather rudely about me, and Julian didn’t require I sign the contract because he trusts me. Well…I don’t think I trust him. I need to detach myself. I need to get over this, over him, and get myself on stable ground. But…
I spent the following four hours on a mindless screen binge with the handsome television above the bathtub in my marble, gold, elitist bathroom, and sleeping. Sleep. I wandered away from the table filled with food, my thoughts numb and distracted, finding my way back in bed to slip into a dark, thoughtless slumber until three in the afternoon, when I woke to my suite neighbors in the middle of a heated moment of coitus. Horny bastards. With the thumping headboard pounding its echo into my mind, I peeled myself away from the comfort of my bed. I stood for a moment, hands pressed onto my hips, while examining the small bedroom in my suite. The banging between our rooms continued to remind me of my circumstance-induced celibacy, and I found myself jealously hoping it wasn’t someone I knew.
With the rhythmic pounding as my background music, I went into the bathroom and began to draw my bath. The claw-foot tub to my left was decorated with thick, white towels that displayed perfumed soaps and shampoo. I emptied almost an entire bottle of soap beneath the running water, letting the sound and bubbles provide a pleasant distraction from my neighbors. I dropped my clothes on the floor before I tested the scalding water with my toes. The last time I felt that luxuriously calm was in my own bath, when Mr. Riesling and I had a date with death and Julian. While climbing in, the burn creeping along my skin with its fiery fingertips, I shook my head clear of that memory, of him, and reached for the remote control next to the tub. Slipping away with news from the BBC in the background, I felt a strange sense of peace.
The bathroom of my suite was near the door, which made me feel entirely secure with the increased probability someone would kill me while I bathed. Fortunately, I survived the warm bubble bath, which was great because my shriveled skin wouldn’t be able to withstand a battle for my life. I wandered from the bathroom wrapped in my towel, when a wave of sickness washed over me. They’re still at it. I’m going to be sick. The duration of the bunnies next door frazzled my thoughts, distracting me from my path toward the bedroom, where I needed to select one of the expensive dresses to wear while pretending to be anything but angry.
I was three steps from the bathroom, my shadow touching the main door, when a familiar voice sent painful bumps along my skin in a rush of nervous emotion.
“Dammit, Liam!” His scream burned my heart, adhering my feet to the frigid marble floor, breath held. “Get the hell out of here! What are you thinking?”
“You need to go,” Liam shot back, both of their voices muffled by the doors and drywall that separated us. Oh my God.
The stab of jealousy, its betrayal slicing through the chambers of my heart, overwhelmed me while I ran from the door, angrily plopping on my bed. Angrily? Jealousy? Betrayal? Why are those my emotions? I need help. I need him. Help.
With the exception of him screaming at Liam for interrupting his tryst, I hadn’t seen or heard from Julian since he killed Elliott. Since he killed someone from my world after blowing my mind to pieces with the smallest touch of his lips. I…I missed him. He went from calling me babby, flirting with me at the theatre, feigning concern for my safety, to killing my best friend in cold blood while I was only feet away. And whatever caused my current…heartbreak.
There was no apology, only a promise to instill fear in me. Well, Fuckoy, it’s working. Regardless, I missed him, and the thought of seeing him, the idea of needing to be his doting girlfriend later, filled my stomach with violently throbbing nerves. I can’t do this. I have to do this. I can act, play my part, and come back to the most delicious bed ever. Until I have another excruciating nightmare and wake up alone. I was left wondering how I could hide the jealousy that burned within my pumping blood at the thought of Julian being my obnoxiously aggressive neighbor during my earlier bath.
I shook my bare arms, fingers continuing to tremble, and forced down the impending vomit that danced beneath my diaphragm. He’s going to look absolutely gorgeous. I had to prepare myself. The notion of Liam and Julian groomed to perfection in suits more expensive than a year of my rent only made me fear that night more. Take a breath. You know he will look beautiful. He can’t talk to you about Elliott. Don’t look at him. Just…be. I had to prep myself, listening to the voice within the bowels of my challenged mind while my eyes sealed and breathing calmed. I’m fucked. Just like…Julian. Shudder.
I practiced calming breaths, even trying to escape to the safe place my doctors prescribed upon my release from the hospital, but I still struggled to maintain my composure. I needed to get ready. Maybe keeping busy will help me not be a trembling disaster.
I was distraught. I had absolutely no right or reason to feel like a heartbroken mess. I wasn’t his, he wasn’t mine. I can act. I’ll give them a show. Shaking my fingers free of the pulsing nerves, I perused the dangling clothes that were delivered, which sent me back to the nine thousand dollar dress and that night. Jesus, stop. You’re not a victim. You’re trouble, the Molloys are trouble, and you need to get used to this shit because it doesn’t look like you’re leaving anytime soon. Right. Okay. This dress looks pretty. I took the black dress from the rack, admiring its dangerously plunging neckline, and decided it would have to do. Considering the Molloys purchased every item on the rack, I had to assume they wouldn’t think the style of the Dior dress would be inappropriate for their grandfather’s banquet.
I held the fabric against my bare skin, itching from the expensive lace spread along the dress. It was gorgeous, even more so than the nine thousand dollar dress destroyed after our date. I wiggled into it, struggling with the zipper along the back while jumping to pull it up. My shoulders almost went into spasm stretching around my back, but I finally managed to successfully squeeze into the most beautiful dress in all of the land. The neckline was low but tasteful once placed on my body, revealing just a hint of femininity between the pieces of fabric that spanned along my chest while molding around my shoulders toward the back. It flowed just below my knees, spreading in ripples along the bottom half, which was great, because I just used the softest and most effective razor to prepare my killer gams for the evening. Act One: Rival these bastards with my beauty.
With my successful attempt at smoky eyes and nude lipstick, hair pulled up into a loose bun atop my aching head, I felt prepared. As much as possible. After minutes of pacing back and forth in the small space by my room’s door, I finally gathered the courage to find my way to the banquet hall. I can do this. I’ll get there alone, it will give me time to transition, and then I won’t be such a basket case. Turning the knob, my breath held to maintain the composure my subconscious attempted to fix, I opened the door only to feel my heart shatter against the ground. Julian. Julian in a tuxedo. Julian in a tuxedo, standing at my door. How long has he been standing here?
“It’s better if we arrive together,” he stated, his eyes flicking along the neckline of my dress before his blushing gaze met mine. That wasn’t a greeting I hoped for, but the moment also wasn’t an appropriate time to discuss the car explosion, Elliott, or whatever happened next—don’t even go there, self. I stiffened, my jaw tightly clenched in a warning to compose myself. I lifted my chin, holding my head high, and briskly nodded. Julian’s eyes were raw, exposed, as though echoing my own heart while they flashed to mine. I hoped. I hoped?
“Shall we?” His left hand reached for mine, melting m
y skin with his soft caress of my knuckles. I let my body reply, taking one step into the hallway as the door to my suite closed behind me. There was no turning back. My body absorbed his energy, sensing the change in his demeanor from my stoic, reserved landlord to wanna-be-Senator. His mouth parted into a wide, charming smile that dazzled everyone we passed along our route, and I followed without direction. My cheeks hurt, burning with the farce of our relationship and my damn fake smiles. As we reached the elevator, Julian stretched across our path to press the button, not willing to separate our hands. A farce? Why is my heart pounding?
“Mr. Molloy,” a boisterous male voice boomed. I watched from my periphery, too nervous to see his eyes once more, as Julian’s free hand extended toward our companion. With his increased proximity, I quickly recognized the man Julian once called a deviant.
“Mr. Hill.” Julian’s groan was hidden, yet entirely exposed through his clenched grasp of my fingers. “Always a pleasure.”
“Certainly.” Mr. Hill’s hand met my shoulder, forcing me to move against Julian without thought, instinctively requiring the security of his possession. “Lovely to see you again, dear. You’ll be joining the banquet this evening? I do hope so.”
“Yes,” I began, but Julian cut me off, his grasp releasing from my hand and enfolding me into him as his arm wrapped securely around my bare shoulders.
“She’ll be sitting with me.”
Mr. Hill ran a hand through his hair, the speckles of gray interspersed through brown locks catching the reflective lights dangling above us. He’s holding me. He’s protecting me. He’s lying to me. Stop pounding, heart.
“Ah.” Mr. Hill nodded once the elevator arrived. “Care to arrive together?”
“Actually,” Julian replied, his voice still afloat with his warm smile, “I forgot my grandfather’s gift in our suite. Darling, do you mind being a minute late and going back to get it with me?” I glanced between Julian and Mr. Hill, unsure of Julian’s words, but nodded anyway. At least I know Julian’s nuts. Who knows about this deviant? Mr. Hill shook Julian’s hand with a prompt nod at both of us before disappearing behind the doors. Julian’s arm fell from mine, as though proving everything was simply a rehearsed drama. His hands nestled into his pockets before he pulled off his coat to reveal the black suspenders hidden beneath. He is almost adorable. Julian’s head hung, one hand lifting from his pockets to anxiously rub the back of his neck.