Chapter 31 Sorcha #2
He dries my legs, my arms, carefully removing the plastic covering on my injured arm.
When he’s done, he wraps the towel around me and presses a kiss to my forehead.
“Get dressed. We have work to do today.” He dries off and busies himself with disposing of the used tampon, and I shake my head at him. He is an enigma.
“Work?”
“Finding out who’s trying to kill us. Starting with Annastasia O’Shea.”
“You don’t think this is her handiwork, do you?”
“No, but she is desperate to run the show here at St. Bart’s. If anyone knows anything, it will be her, even if she doesn’t realise it yet.”
I nod, my mind already turning over possibilities. Annastasia is ambitious, ruthless. If there’s a new player making moves on campus, she’ll know about it. She knew about me the second I set foot on campus.
Ciar leaves me to sort myself out, and when I step out of the bathroom, I see a pile of bags and boxes laid out with designer labels slapped over everything.
Axl.
I move closer to the bed, running my fingers over silk and cashmere. There’s everything here. Jeans, tops, and underwear that probably cost more than my monthly rent used to. Coats, boots, even jewellery in velvet boxes. It’s too much. It’s overwhelming.
I pick up a black cashmere jumper, the fabric impossibly soft against my fingers. This single item could’ve fed me for months back in my old life.
“Do you like it?” Axl’s voice comes from the doorway, making me jump.
I turn to face him, still clutching the jumper. “This is insane.”
“This is necessary. You can’t keep wearing the same three outfits.”
“I have more than three outfits.”
“That aren’t bloodstained or falling apart?” He raises an eyebrow, and I hate that he has a point.
I set the jumper down carefully. “I can’t accept this.”
“Why not?”
“Because...” I struggle to find the words. “Because it’s too much. Because I don’t deserve it. Because accepting this means accepting everything else that comes with it.”
Axl’s expression softens, just slightly. “You already accepted everything else, sunshine. This is just window dressing.”
He has a point, even if I don’t want to admit it. In the last three days, I have slipped into their world, their lives, their crew as if I were making an informed choice, rather than it being an unconscious decision. I couldn’t walk away now if I tried.
They wouldn’t let me, for starters, but secondly, I don’t want to.
Stop fighting.
The words bounce around my head.
If Axl wants to drop thousands of euros on clothes for me, who am I to stop him?
That also reminds me of who paid my tuition here, though, and that is something that rankles with me.
The more I think about it, the more Cian’s name keeps popping up.
It had to have been him. But why? Why would my half-brother, who barely knows me, pay for my tuition here?
Unless he wanted to make sure I was firmly embedded outside of his patch, outside of his family.
The more I think about it, the more that is the only thing that makes sense to me.
I walk over to the bed and start sorting through the clothes, pulling out a pair of black jeans and a deep green jumper that looks warm and expensive.
“Is that acceptance?” Axl asks, interrupting my wayward thoughts.
“Yes, thank you.” I force the words out.
“Did that hurt?” he asks with an amused smile.
“What?”
“Saying thank you, accepting these gifts, not fighting me. Take your pick?”
“Yes,” I say, returning his smile. “It hurt a lot. Now fuck off so I can get dressed in peace.”
He gives me a mock salute and leaves me alone.
I dress quickly, pulling on the black jeans that fit like they were made for me.
The green jumper is soft against my skin, luxurious in a way that makes me feel like an imposter.
The boots are expensive and gorgeous. I catch my reflection in the mirror and barely recognise myself.
Clean, well-dressed, with colour in my cheeks that has nothing to do with makeup and everything to do with being properly fed, rested and fucked.
I look like I belong here in their world.
When I’m finally ready, I head downstairs. The smell of coffee hits me first, rich and dark, followed by the sound of male voices coming from the kitchen. I pause in the doorway, taking in the scene.
Cillian is the first to reach me with a mug of steaming coffee. “How do you feel?” he asks.
“Good,” I say, “surprisingly.” I hide my satisfied smile behind my mug, avoiding looking at Ciar. I can feel his smug smirk from here. “So, Annastasia? Who approaches?”
“You,” Axl says, instantly. “You already have a connection with her.”
I set my coffee down, my stomach twisting. “Connection is such a strong word. We made a deal to overthrow you arseholes, and then I kissed one of you in public. She’s probably ready to stab me in the face.”
“Exactly,” Axl says with that psychotic grin of his. “She’s emotional about you. Emotional people make mistakes.”
“You want me to manipulate her.”
“I want you to have a conversation with her,” he corrects, though we both know it’s the same thing. “Woman to woman. Find out what she knows.”
I pick up my coffee again, taking a long sip while I think. Annastasia is smart, ambitious, and probably pissed off that I’ve aligned myself with the Cerberus Order instead of helping her take them down. But she’s also desperate for power, and desperate people are predictable.
“Fine,” I say. “But I do this alone. If she sees any of you hovering, she’ll shut down completely.”
Ciar’s jaw tightens. “Not happening.”
“It has to happen,” I counter, meeting his gaze. “She won’t talk if she thinks I’m just your puppet. I need her to see me as an equal, someone who might still be playing both sides.”
“You’re not playing both sides,” Cillian growls.
“She doesn’t need to know that.” I drain the rest of my coffee and set the mug down with more force than necessary. “Alone. I’m walking out of here by myself. If someone takes it upon themselves to shoot me in the head as I do it, I trust you all to avenge my death.”
Silence descends, and not the comfortable kind.