When he speaks, his tone is low and clipped. It’s the one he’s used with people he detests. Any and all affection has been stripped from it.
That alone makes the panic spread.
“You better have a good fucking explanation,” he interjects promptly. He whips around to face me, his deep blue eyes blazing from fury. Filled with disgust and judgment. He holds the burner phone up. “Because I can’t think of a single reason to explain why you’ve been in contact with Fedorov from the day I took you in.”
I feel sick. Dizzy. Damn near on the verge of passing out.
“Why…” I croak again. My throat’s gone dry. “Why did you go through my phone? You had no right to?—”
“Don’t put this shit on me! Don’t you fucking turn this into a thing about snooping through your phone! That’s irrelevant when you’re the one who’s been keeping a giant fucking secret this whole damn time.”
I open my mouth to respond, though it’s halfhearted.
No sound comes out. Not a single justification or counter argument.
…because he’s right.
I have no leg to stand on considering the circumstance. The things that I’ve done.
Deep shame fills me up and forces my gaze to the floor. I can’t bear to look him in the eye, realizing he’s looking at me the way he is because I’ve betrayed him.
“I didn’t even know you had a phone,” he spits. His voice thickens, a vague Irish brogue coming out. “But turns out you do. You’ve been using it to ply the Bratva with intel on the clan.”
Tears prick my eyes as I vehemently shake my head and step toward him. “It’s not like that. You don’t understand?—”
“You’re right. I don’t understand!” he shouts over me. “I don’t understand how I could take you in. Protect you. Put my life on the line for you. Puteverybody’sfucking life on the line for you. And the whole time, you’ve been a traitor.”
I flinch at the accusation as if struck.
It’s an ugly accusation. A hideous, ugly word that feels like the mob version of theScarlet Letter.
But most of all, it hurts so much because I have no real defense. How can I even try to offer one when I’ve been betraying him this whole time?
I always said I would do whatever it takes to get Eva back. I thought that was true… until now.
“Is that what you’ve been doing?” Killian demands, advancing on me. “Sent to seduce me, huh? Sent to fucking worm your way into my life ’til I fell for you and you gave us all up for the Bratva? That what you’ve been up to this entire time?”
“Please,” I manage pathetically, my voice small and cracking. “Please… you have to understand. I had no choice, Killian. Fedorov made me. He threatened?—”
“YOU ALWAYS HAVE A CHOICE!” he bellows. “There’s always a choice in the end, and you chose to do what he told you to time and time again. Even after you knew the clan had your back. Even after everything I did for you.”
“He was going to kill Eva!” I blurt out. “I had to give him what he wants. She’s all I have left. She’s my baby sister. If I didn’t do it, he would’ve?—”
“Spare me the fucking excuses. They no longer work. Not after the call log and texts I’ve seen. But you know what? The more I think about it, the more I should’ve seen it from the fucking start. You happen to show up working at an Irish pub that’s known Callahan territory? You just happen to keep putting yourself in situations where I’m forced to rescue you?”
“It was Fedorov. He thought if?—”
“The night you were taken at Barclays. The Raguzins just let you go. They could’ve kept youandkilled Seamus at the same time, but instead they fled and let us save you. The Russians never flee. That was all part of the plan, wasn’t it? You serving as some fucking distraction?
“They’ve been one step ahead of us this entire time, and it’s because you’ve been feeding them information all along. That’s why the night we attacked the Vodka Room, neither Fedorov or Rurik were there.Youtold me Rurik is there every night but Sunday.
“But then he happens to be gone the one night we strike? How about that afternoon I caught you sneaking out of the studio? You said you were going for a walk. What were you really doing? Heading off to provide some intel?”
“Killian, please—” I grab his arm, desperate to make him listen, but he wrenches it away so violently I trip on my own shaky legs and drop to the floor.
It’s a hard fall, landing on my knees, but the cool, smooth hardwood barely registers. I can’t even bring myself to get up right away as another sob racks its way out of me.
I’m not even fighting the tears anymore as they slip free and my glasses slide down my nose.
