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A dead man.
“I’ll cut the throat ofevery. Single. FuckingKildare.”
Seamus O’Conor.
The room goes deathly quiet, the only sound the recording of Seamus’ distinctive, gravelly tone repeating over and over.
“I’ll cut the throat ofevery. Single. FuckingKildare.”
Una’s face turns to alabaster beneath me. The smoke begins to dissipate, and suddenly I can see something standing in the ruins of the exploded cake.
Another cross, dripping in blood, riddled with bullet holes, with that fucking voice from the grave rasping out of it on an endless loop.
“I’ll cut the throat ofevery. Single. FuckingKildare.”
“I’ll cut the throat ofevery. Single. FuckingKildare.”
“It’s him,” Una chokes.
I rip my eyes from the cross down to her. For a moment, a strange fear stabs into me when I see the red splattered across her face and neck. But then I realize it’s only the blood-red frosting.
I look over to Neve, still ducked down flat on the floor.
“Just a recording, Neve,” I growl, reaching for her and gripping her arm reassuringly. “It’s just a—”
She’s not moving.
At.All.
Then all I hear are the blood-curdling sounds of Ares roaring, Una screaming, sirens approaching…
…And my own pulse.
Snarling.
21
CILLIAN
“Mild concussion,that’s all. She’s going to be okay.”
The NYPD’s not always stupid. Today, they were smart enough to send officers who know me personally to O’Bannon’s when the frantic call came in from a concerned citizen who heard the blast. Castle spoke to the “friendly” officers to make sure they got the story straight about the “miscalculated celebratory fireworks that unfortunately went off inside prematurely.”
Friendly as they may be, I don’t typically like to mix personal Kildare matters with the police. And this is decidedly averypersonal matter.
But never mind. The important thing is, Neve is going to be okay.
After she was checked over at the scene, I had all the immediate family, along with two of the arriving EMTs, moved from O’Bannon’s to the Upper East Side house. Which is where we all currently are.
Dr. Blythe, my go-to family physician for matters like getting stabbed or exploding fucking wedding cake injuries, nods to the room where Neve is resting, Ares by her side.
“A couple of scrapes, probably from wooden fragments of the banquet table. And she’ll need to take it easy for a few days. She got hit in the head pretty hard. But she’s going to be fine, Mr. Kildare.”
That’s far more than I can say for whoever the fuck is responsible for what happened today, when I fucking find them.
I’m going to skin them alive.
When Dr. Blythe is gone, I step into the library where everyone else is gathered and am immediately accosted by a concerned-looking Eilish and Callie.
