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“Ye were like a brother to him!” he screams, punching me in the stomach, then the ribs. “And ya fucking killed him because of a whore!”
Spitting out a mouthful of blood, I glare at him through one eye as the other has closed over. “I killed him because he was a fucking pussy. And call her a whore again; I dare ya.”
Cormac launches forward, clenching my hair and arching my head backward. “Don’t you dare say that ’bout my son!”
He presses the tip of the blade to my throat.
“Go on then,” I dare with a smirk. “Do it.”
“What’s become of us?” he cries, shaking his head. “I treated ye like my own wain.”
“We’re not those people anymore, Cormac.”
“Aye, yer right. Say yer sorry, and I’ll let ye go.”
“I’m not sorry,” I counter, bracing for the repercussions of my confession. “He made his choice. I made mine. I won’t insult either of ye by sayin’ sorry ’cause given the chance, I would kill that fucker again.”
He lets go of the past as he presses the blade to my face. He starts above my eye and then cuts downward, leaving a deep gash in its wake. Hot, sticky blood seeps from the wound, coating my face, but I don’t cower. I don’t scream.
Cormac’s cries are guttural as he knows no matter how much blood he spills, it’ll never fill the void. The knife drops to the ground with a hollow thud once he’s sliced open the left side of my face. The men let me go, where I flop forward, gasping for air.
“I hope she suffers the same fate as my son. I curse ya both.”
“Fuck you.”
Those are my last words before he kicks me under the chin, knocking me out cold.
I fight with every ounce of strength I have to open my eyes because someone is here; wherever here is.
“Yer hurt,” says a voice that transports me back in time. As does her tender touch. “Ye need to go to the hospital. Yer lucky it’s just a flesh wound. Any deeper, he would have severed nerves.”
I must be hallucinating. There is no way she is here.
But as I pry open my good eye, I see that she is.
“Aoife?” I croak, attempting to rise. But she gently stops me.
“Rest, Puck,” she says, coaxing me to lie back down on the bed. “I would call an ambulance, but I’m guessin’ ya don’t want the peelers involved.”
“What are ye doin’ here?” I pant, not interested in resting.
She sits by my bedside, looking just how I remember, and tending to my wounds just how I remember too.
“We can talk later.”
“No,” I cut her off, struggling to sit upright as I lean against the bedhead. “Now.”
She works her bottom lip, obviously nervous. Did she expect our reunion to go differently?
“Scott Grenham called on me. Said ya wanted to meet. But when ye didn’t show, I knew somethin’ was wrong.”
I organized to meet Aoife tomorrow, but tomorrow is now today? So, it seems I’ve been out cold for a day. Cormac really did a number on me.
“We need to talk,” I say, flinching as I try to get comfortable. Half my face is bandaged, so getting comfortable is a thing of the past.
She nods, averting her gaze. “I know. I never wanted this.”
“Wanted what?”
