Page 51 of Beautiful Scars

Chapter 13

CILLIAN

You’d think this was a birthday celebration and not a business meeting.

The music is pounding. R&B or something, I don’t know. Sarah’s sitting on the end of Cole’s knee and he’s bouncing her up and down like she’s a baby, only stopping when she leans over and takes another gulp of her drink. We’re in the exact same VIP area I took Meisie to last week, the only difference being I’m alone this time.

“I can’t believe she doesn’t care,” Cole shouts over the music, his head shaking. “I thought you were cold but fuck me, that woman is ice.”

We played her at her game and lost. Now we’re playing dirty as sin and we’re still losing.

I choose not to reply to my brother because there’s nothing left to say. Helen Ford is firmly in my lower circle of hate now, and it has fuck all to do with her stupid political agenda.

No. The woman reminds me of my own selfish as fuck mother, and I’ve never even met either of them.

A tap on my shoulder pulls me from my thoughts and I turn around to see Derek standing in the darkness behind me. I’m getting a serious case of déjà vu. I’m about to point him in the direction of Cole when he gives me a look that says don’t.

I stand, but Cole’s already noticed what’s going on.

“What is it?” he shouts.

“Go on,” I tell Derek.

“There’s someone outside who wants a word.” He’s looking at me as he speaks.

Cole practically throws Sarah off his knee as he stands. “Whoever they are, they can speak to me.”

Of course they can. He’s the “brains” after all. I have to fight to keep from rolling my eyes.

Derek clears his throat. “They asked for Cillian.”

I stare at my brother and try to work out where his head is at. There’s a tick in his jaw, but he quickly covers it up.

“Probably about a shipment. I’ll be five minutes,” I tell him.

He looks at Sarah, and then back to me. “Aye,” he says, nodding his head. “I can’t leave her anyway.”

We both know he’s just saying that to save face, but I go along with it. “Alright mate.”

With that, I follow Derek through the club and let out a breath when the cool night air hits me. It’s summer, but that means nothing in this country. There’s frost forming on the pavements, making them shimmer in the orange streetlights. Groups of smokers laugh and joke, girls in heels linking arms so if one of them slips there’s only a fifty-fifty chance they fall on their arse.

I’m looking around, but I don’t see anyone. Anyone important. And then I do.

Headlights reflect against the buildings lining the narrow street, making the cobblestones glow white as a black Jag XJ approaches. I can already tell that’s for me, I just don’t have a fucking clue who’s driving it. The back seat door swings open, but the lights don’t go on inside.

I don’t hesitate before crossing the pavement. Stupid? Probably. But honestly, at this point, if it’s some unknown enemy fresh out the jail who wants to take me out into the fields and shoot me, I’d probably thank him.

The second I’m in the car I realize it’s not.

I wasn’t expecting anyone in particular, but on my Cluedo list of suspects, she was my Colonel Mustard in the library with a fucking machete.

“I’ve heard a lot about you,” saystheeFirst Minister Helen Ford in that clipped tone of hers. “I wanted to see if the man measured up to the stories.”

I look straight ahead. I can’t actually stomach the sight of her, but I chuckle anyway. ”And how does that feel? Meeting the one person in the country more notorious than you?”

She smiles grimly. “You’re smaller than I expected.”

“Aye, but I try to make up for it with my tongue.”