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“If we were ever to take things further, then you should know the compound is not only my home, but also that of my siblings, as well as several of my most trusted men. That will never change.”
“But…” I raise my hand to stop her interruption.
“And finally, the last woman I was seeing was murdered in a rather brutal fashion, a few short weeks ago, for no other reason than because she was linked to me, so right now is not a good time to start a relationship, and I’m sure your father would agree. I’m sorry if you thought differently.”
And if her father is entertaining any ideas that I should date his daughter, I’ll send him the damn photographs of Orla’s body. I’m pretty certain that will change his mind.
Her mouth opens, but no sound comes out, so I wave over the doorman of her building.
“It’s been a delightful evening, Catriona, but under the circumstances, it’s probably not wise for you to be seen with me walking you to your door.”
Her eyes wide, she nods repeatedly, suddenly, blessedly mute, and the concierge gets the door and ushers her away.
I slump in my seat for a moment and huff out a breath. Jeez, I don’t need this shit.
Getting myself together, I decide to visit one of our very fine gambling establishments, which is fronted by a good old-fashioned Irish pub, because goddamn do I need a fecking drink right now.
Chapter Twenty-Six
MARICELA
I’m woken by a disturbance and look around the room to find a bleary-eyed Ciaran stumbling through the door.
Narrowing my eyes, I realize he’s drunk, which surprises me. I’ve always seen him as the type to constantly have a firm grip on his control.
“Feck,” he grumbles as he stubs his toe on something, and a flurry of other curses are muttered under his breath as he struggles out of his clothes. Leaving them in a heap on the floor.
I try not to follow his naked ass as he makes his way into the bathroom, but as soon as I hear the shower start, I throw back the covers, jump out of bed, and run to check the door. Because despite the commotion, the one thing I don’t hear is the distinctive snick of the catch. My senses have tuned into that sound, and my rapidly beating pulse is urging me to check if he’s forgotten to lock it in his inebriated state.
The handle gives under my hand and my heart starts to thunder as I realize this could be my chance.
A moment of panic follows the elation. I’m dressed in my usual night-time getup of Ciaran’s t-shirt and boxers over my underwear, so I need to get some clothes on before I can think of anything else.
Grabbing the closest thing to hand - a pair of leggings and light sweater - I throw them on over what I’m wearing, then grab a dark jacket of Ciaran’s and stuff my feet into a pair of sneakers Róisín gave me, sans socks.
The door creaks when I pull it open, and I cringe at the noise in the silence of the night, but according to the bedside clock it’s approaching 4 am, so I’m hoping that means there’s nobody around.
Cautiously, I peer down the hallway, left and right. My gut is screaming at me to run, but my head is telling me to take more care, while I’m torn between the two. Since it looks clear, I slide through the door and close it quietly behind me. I move as quickly as I dare, not wanting to break into a run and draw attention to myself. And I curse that I didn’t have the foresight to stuff a pillow under the covers of the bed, so it looked like I was still sleeping. With the state Ciaran's in it might have bought me a few more precious minutes. As it is, drunk or not, he won’t miss the fact I’m no longer there as soon as he leaves the shower.
I’m not sure where I’m going, but on the occasions I’ve been allowed to leave my confinement, I’ve noticed several doors I believe will lead me outside. Well, not directly, but in the right direction. The only way I’m really certain of is via the main hall through which I was brought, but I also know that’s a no-go area, since Róisín let slip that there are always men in there no matter what time of the day or night.
I take the grand stairs as quickly as I dare, then take my pick of the doors I’ve mapped out on the ground level. The first one I try is a dead end - literally. Some kind of supply closet filled with shelves stocked with what looks like cleaning products.
Frustration blooms within me as I close the door again and scoot along to the next one. This is the part of my plan where I have no choice but to wing it and hope for the best.
I’m about to open the second door when I hear voices approaching from the other side. A small squeak of panic leaves my throat, and in desperation, I look around for a third option, but to the right is the main hall, and the left is where I came from, and there’s too much open space between the two.
As the voices pause for a moment on the other side of the door, I dive back into the cupboard and push myself as far back into the shadows as I’m able to squeeze.
The voices and accompanying footsteps come closer and closer. Did they pause? Or am I allowing my fearful mind to run away with me?
I wait what feels like forever, a sense of doom expounding with each torturously slow second that ticks past because I know the longer I’m here, the more likely it is Ciaran will realize I’m missing and raise the alarm.
My fingers itch to turn the handle and peek, but I force myself to wait until I hear nothing at all before creeping out of my hiding place.
The goal of freedom spurs me on, and I break out of the closet and rush to the second door, pulling it open before anyone else comes along. I feel far too exposed out here in this long, open hallway.
To my utter disappointment, I find myself in a kind of drawing room. It’s large, and there are comfortable armchairs and a giant TV mounted on the wall. Of the two doors leading off this room, one turns out to be a washroom, while the other leads to yet another hallway.
