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“Stop. Fucking. LYING!”
“My phone,” I growl quietly, nodding to where it’s fallen to the floor. She swallows, shaking as she pushes the blade against my skin and uses her foot to drag it over.
I could probably—definitely, actually—make my move when she bends down to snatch it up. But I don’t.
I need her to see this.
“Look at the texts from Hades Drakos.”
Her eyes dart between me and the phone as she lifts it to illuminate her face.
“What the fuck is—”
Then she sees it: the framed picture of her brother, with two dates etched into the brass plate beneath it above the simple words from the book of John: “Let not your heart be troubled”.
“No…”
She jolts, sobbing, as I grab her wrist, wrench the knife away, and fling it across the room. Her face collapses, pure anguish on her beautiful face as she looks up into mine.
Ready. Accepting. Waiting for me to kill her right here and now.
Maybe I should. Listening to my monster, however damned it may make me, has gotten me this far in life, after all.
But this time, I silence those dark thoughts.
And this time, they actually fucking listen.
She chokes, gasping as my arms go around her, pulling her into my chest.
“I’m sorry, Una.”
Instantly, she breaks like crystal in my arms, all the clenched stiffness gone—crumpling and sobbing as whatever was left of her world gets yanked out from under her.
It’s a feeling I know all too well.
16
CILLIAN
The tension spreadsthrough the room like ice cracking over the surface of a frozen lake. Like glass spiderwebbing under a weight it’s not meant to hold, until the whole thing collapses.
And when it does…
It shatters.
“ARE YOU FUCKING SERIOUS?!”
Ares roars, like the gates of Hell themselves opening up, letting forth all the wrath the God of War can muster. He surges across the glass penthouse, stopping just short of where I’m sitting at their dining room table, and leers right into my face.
“Tell me this is a sick fucking joke.”
I inhale slowly. I’m not looking at Ares. I’m looking squarely at his wife, my niece, sitting across the table from me.
Neve.
Stoic. Unblinking. Unspeaking, but with about a million emotions flickering like barely contained wildfire behind her eyes.
“Answer me, you fucking Irish psycho!!”
