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I swallow, my hand dropping to cover his as it rests on my knee. “Cillian, you’re not a—”
“This is more than you haveanyfucking idea about,” he hisses thinly, making me shiver. “And if I keep it bottled up, I’ll explode. So I have…avenues…to let it out.”
My mouth goes small. “Avenues.”
He nods.
“Like tying girls up at Club Venom and—”
His phone chooses that particular moment to go off. Cillian groans, pulling away from me and glaring at it. “Fuck, I have to take this.” His eyes dart back to mine. “Una—”
“Look, honestly, forget it. I slept weird last night and my head’s all crazy today—”
“We will continue this conversation later.”
I shrug, reaching for the Restoration Hardware catalog again and letting my eyes feast upon ridiculously expensive couches.
But “later” doesn’t come. Cillian’s on the phone for most of the morning. Then Castle stops by to pick him up and he’s gone for a few hours. He’s back later with sushi takeout for dinner, which is great.
Then he pins me to the bedroom floor and fucks the living daylights out of me with his hand around my throat and, which is evenmoregreat.
Then, we collapse into bed and I pass out, exhausted.
It’s late when I wake, startled from sleep. I turn, and I try not to seethe when I slide a hand over to feel the emptiness in the bed next to me.
Fuck this.
I’m about to go back to bed, when suddenly I hear quiet sounds from outside the bedroom. Frowning, I slip from the bed and tiptoe to the door. I open it and glance down the dark hallway to see Cillian slipping a lethal-looking knife into a sheath at his hip before slipping on his black jacket.
Then he’s out the door.
I don’t even hesitate. I’m changed into leggings, a hoodie and sneakers, and bolting down the stairs of the building faster than I would have ever thought I could. Outside, I slip behind the planters next to the front door, ignoring the curious look the doorman gives me.
When I see Cillian’s black GTO slip silently out of the underground garage like a shark, I make a move. I bolt to the road and raise my hand, hailing down the taxi that quickly pulls up to the curb to let me in.
“Follow that GTO, please! And just…try to do it so he doesn’t notice, please?”
The driver arches a sympathetic brow.
“Chasing the husband, huh?”
“Something like that.”
“No sweat, lady. Ain’t my first husband-chasing rodeo.”
Then we’re off.
And I’m not sure if I’m excited, jealous, or just plain terrified of what I’ll find.
32
UNA
The driver looksunsure as we pull up in front of an especially seedy looking, dark buildingwayout in East Brooklyn.
“Lady, whatever this is, I don’t think you should be going out—”
“I’m fine, thank you.”
