Callous King (The O'Dea Crime Family Book 1)
Page 3
“Is the floor that comfortable, Sorcha?” He asks, and I pause my chewing before I choke on the glob of potatoes. “I want to ask you more about Byrne and his plan if you’re up to it. There’s a few things that are still unclear to me even after sleeping on it.”
I frown around my mouthful of food, and Cian grips the sheet to lift it up. Glancing up as he peeks under, I hold my breath as my heart flips. His hazel eyes could cut steel, and they train on me with the precision to match. Smiling tenderly, he lets the cover fall again, and I exhale a shaky breath through my nose.
“What do you wanna know?” I grumble, wiping my hands on the sheet. “I don’t have specifics. He’s not stupid.”
“Neither am I, which is why I wonder if killing me is his goal,” Cian ponders, and I pull the sheet down to look at him. His dirty blond hair falls over his eyes while he looks down at me, but he’s quick to flick it away. “If you were going to be a criminal psychologist, I want to know what ideas you may have for his motive and endgame.”
“He never said he wanted you dead,” I point out dully, and interest sparks in his hazel eyes. Propping his elbows on his knees, he clasps his hand over his fist to listen intently. How many times have I asked myself that? What are Byrne’s motives and endgame? Clutching the sheet in my hands, I stare down into the crumpled, off-white fabric dazedly. “When you kill someone for political gain, you have to have someone to replace him. Sometimes, that’s yourself, but Byrne can’t do that because of what happened last year with the FBI. Even if he wanted to kill you, you’d just be replaced with one of your siblings, or even your father. Byrne can’t get rid of every O’Dea, so he needs to destabilize you.”
“That makes sense, but Bella denouncing him for me would’ve made destabilization a pipe dream. Wouldn’t it be easier for him to appeal to the minor families that have an axe to grind for being constantly passed over?”
“That’s where criminality comes into play,” I reply, holding up a hand to count off my fingers absently. “One—risk versus reward. Two—feasibility of success. Three—probability of getting caught. What are the obvious risks someone has to take to commit a crime? What are the chances a criminal can overcome those obstacles? Once a criminal gets what they’re after, how difficult will it be to get away? Doing a bad thing is relative to what institution they’re doing it to.”
“I see and Byrne doesn’t have answers to those questions,” Cian surmises, and I nod in agreement. He taps the back of his hand thoughtfully as he continues. “The risk is dying, the chances are low, and they don’t even know what they’re after, because my position isn’t something the lower families know much about. I doubt they want to risk what comfort they do have for responsibility they know nothing about.”
“Byrne wants me to find anything I can, but I don’t think he has a concrete plan. I think he wants to be as flexible as he could be to compensate for the fact that you’re coming for him. It may look like he’s grasping at straws, but really, he has bullet points to achieve, and any number of ways to do so,” I explain, holding up my three fingers and wiggling them. “He doesn’t need an answer. He needs a bluff.”
“A bluff for instance, if I can take down a major family, what’s to stop me from brushing the minor ones away, and here’s proof.” Cian mutters to himself, glancing at me briefly before shaking his head. I tense when he puts his big, warm palm on my crown, his eyes glazing in thought. Pursing my lips thinly, I hug the sheet between my chest and knees as prickles skitter along my scalp.
“No,” I speak up to ease the drumming in my ears, and Cian casts me a questioning glance. His bright hazel eyes hide his callous cruelty. I know it somehow, but they seem so lively and deep when they capture mine. For a second, I lose my train of thought, staring into the abysmal shadows hidden between light green flecks in his orbs. “Um, you asked about the floor. No. It’s not comfortable. But Byrne always said I was a thing that didn’t deserve to sit anywhere else. A lowly thing that was always going to be looked down on, so the floor was appropriate. Even . . . even knowing that’s not true, it’s hard to break habits, especially when they’ve been beaten into your bones, quite literally.
“Ah,” Cian murmurs, stroking my crown tenderly as I bury my face in my knees. The soft, silk sheet hides the fire of shame that threatens to engulf my cheeks and tightens my throat. “I wondered about that, Sorcha. You, I mean. Are you really so strong-willed, or are you just pretending to be less fucked up than you really are? I assume you know that killing Byrne won’t fix what he did to you.”
“It won’t,” I agree tentatively, gathering up my sheet to cover my head as Cian’s fingers flex against my scalp. “But it’ll make me feel better. I’m aware of what’s wrong with me, but when you can’t fix something, you have to mitigate the damage, not try to stop it completely.” Byrne had completely ruined my life, so taking away his is the next best thing I can think of.
“Like what happened to your back?” Cian asks, his hand trailing down my hair, and I stiffen as he fingers the edges of the deep, jagged scars licking my shoulders. “How did you get these?”
Blinking hard, I shudder as goosebumps blanket my skin and tighten my scars. I scoot away, pulling my sheet taut over my head pathetically as sourness twists my expression. Cian’s gaze settles on me heavily through the nice fabric, but I don’t answer as my mouth dries, my lips sticking together. Managing a stinging inhale through my nose, I shake my head, and he grumbles lowly under his breath in acceptance.
“Since you’re here, I can set up someone for you to talk to about whatever Byrne did to you, Sorcha. You of all people must understand the need for therapy, being a survivor and all,” He says gently, and I shake my head again under the sheet. The weight of Cian’s eyes lifts from my shoulders before he sighs in defeat. “Fine, fine. How about this? Once Byrne is taken care of, permanently, I’ll give you your life back. Proportional to how much you help me, of course. I’ll give you therapy, money, a ride home, wherever that is. I was up last night thinking if you were going to college, you must have family or friends that miss you. No?”
“You can’t do that,” I blurt out hostilely, yanking down the corner of my sheet to glare at Cian as alarm and surprise make fun of his expression. Immediately, I realize that I should’ve kept my mouth shut, and I grind my molars hard. Friends? Family? No. “You can’t do that, please.”
“What are you gonna do after this crusade is over, then?” My eyelids pop in shock and I cover my face with my palm. “Did you think of that yet?”
“No. Get out!” Demanding petulantly, my chest tightens painfully when he scoffs, and my brain beats against the backs of my eyes. Pushing my palms into my eye sockets, I hold my breath as fire engulfs my lungs. My body trembles at the thought of after, memories bubbling up from the deep, dark crevices of my mind. “S-stop it.”
“Sorcha,” Freezing at Cian’s murmur so close to me, a whimper wrenches from below the hard lump in my throat. Colors flash behind my lids, my eardrums popping with phantom sounds. I wince as his warm arm wraps around my back, air scraping my lungs as I suck in a sharp, shocked breath. “You’re right. The floor’s not so comfortable.”
Cian’s declaration rings in my ears and dances colorfully behind my shuttered lids, and my heart squeezes. This time, he doesn’t try to touch my back, instead cupping the side of my head over my protective sheet. Wheezing painfully, I clutch my chest with clammy hands, and a cold sweat breaks out all over my body.
“W-what are you d-doing?” I stutter heavily, my tongue thick and clinging desperately to the roof of my mouth.
“If you’re going to help me take down Byrne, you need to trust me, Sorcha. I won’t ask any more about you, but in exchange, you need to be able to hold it together,” He says gravely, and my breath hitches harshly at the top of my tongue. “If you’re having a tough time, come to me. I’ll help you through it. Byrne will be subjugated, but I have a feeling it’d be a lot easier with you on my side. You can have a breakdown when
he’s gone. It might take a while, but you can handle it, right?”
“Y- you’re going to make me an offer I can’t refuse, aren’t you?” I question blandly, and prickles race down my cheeks and neck as Cian pulls back my makeshift shield. His eyes glimmer with bemusement, a slight smirk tilting his mouth as my own twists in discomfort. “What?”
“Did you think I didn’t notice your pop culture references? The Lord of the Rings one, and Big Comfy Couch, and now it’s the Godfather?” He asks, a light lilt in his tone, and my brows raise in surprise. “Are you a big movie buff, Sorcha?”
Instantly, my heckles raise, and I push him away to hide around the corner of the bed. Covering my head with the sheet and my arms, I bury my face in my knees as a stunned silence settles on the room. Panic slams into my gut, and I silently curse myself for giving Cian ammunition. I don’t want him to know anything about me, not yet, and maybe not ever. After what Byrne did, I’m not even anyone . . . am I?
Time ticks by at a snail’s pace until he stands up with a grunt, and I only breathe when the door lock clicks into place.
This is bad. I didn’t think Cian O’Dea would be so human.
Chapter Five
Sorcha
“I told you, Lisa. We’re not friends. We’re not ‘girl power’ing anything. I didn’t choose to be your roommate; we were assigned to each other. I have absolutely no intention of being involved in your life other than occasionally passing by you in this house, and paying the electric and water,” I say sternly, and Lisa deflates like an untied balloon in my bedroom doorway. Lowering her arm, she holds a flyer for a party, she puckers her lips to combat my glare. “Get out, please. I have to study.”
“But Sorcha—”
“My name is pronounced ‘Sor-ka,’ not ‘Sor-cha!’ If you want to be friends so bad, you can at least say my name correctly,” I shout, pointing an accusatory finger at Lisa. She blushes a beet, angry red, eyes glimmering with dense embarrassment that clings to her eyelashes. “Jesus, just get out. I already said ‘no.’ I’m not going, and you’re not going convince me to. I have an exam tomorrow, so I can’t be fooling around. Unlike you, I don’t have parents who pay for everything. I can’t screw up here. I’m on scholarship, so please, just go.”
Harsh, I know, but Lisa has never accepted the fact we’re strangers occupying a house together. Frowning hotly as she darts away, I unfurl my legs to walk over to close my door and lock it. There are three other girls here, but Lisa fixated on me like a laser. I shake my head viciously on my way back to my bed. Not to mention she’s the girl who I overheard talking crap about me, so why would I want to hang out with her, especially when she’s given me reason not to?
“She’s delusional,” I mutter to myself, filling my quiet space with a scoff. Sitting heavily on my bed, I grab my laptop to lean against the wall and stare blankly at the screen. My grumpiness twists my face as I scan the article I’m reading through narrowed eyes. As if I’m dumb enough to go to a party where I know no one not to mention that whole circle of people are all jerks. Plus, I’m not like them. The crew Lisa hangs out with are all cut from the same cloth. Rich, unworried, perfectly relaxed people. I’m not even one of those things.
I cross my arms tightly over my chest and huff a pout at my own complaining. Just a few more tests, and I’ll graduate. Dangerous frat parties and pushy, nosy roommates will be a thing of the past. Once I have that piece of paper in my hand, I can move back to California and . . . reality hits me smack dab in the face.
It’s not like I have anything to go back to anymore, I guess. God. I click to another tab, I squint at my laptop screen to scan my Prime movie recommendations. I’ll never not have movies to watch, though. I think I’ll watch a psychological thriller and take a nap. I’ve been studying almost all afternoon.
I startle awake, panting furiously as a cold sweat glues the sheet to my body. Blood drums furiously in my ears, and my heart pounds painfully against my ribs. The sheet tangles around my legs, and I kick it off to sit up. Clutching my chest, I blink back the memories that had crept up on me silently. Peeling back my hair from my cheeks and neck with trembling fingers, I scowl into the early, morning light that struggles through the curtains.
“Dammit,” My mutter skates off my dry tongue, and I stand on weak legs to walk to the bathroom. The carpet sticks to the soles of my feet, and I drag my sheet with me to wrap the silk around my shoulders. Flicking on the light, I flex my stiff fingers. Goosebumps surge up my legs as the carpet transitions to cold tile, and I shiver violently. “What’s wrong with me?”
Standing in front of the sink, I stare at my reflection in disgust. My eyes and cheeks are sunken, and I reach to prod my pale skin. Dismay envelops me, and I clench my free hand into a tight fist against my collar bone. I scoff lightly, turning the faucet knob to lean down. Frigidly cold water quenched my dry lips and mouth, the sound of the deluge from the spout ringing in my ears.
If I ever see that bitch again . . .
My cheeks heating as aggravation sears a path between my lungs. Turning off the faucet, I brace my palms on either side of the sink to shake my head viciously.
All of this is because she decided to be a blabbermouth.
Lisa . . . Seething as I catch my own gaze in the mirror, I grind my molars hard. Scabs blotted the corners of my mouth, cracking when I scowl. She’d told everyone at that party that I was home alone that night. She blurted out that I was boring and probably never had a social life. She was the one who complained that I needed to ‘loosen up.’
It’s all her fault. Years have passed and I still can’t help but hate her for what she did. Sure, she probably didn’t know what would happen to me, but she’s the person I blame. If she’d just kept her mouth shut, I would’ve been in my graduate program right now, maybe even working a good job. Sucking in a sharp breath, trying to steady myself, I don’t think I can as my emotions roll through me. The sad reality is if Lisa had kept her mouth shut, Marrin would’ve never bothered with me.
“Knock, knock,” Tensing, my gaze snaps to Cian as he leans against the bathroom door, a neutral expression masking his face. “I brought you breakfast. Jesus, you look like shit, Sorcha.” Wow. I must really be looking like crap for Cian to say something.
“Why? I mean, I’m nothing but a little tool to you, right? Just a silly little thing for you to play with until you get what you want?” I snap sharply, and Cian arches a brow quizzically before I tear my eyes off him. Glaring at a distant swirl in the marble, I clench my jaw and fists tightly. “Go away. I’m not hungry.” I’m tired of being used. I’m fucking exhausted.
“You’ve done nothing but eat and sleep for the past four days, Sorcha,” Cian points out dumbly, and my scowl darkens in irritation. “I get it. You need downtime after everything, and you’re wary of me for very valid reasons. Please, come eat while we talk.”
Something in his tone bristles my spine, and the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. I lick my lips nervously, my gaze darting to him in the mirror’s reflection. Cian’s eyes blaze with laser-sharp fury, and he gestures me with a flick of his wrist. My thoughts whirl as I shuffle behind him, tightening my sheet around my shoulders and wrap it around my body. This sheet, it’s more than a sheet to me, it gives me the sort of security I need. Much like when a baby is wrapped in a blanket tightly to calm them down.
The smell of bacon, eggs, and maple syrup floods my nostrils, and my mouth waters as I focus immediately on the plate on my bed. I grab the square dish to sit on the floor, and Cian reaches to flip back my makeshift hood. Stiffening as cool air caresses my jaw, I set my food in my lap to yank the sheet over my head and retreat into the safe darkness, but stop. Something about him doesn’t scare me like it did with Byrne. Cian’s human, I’d established that a few days ago, but I think the man might have a heart. So, I don’t put the sheet over my head to shield myself from him. Holding my fork in my fist he releases a chuff laugh. I close my eyes and take an unstable, shallow breath.
I grunt lowly before shoveling a huge piece of pancake in my mouth, and a groan escapes me at the wonderful, soggy, sweet mess. Chocolate chips hidden in the pancake burst in my mouth, and I flop my head back to slump against the side of the mattress. Cian is quiet, letting me have my moment. Merriment dances in his eyes, and my brows twitch in surprise at how pleasant his expression is.
“What?” I garble, covering my mouth to be polite, tearing my eyes off him. A tingling sensation rips down my spine as Cian puts his palm on my head, and I duck to muffle my grumble.
“Have you always been like this? Confrontational, I mean,” Cian ponders, his fingertips digging through my hair to knead my scalp. It’s like he can’t stop himself. No, it’s like he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it. I shudder at the notion, and his eyes settle on me heavily. “You know there’s clothes in that dresser for you, right? Why don’t you wear something?”
“That’s three,” I swallow my bite before replying, and Cian O’Dea pulls his most humanizing expression yet. He leans back so far I have to tilt my head to look at him, and open shock flickers across his face. His hazel eyes widen, lips parted in alarm, and I point my fork up at him. “You said you had a question.”
“You did that yesterday, too. Is that your way of changing the subject when you don’t wanna talk about something? Like why you aren’t wearing clothes, just the sheets,” Cian stares at me intensely, taking his hand off my crown to prop his elbows on his knees. “You weren’t allowed to wear clothes with Byrne, were you, Sorcha?”