by Fox, Nicole
Just say yes.
Is that all?
It seems so simple.
But Tristan Rearden has turned that one little word into a death sentence.
“Make your decision,” Tristan says, his fingers tightening under my jaw. “And make it now.”
14
Cillian
A JAIL CELL IN THE DUBLIN POLICE DEPARTMENT
A glass of water has been placed on a little square table about five feet away from the jail cell I’m sitting in.
That puts it just barely outside my line of reach.
Which is unfortunate, because I have never been thirstier in my whole goddamn life.
It’s also extremely intentional, because these cops are the biggest fucking scumbags on the planet.
I try to swallow past my parched throat as I glance at the clock on the adjacent wall and make a quick mental calculation.
It’s eight o’clock in the morning. Which means I’ve been in this fucking cell for almost twenty-four hours.
The iron door at the far end of the floor clangs open.
A policewoman walks in. Tall, austere, very much no-nonsense. I notice she’s got her hair pinned up today.
Funny, because she didn’t seem too enthused when I told her last night how utterly ravishing she looked with it down.
I guess not all women like compliments.
“Officer Rian!” I greet, grabbing the bars of my cell and flashing her my best smile. “How are you this fine morning?”
“Mr. O’Sullivan,” she sighs. “You’re still here?”
I give her a pitiful puppy dog look. “I wouldn’t be if you just released me.”
She grumbles before her eyes fall on the full glass of water. She understands instantly that it’s there to taunt me.
I see a flash of sympathy before she wipes her expression clean of emotion.
“Thirsty?” she asks.
“Like you wouldn’t believe.”
She glances towards the door that leads to the holding area where most of her colleagues hang out. Then she picks up the glass and hands it to me through the bars.
I gulp down the water in three seconds flat.
Relief floods through my system. I’m so grateful I honestly just want to pull her in for a huge bear hug.
“Jesus. That was good,” I breathe as I hand the glass back to her.
She takes it from my hands and sets it back down on the table. Now that the thirst is no longer dominating my thoughts, I can concentrate on other things.
“Why were you surprised to see me here?” I ask.
She shrugs. “Your kind don’t tend to stay behind bars long,” she says, an edge of bitterness seeping into her tone.
“Hey now, Officer,” I protest, “we’re not all bad. Some of us are even nice.”
She almost cracks a smile.
Almost.
Then her face shifts. She looks almost… sad? That wouldn’t make any sense, so I dismiss it. But something is definitely up.
“Question for you, little O’Sullivan,” she murmurs.
“I object to the diminutive,” I say, “but the floor is yours, Officer.”
“Where’s your da?”
Her voice is soft. Gentle.
And yet, I feel my confidence faltering.
It’s a question I’ve been asking myself for the last twenty-four hours.
Amongst other questions, of course.
Questions like, where is Saoirse?
Is she safe?
Where does she think I am?
All good questions. None of which I’m liable to get answers to anytime soon.
Especially not from a fucking prison cell.
Which brings me back to Officer Rian’s question.
Where the hell is my father?
“I don’t know,” I say with a shrug, trying to play down his absence. “I’m betting he had an early tee time. Clearly, he hasn’t heard about this. Bad news always messes up his putting game.”
The policewoman raises her eyebrows and cocks her head to the side. “Come on now. You’re not that naïve.”
She takes a step closer to my cell.
“I’m not part of the, shall we call them, ‘politics’ in this department. I’m not in anyone’s pocket,” she continues. “And even I know that Ronan O’Sullivan was one of the first people to be informed about the incident.”
“Accident,” I correct. “It was just a little accident.”
“An accident that has left the son of the most powerful man in the city in a coma.”
“So he isn’t dead?” I ask, gripping the bars a little tighter.
“Not that I’ve heard.”
A part of me is relieved. Mostly because I know Murtagh’s death will cause more trouble than he’s worth.
But another part of me is disappointed.
The fucker is just wasting oxygen, as far as I’m concerned.
“My father will be here,” I say with a confidence I definitely don’t feel. “We O’Sullivans have always been procrastinators.”
I throw her a little wink. She just shakes her head at me.
“That callous, over-confident act you’ve got going isn’t going to last long,” she tells me. “The Murtaghs and Kinahans are going to chew you up and spit you out.”
I snort. “I’m hardly concerned about a rich boy playing gangster dress-up. I was born into the life.”
“Maybe. But you haven’t lived it yet,” she replies.
“Jesus, you sure know how to make a guy feel optimistic, don’t you?” I remark. “Makes a man long for the comfort of an isolated cell.”
“You’re in luck then, because that’s the future you’re looking at.”
I grit my teeth, but I refuse to let the smile slide off my face. “With all due respect, ma’am, you don’t know a damn thing about my future.”
Her jaw tightens. “I know that you think you’re untouchable just because of your last name,” she says. “I used to think I was untouchable, too. I wear a uniform and a badge, and I thought that meant I was protected. Then Murtagh started taking over the force and the city. And now? Now, I wear my uniform and badge out of a sense of duty. To try and do what I can for the people I can save. Because God knows there’s a fuck-ton of people I can’t.”
She takes one step closer to the cell. Again, there’s a weird emotion in her face I can’t decipher.
Not quite pity.
Not quite anger.
A little of both, perhaps.
“I can’t do shit for you, son,” she says, her eyes hazing over with regret. “Do you know why?”
“Because helping me would be going against the Kinahan and the Murtaghs?” I conclude quietly.
She nods. “At least you’re in a better position than most. Not every person in here has a rich and powerful daddy to come bail them out.”
“Do you see my rich and powerful daddy anywhere?” I drawl. “Because I sure as hell don’t.”
She sighs, but she falls silent at the sound of approaching footsteps.
Another policeman steps into the elongated space. I recognize this bastard.
Officer Murphy is the sadistic fucker who decided to put the glass of water just out of my reach.
He’s in his fifties, pale-faced and balding. One of those assholes who gets high off a power trip simply because they’re loyal to the right men.
His eyes fall on Officer Rian for only a second before they slide over onto me.
“You gave him the water?” he seethes.
I have to resist the urge to roll my eyes. Instead, I decide to be a gentleman and save her ass.
“More like she stood there and drank it while I watched,” I snap, making a show of fake fury. “Are all your subordinates as thoughtful as you are?”
He slams his baton against the bars of my cell. Like I’m supposed to be scared of loud noises or some shit.
This prick is the fucking worst.
“Office Rian,” Murphy says without so much as l
ooking at her, “you’re dismissed.”
“Sir?”
“You are dismissed,” he repeats impatiently.
“I was asked to stay with him until—”
“Those fucking orders have changed then, haven’t they?” he snarls at her.
She looks like she’s on the verge of saying something she’ll regret.
I interject, “Aww, Officer Rian! I’ll miss you as well. But I have to be fair to Ol’ Murph here. I’m sure he wants his quality time with me, too.”
She stares at me as though I’ve completely lost my mind.
But whatever.
While I’m in this shitshow, I may as well have a little fun.
And, cop or not, there is something about her I like. She isn’t as bad as the rest of them.
She hasn’t sold out all her dignity.
Murphy stalks over to the bars of my cell and glares at me with narrowed eyes.
“I wouldn’t be so quick with the jokes, you little shit,” he threatens. “Your time is up.”
“Oo, cue the ominous music!” I say. “Let me guess: you watch a lot of cop shows, friend?”
He raises his baton, but before he can bring it crashing down against the bars of my cell, I hear more footsteps. Murphy clearly does, too, because he lowers the weapon and looks toward the door.
His face pales slightly when he sees who it is.
I crane my neck forward, but I can’t quite make out who has just arrived.
Until my father rounds the corner.
“Mr. O’Sullivan,” Murphy murmurs, stepping away from my holding cell.
I take a breath as Da steps through the door. His light blue eyes don’t so much as glance in my direction. He acts as though I’m merely part of the scenery.
He’s wearing his long, grey wool coat. On any other man, it would look foolish. Like he’s playing at being rich and powerful.
On my father, it looks exactly right.
“Officer Murphy,” Da intones.
Murphy looks shocked that Da knows his name, but says nothing.
“If you don’t mind, I’d like a few words with the prisoner.”
I don’t miss the word choice. Prisoner.
Nice to see you too, Da, I want to mutter.
Murphy hesitates. “My orders—”
“—are irrelevant,” Da cuts in. His gaze flashes sinister. “Now, go before I lose patience.”
Without a word, Murphy waddles out.
Da walks towards my cell as he passes a tired hand across his face.
I’ve known the man my entire life. And it’s still hard for me to read him sometimes.
Except when he’s pissed.
When he’s pissed, I can tell right away. But then again, everyone can.
Finally, his eyes meet mine. He makes no attempt to break the silence.
He just stands there, casting judgement, making me feel small and insignificant without saying a damn word.
When I was a boy, I used to think I could outlast these prolonged silences. But I’m not that naïve boy anymore. No matter what anyone else says.
“Da… he attacked me—”
“Brody. Fucking. Murtagh,” Da growls.
He doesn’t raise his voice. He doesn’t need to. His tone does all the heavy lifting. “What were you thinking?”
“I was defending myself.”
“Yourself?” Da spits. “Because my sources tell me that you risked everything for a fucking girl.”
I bristle at that. The reaction is immediate and I can’t tame the burst of anger that courses through me when he brings up Saoirse.
“She’s not just any girl,” I snap.
“No, apparently not,” Da says. “Apparently, she’s Padraig Connelly’s daughter.”
I stop short.
My father is nothing if not prepared.
“Now, I would never have concerned myself with the likes of a lowly debtor,” he continues. “But when my son decides to fuck his daughter—”
“That’s not all it was.”
Da steps closer to the cell, his eyes flashing dangerously. “Don’t tell me you’re that goddamn stupid.”
“Da—”
“My bookies are telling me that the debt owed by Connelly has been paid,” he says. “Recently, in fact.”
I don’t offer up any information.
“Did you pay off the debt yourself?”
I don’t want to claim ownership of something I didn’t do. But I don’t want to out Sean, either. Da would only see it as another sign of weakness.
“What does it matter?” I argue finally. “What does it matter who paid the debt, as long as it’s paid?”
“That is not how this family operates.”
“It was two thousand euros. You could find that in the couch cushions.”
“Two thousand euros can go a long fucking way in the right hands,” he replies. “But I wouldn’t expect you to understand. You’ve never worked for anything in your life.”
I frown. “What the fuck are you talking about?” I ask. “I’ve worked my whole entire life.”
“You’ve always been an O’Sullivan,” Da rebuts harshly. “Whatever you’ve done has been connected to me. To the family name that I built. You and Brody Murtagh are alike in that regard.”
That’s meant to piss me off, and it succeeds. “I am nothing like that miserable son of a bitch.”
“I thought you were smarter than him,” Da muses. “But apparently not.”
“Are you not hearing me?” I snarl. “He attacked me.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know—because he’s a fucking pathetic wannabe gangster who likes throwing his weight around?”
“You should have stayed out of his way. For God’s sake, you should have just let him fuck the girl if that’s all he wanted.”
I stop short. Fury blossoms in my chest, hot and relentless.
I’m not sure if I love my father. I’m not sure if I hate him.
But God help me—if there weren’t bars between us, I’d fucking strangle him with my bare hands right now.
And then I see it. The truth behind his eyes.
I hadn’t wanted to accept it before. But there’s no denying it now.
“You don’t want to go up against them, do you?” I ask quietly. “The Murtaghs and the Kinahans.”
Da’s expression doesn’t change, but his hands tighten into fists.
“This life is more than just about brute strength and power,” he says instead of answering my question. “You have to be smart. Murtagh is a politician with significant pull. Now that he’s aligned himself with the Kinahans, we need to watch our backs.”
“Murtagh mentioned that you were meeting with his father soon.”
“A meeting that has been postponed,” Da replies. “In light of recent events. This could cost us, Cillian.”
“He’s not dead yet,” I point out.
“He might as well be. I have a source in the hospital where the boy is being monitored. He’s in a coma. He may well stay that way forever.”
“Pity,” I drawl sarcastically under my breath.
“Either way, my hopes of a treaty with the Kinahans are basically shot to shit at this point. Murtagh’s never going to make peace with the man whose son effectively killed his.”
“He’s not going to start a full-scale war though,” I say logically. “He may be powerful, but so are you.”
“True,” Da concedes with a nod. “But it’s going to make territory disputes and dealings between borders harder now. If we cross over, there will be no clemency shown.”
“So we fight fire with fire,” I argue. “The Kinahans have gotten out of hand anyway. They need—”
“We?” Da hisses icily, cutting me off.
I hesitate.
Something bad is coming.
Something very, very bad.
“There is no ‘we’,” he finishes. “Not anymore.”
My heart starts hammering erratically in my chest
. “What do you mean?”
My voice doesn’t sound like my own.
Like it’s coming from somewhere else. From someone else.
“Did you really think there would be no consequences for pissing off Brian Murtagh?” Da asks. “He’s out for blood. I had to make concessions.”
I stare at him, only slowly realizing what he’s telling me. “You… you made a deal with them?”
“Yes.”
“Da, I—”
He holds up a hand to silence me. “A smart man knows his place. A smart man knows not to fuck with men above his station.”
He speaks unflinchingly. Without so much as a trace of emotion.
“You’re handing me over to him?” I ask in disbelief.
Da’s jaw tightens. He looks like a feral beast who’s been forced into a tight corner.
“It wouldn’t look good for the O’Sullivan clan if I handed over my own son,” Da replies. “That’s what he wants. But that’s not what he’ll get.”
I frown. “What are you saying then?”
Da pulls out a small key from his coat pocket. He turns it over in his hand and I recognize it instantly.
“The key to my cell,” I breathe with relief. “You’re letting me out.”
Da’s eyes lift to mine. “You have three hours,” he tells me. “To get out of Ireland. For good.”
His words hit me like a sledgehammer.
Leave Ireland?
Leave the family?
Leave Saoirse?
Forever?
“I can’t leave,” I whisper. “This is my home.”
Da takes a step closer. “You have no choice. If you stay in Dublin, they will kill you.”
“People have been trying to kill us for years.”
“Not like this,” he replies. “There is no other way. I will not sacrifice you to the wolves. But I cannot allow you to stay either. I have the clan to think of. I have the family to think of.”
“Is that it then?” I demand. “I’m no longer family?”
“You’re no longer an O’Sullivan,” Da says coolly. “Make of that what you will.”
His words are cutting. And the way he delivers them…
No feeling.
No emotion.
Just business.
“Sean would call you a fucking coward,” I snap before I can stop myself.
