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Right now though, Ciaran is sweet and thoughtful. He shares beautiful dinners with me, watches movies, or listens to music with me in the evenings. And worships my body every night.
And we talk. That’s perhaps been the most unexpected development.
And we’ve laughed.
I know this won’t last forever, but right now, this little oasis of pleasure is all I need in the world, and it is sadly the happiest I’ve ever been.
* * *
I suppose, deep down in my subconscious, I’ve always been waiting for the other shoe to drop. And just as my life seems to dictate, it’s only another short day before everything falls apart, like I always knew it would.
I hear the shouting in the hallway beyond Ciaran’s suite long before the door flies open so hard it hits the wall, causing me to flinch.
“What’s happened?” I ask, wanting to go to him, but some sixth sense keeps me away… or maybe it’s just that Callum is with him, and Ciaran’s twin always puts me on edge. The way he treats me, almost the polar opposite of Ciaran, whilst he looks exactly the same, messes with my brain.
But right now, the fury on both their faces sends shards of ice skittering down my spine.
Callum looms in front of me, and I instinctively back away until I hit the wall and have nowhere left to go. My eyes widen, and fear slithers its menacing fingers over my skin, raising goosebumps in its wake.
Callum’s arm comes up, and I flinch as his big hand squeezes around my throat, cutting off my airway and lifting me on tiptoe.
I’m vaguely aware of Ciaran dragging fretful fingers through his hair, which is already standing on end, completely at odds with the put-together man I’ve become used to. His entire expression is one of pure torment and my stomach sinks, every instinct screaming that something dreadful has happened.
Whatever it is, this is the end. I don’t need to be told to know it.
“Let her go,” Ciaran snaps at his brother, surprising me. “It’s not Maricela’s fault.”
“Like hell it isn’t.” Callum’s response is to squeeze harder, causing black dots dance in my vision and my eyes water as I scrabble with ineffectual fingers against his punishing grip.
My vision has started to gray at the edges when Callum is pulled away from me as suddenly as he pounced, sending me stumbling to the floor.
“Pull yourself together,” I hear Ciaran yelling at his brother through the roaring in my ears. “She’s no good to us dead.”
Something fragile and precious withers and dies an agonizing death inside of me, and whatever small victory I felt at Ciaran’s defense of me is extinguished with those few short words.
I’m just a commodity.
I’ve always known this. I just allowed myself to forget.
Somewhere in the depths of consciousness, I'm aware of Liam running into the room, and leading Callum out, murmuring to him in a soothing tone, but it’s mostly a blur.
Still, my shoulders sag with relief when he finally leaves, and the door closes quietly behind them. That’s when I allow myself the vulnerability to collapse into a heap and regain my breath.
Moments later, Ciaran scoops me up and settles me into a chair, holding out a glass of water. “Here, sip this,” he says, the edge of his anger smoothed away, but I know it’s still there, bubbling under the surface like a volcano ready to erupt. It’s evident in the tense way in which he holds himself, and it unnerves me. More so since I’m already on edge after Callum’s little display.
I take the glass with shaking hands and try not to spill any as I allow the cool liquid to soothe my aching throat.
Ciaran strokes gentle fingers over my skin, and from the tightness bracketing his mouth, I’m guessing there are bruises forming.
“I’m sorry,” he says, looking away. The way he says it makes me think he’s not talking about his brother’s behavior but something far more significant.
“What’s happened?” I ask again, my voice a hoarse croak.
He huffs out a breath and shoots up from where he’s been crouched beside me, dragging his fingers through his hair yet again. “It’s Róisín,” he tells me, his own voice strained. “She’s been taken.”
“Taken?” I whisper the question, but I know. It feels like the blood drains from my face in a whoosh that’s almost physical. Ciaran doesn’t need to say anything more. I can join the dots well enough to understand what he’s not saying.
He says it anyway. “The Viper has her.”
