Chapter 32 Cillian
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
CILLIAN
“Absolutely fucking not,” I state as she turns on her heel and walks out of the kitchen and into the entrance hall.
She turns back to face me, and there’s fire in those blue eyes. “I’m not asking permission, Cillian.”
“I don’t give a fuck. You’re not walking out there alone.” I take a step towards her, but Axl’s hand lands on my chest, stopping me.
“Let her go,” he says quietly.
I turn my glare on him. “Are you out of your mind?”
“Some might say so, but I am also practical. Annastasia won’t talk if we’re breathing down her neck. Sorcha can handle herself.”
“Against a sniper?” I snarl.
“Against anyone,” Ciar says from behind me. “She survived this long without us. She’s not helpless.”
I know they’re right. I fucking hate it, but I know they’re right. Sorcha isn’t some delicate flower that needs constant protection. She’s a fighter, a survivor. But that doesn’t stop the primal need to keep her safe, to lock her away where nothing can touch her.
She takes this opportunity to open the door, pausing on the threshold. For a moment, I think she’s going to change her mind. Then she glances back at us, and there’s something in her expression that makes my chest tight.
“Don’t follow me,” she says. “I mean it.”
The door closes behind her with a soft click that sounds like a gunshot.
“I don’t like this,” I growl.
“No shit,” Ciar says. “But we can do this the easy way or the hard way.”
“By letting her walk unattended into a meeting with a woman who may be behind this?”
“O’Shea isn’t behind this,” Axl says. “It’s way above her pay grade.”
“I thought you said they were rank amateurs,” I point out.
“They are. I didn’t mean monetarily, you fucking idiot. I meant in terms of power.”
“Great, so we are looking for someone with more power than O’Shea but less than us? That doesn’t narrow it down much.”
“Or it’s a red herring,” Ciar states. “They want us to think it’s amateur hour, when really, it’s the top of the pros.
Think about it. This is about Sorcha. It has to be.
The incidents can’t all be coincidental, and we have a secondary problem on our hands.
It makes zero logical sense. My instinct is telling me they want to isolate her, and we are getting in their way. ”
“Isolate her for what?” I ask, my mind ticking over and realising that Ciar is right. Not surprisingly. He usually is.
I watch Ciar’s mind work, his eyes narrowing as he pieces something together that I’ve already figured out without even knowing it.
“For leverage,” I answer my own question. “Someone wants her alone, vulnerable, so they can use her against someone else.”
“Against who?” Axl asks.
“Cian,” Ciar says flatly.
“Or the Gannons in general. She’s the perfect weapon. Oisin’s bastard daughter, unaffiliated, untrained in their ways. Someone could mould her into whatever they need her to be. That’s why they’re trying to separate her from us.”
“We’re the obstacle,” Axl agrees. “Three heirs from powerful families who’ve claimed her as ours. We’re not supposed to be in this equation. They’ve been tracking her for some time.”
I move to the window, staring out at the campus grounds. Somewhere out there, Sorcha is walking alone, thinking she’s safe because we’re not hovering. But she’s not safe. She’ll never be safe as long as someone sees her as a tool to be used.
“We need to follow her,” I say.
“She’ll know,” Ciar warns.
“I don’t give a fuck if she knows.” I turn to face them both. “I’m not losing her because we respected her boundaries.”
“What if they aren’t trying to use her, but trying to get to her? Only we got there first?” Ciar says. “That gives them more than enough motive to want to warn us off. This will escalate, but towards us. I don’t think Sorcha is in any danger.”
“What about the doctored image?” I ask, still unable to push it from my mind.
Ciar shakes his head with a frown. “A distraction, or more likely, a way to pluck Cian’s violin strings so he plays along.”
“And drags her to England?” I muse. “So, we are looking at some English bastards?”
“Hey,” Axl snaps.
I shrug, unapologetically. “She was in England before she moved back here. Her Red Reapers worked the south of England for a few months. Could be she went up against someone who wants her dead, or more likely, just wants her.”
“So why not just abduct her and be done with it?” Axl asks, but he’s thinking out loud more than asking a serious question.
It slams into place so forcefully, I’m convinced the others must’ve heard it in my brain. “They tried. The police call out. They never fucking expected Gannon to rescue her. They would take on the Garda, but they won’t take on a Gannon protecting his sister.”
“This has already escalated,” Ciar says.
“Yeah. Cian Gannon was already here, maybe watching her to make sure she settled here with no problems. After he found out about us, he left again, or maybe he didn’t.
Maybe he is still here. Either way, this entire thing is about someone wanting to get to Sorcha before she aligns with someone else. ”
“And we are now their number one targets,” Axl growls.
I stare at them both, the weight of what we’ve just pieced together settling like lead in my gut. “We need to get to her. Now.”
“She’s probably already with Annastasia,” Axl says, but he’s already moving towards the door.
Ciar grabs his coat from the hook. “We split up. Cover more ground.”
“It’s still early. They could be anywhere.”
We move as one, a well-oiled machine despite the panic threading through my veins. The autumn air bites at my face as we step outside, and I scan the grounds. Students mill about, oblivious to the danger stalking through their midst.
I scan the quad, searching for that flash of red hair in the morning crowds. Nothing. My jaw clenches so tight I might crack a molar. “I’ll take the library,” I say and veer off in that direction, leaving Ciar and Axl to divide and conquer.
I push through the heavy library doors, the familiar scent of old books and polish hitting me as I step inside. The silence is oppressive, broken only by the occasional whisper and the soft shuffle of pages turning. My eyes scan the rows of tables, looking for any sign of her or Annastasia.
Nothing.
I move deeper into the stacks, my footsteps muffled by thick carpet.
The library is massive, a gothic monstrosity with three floors and enough hiding spots to make my job fucking impossible.
I check the study alcoves, the computer stations, even the restricted section in the back where the rare books are kept behind glass.
I dial her number, which I had taken from her phone while she was sleeping yesterday morning.
It rings.
And rings.
My pulse kicks up a notch with each unanswered ring.
Then, finally, I hear it. A faint buzzing is coming from somewhere in the stacks to my left.
I follow the sound, weaving between shelves of dusty tomes until I spot her having a hushed conversation with O’Shea.
They look chummy. Too fucking chummy. Sorcha pulls out her phone and frowns at it before ignoring the call.
I grit my teeth, ready to step up behind her and drag her to safety when something catches my attention.
I freeze, my hand halfway to my phone, as I spot someone else watching them.
A tall man, partially hidden behind the philosophy section, his attention fixed on Sorcha with an intensity that makes my skin crawl.
He slips out behind her and wraps his arms around her, pressing a kiss to her shoulder.
“Hey,” she snaps before I can lunge forward.
She elbows him in the stomach, and I pause, letting her handle it before I barge in and ruin whatever she and O’Shea were talking about. Sorcha spins and brings her elbow down on the back of the guy’s neck as he’s doubled over, and he goes down.
I grimace, but Sorcha stares at him and moves closer. “Liam?” she says. “What the fuck?”
Liam? Liam, who kisses her like he’s fucked her? My blood boils with a rage I didn’t even know I was capable of. It intensifies when she holds her hand out to help him up.
“Christ, Mullen. What gives?”
Mullen?
“It’s Gannon now, you goon,” she says, dragging him up. “And you know better than to sneak up on me.”
O’Shea is staring at them with her eyebrow raised.
I’m ready to rip Liam’s fucking head off. He is Irish, going by his accent, but other than that, who the fuck knows who this arsehole is?
I force myself to stay hidden, watching this Liam character dust himself off with a sheepish grin. He’s tall, dark-haired, good-looking in that roguish way that probably gets him out of trouble more often than not. The way he looks at Sorcha makes me want to break every bone in his face.
“What are you doing at St. Bart’s?” Sorcha hisses.
His smile is all charm, but there’s something underneath it that sets my teeth on edge. “Looking for you.”
Annastasia clears her throat. “Should I leave you two to catch up?”
“No,” Sorcha says quickly. “Liam was just leaving.”
But he’s not leaving. He’s moving closer to her again, his hand reaching out to touch her arm. “We should grab a drink, talk about old times.”
I’m moving before I’ve made the conscious decision to do so. My hand clamps down on the back of Liam’s neck. He yelps in surprise.
“She said you were leaving,” I say, my voice low and dangerous.
Sorcha’s eyes flash with irritation. “Cillian. What are you doing here?”
“Making sure you’re safe.” I don’t take my eyes off Liam, sizing him up. “Who’s your friend?”
“None of your business,” she snaps, but there’s a tremor in her voice that tells me she knows exactly how this looks.
Liam tries to shrug off my grip, his expression morphing into something calculating. “I’m an old friend of Sorcha’s. And you are?”
“Her protector.”
“Funny. She never needed protecting before.”
The urge to drive my fist into his smug face is overwhelming. My fingers flex at my sides, itching for violence. I release Liam with a rough shove, and as he turns to face me, I plant my fist in his face, knocking him down again, but this time for a while. He is unconscious.
“Jesus, Cillian,” Sorcha snaps. “I was handling it.”
“He kissed you,” I point out.
“Yeah, this has been fun, but I should go,” O’Shea says.
I watch her go, not giving a single fuck that she’s leaving. My focus is on Sorcha, who’s staring down at Liam’s unconscious body with an expression I can’t quite read.
“What the hell, Cillian?” she hisses, keeping her voice low despite the library being mostly empty in this section.
“He kissed you.” I say it again because apparently, she didn’t hear me the first time.
“And I was handling it.”
“By helping him up instead of keeping him down?”
“He’s not a threat.”
“He’s breathing the same air as you. He’s a threat.”
She rolls her eyes. “Look, we used to fuck. I ditched him one night, and apparently, he came to find me. End of story.”
“You ditched him?”
“I don’t do goodbyes,” she says defensively.
“I’m not criticising your methods for losing unwanted dick,” I say, “but obviously he didn’t get the message clearly enough. How did he even find you if he didn’t know you’d changed your name?”
She blinks, her face turning to stone. “Good fucking question.”
We both turn to stare at Liam, but the space he was occupying is gone. “Are you fucking with me?” I growl. How did he move without me seeing him? But I already know the answer to that. I’m so focused on Sorcha that everything I’ve been taught has vanished.
“He’s a snake,” she says. “He can get out of anything.”
“If you were so interested in losing him, why did you greet him like an old friend?”
“Because I didn’t want to cause a scene in front of Annastasia. She already thinks I’m playing both sides. If I’d kicked Liam in the balls the second I saw him, it would’ve given her more reason to think my alliance was with you.”
It’s one theory.
She moves past me, scanning the library stacks. “He can’t have gone far.”
“Forget him,” I say. “We need to talk about what you learned from O’Shea.”
“Nothing before two idiot guys barged in and ruined it. But I didn’t get the sense that she knew anything anyway.”
“Well, we might have slotted some of these puzzle pieces together. We will deal with this Liam prick later.”
She nods and falls into step next to me. She bumps me with her shoulder. “You were jealous.”
I glare down at her to see her smirking.
“And?” I ask, not denying it.
“Nothing,” she says. “I didn’t realise it was so hot.”
I ignore the swelling of my cock. “What’s this guy’s last name?”
“Murphy.”
“He is a dead man walking.”
“Fine by me,” she says.
I nod, leaving it at that. I don’t believe she is lying to me, so this is the end of it. But if this Liam Murphy turns out to be more sinister than just some dumped fuck, which he could well be given the circumstances, he will wish he had never met her.