Chapter 66
Mila
Reaching up, I adjust the rearview mirror. I think I ’ m going to die of hyperventilation before Camilla finds me. My pulse beats so erratically that every inch of my skin is jumping, trying to escape, so it can ’ t be charged with aiding and abetting.
“ Breathe, breathe, breathe.”I glance at the mirror again, waiting for cars to appear, but no one comes.
“ That was too easy.” Right?
Camilla only checks on me when dinner is being served in the kitchen. We eat, then we move to the living room, light a fire, and I draw. I still have hours until they check on me. That ’ s why it was the perfect plan, the rare time I was alone one-on-one and not surrounded by people at the manor. But they will notice that Amon never returned.
A wave of chunks comes climbing up my stomach; the car swerves as I slam on the brakes, lean over, and puke all over the passenger seat and the gun.
I keep driving, with the windows open now as I try not to inhale the scent of my vomit. I pass one small town after another. Only a fool would stop in the first town. I ’ m no fool. I drive until I ’ m out of fuel, parking the car at a small pub. At least this town looks larger; we must be closer to a city.
The moment I step out of the car, my legs give out. “ Ouch!” I cry as my knees slam into the ground. Now I want to cry; I feel the tears building on the edges of my eyes, ready to break free at any moment.
“ Don ’ t you dare cry yet! The performance isn ’ t finished yet; you stumbled; it ’ s okay; get back up and keep going. Stand up, that ’ s it.” I brush the dirt off my palms, and then I wipe the sweat off my forehead. “ Now go inside and get help.”
I enter the small pub, and the scent of beer and hops makes me want to gag again. Eyes, I feel them on me.Looking me up and down. I wonder what they think? Do I look guilty or do they see a victim?
Calm down.
I reach the bar, but I tumble into it, causing the bartender, an old man with a large beer belly, to lift a gray brow suspiciously. “ I need help.” Great, Mila, yell at the man ! I try to speak again, but this time, I say gentler, “ I need help, please.”
The rag he ’ s polishing a glass with stills. “ We don ’ t give free food.” He barks gruffly.
I wipe my mouth. What is that? Something crusty and gross clings to my cheeks; it ’ s dried vomit. I can smell my sweat, and I ’ m sure it ’ s visible on all of my clothes. Thus, the reason he thinks I’m homeless.
“ Can you call the police?” That gets his attention. He nods to the empty stool, and I sink into it as he grabs his phone. The entire time he talks, I watch the door.
I shouldn ’ t have left the gun inside the car. I might need it. But that would have looked too suspicious. If I were in America, carrying around a shotgun might pass, but not here.
The room starts to spin. I ’ m gonna be sick again. I bend over and heave, but nothing comes out. The bartender hisses and shouts. He grabs me by my arms and shoves me outside. “ You can wait here for them. Don ’ t puke on my welcome mat, either.” He slams the door shut as I collapse to the floor.
My fingers dig into the dirt, balling it up into my fist. “ I did it. I did something on my own.” I whisper in disbelief. I just hope I can live long enough to tell them how sorry I am.
◆◆◆
They put me in a cell after they found the gun in my car. I gave them a number to call, and then my lips sealed shut. I haven ’ t spoken since; even when a lawyer showed up and tried to talk to me, I stayed silent. I ’ m so tired a part of me wants to die. It ’ s torture staying awake, but my mind refuses to allow me to sleep.
I ’ m trapped. Caged. Any minute, Camilla could walk through the door of the police building and kill me.
Any second.
Tick. Tock.
The door to the cell clicks causing my bones to jump out of my skin. Here it comes! It was too easy, after all. This was all a test I failed.
Heavy steps echo off the concrete floor.Those aren ’ t heels. Maybe Camilla sent one of the men to kill me or, worse, drag me back to her.
I never considered that.
“ Here she is,” the policeman who brought me says. “ You can use the back entrance to leave, Sir.”
Sir? Why does the officer sound nervous?
No response comes. Is that good or bad?
My breathing is so shallow that my vision starts to tunnel. The officer comes to my door, pushes the key into the lock, and slides open the door. A massive figure looms behind the officer, making him look like a small pebble at the foot of a mountain. Even the newcomer ’ s shadow is so wide that it darkens the entire hallway.
“ Mila?”
That voice! It’s not the voice who belongs to the number I gave them.
Grief hits me; it claims my next heartbeat, choking the very breath from my lungs.
Did Camilla kill Dash? Am I too late?
Did he give up on me?
“ It ’ s me, Mila. Cillian.” He speaks his name like it ’ s a huge lifeboat bursting through choppy waters to grab hold of me.
Cillian's steps are slow and measured, his stance wide, arms open, as if I ’ m a dangerous wild animal he can ’ t trust. He ’ s so muscular that his body makes the cell feel ten times smaller. “ We ’ re leaving.” he says, eyes watching and probing me as I don ’ t move.
“ It ’ s okay.” He looks me up and down like I ’ m a broken teacup he once loved. “ I ’ m going to carry you out. It ’ s me, Cillian.”
I know who you are! I ’ m trying to speak. I will; just give me a second.
Huge arms scoop me up; he presses my cheek to his chest like his touch is the glue that is supposed to help put me back together again.
Oh no! Instead of keeping me whole, I shatter. My tears escape and begin to soak his shirt. The heat of his muscles warms me, making all the numbness fade away. I feel now. So, so much, all the sore muscles, the bruises, the blood on my hands.
“ Is she hurt?”
“ She hasn ’ t spoken, but she looks okay.”
“ Give us a minute.” Cillian orders. The officer leaves.
My world is shaking. No, it ’ s me. His muscles tighten,
“ I ’ m going to set you down,” he says; his voice is so deep he can ’ t sound gentle.
My feet touch the floor, but his hands hold me up, gently patting my body, searching for injuries. “ Please tell me you ’ re okay?”
“ I wish we were back in Silverstone,” I whisper. His eyes were always so caring and cautious around me back then. Then he just vanished, as Dash did.
Why didn ’ t Cillian attend Empire? Would things have been different if he had?
“ I wish you taught me how to fight. I wish your absence gave me a tool I could have used."
His eyes narrow with concern. They feel like a blanket wrapping me up. “I can teach you now.”
I shake my head, “It’s too late. I learned the hard way.”
“It’s never to late, Mila.”
“ I killed him.” I continue, my chin wobbles, but my tears dry up. “ I killed someone, Cillian. It didn ’ t happen as I planned it. I mean, it did, but it didn ’ t. He didn ’ t die right away. It wasn ’ t fast. He groaned. He wanted help, but I couldn ’ t help him. So I had to shoot him again. I had to do it again, and you know what? I would do it again because I was trying to get back to you all. I need to tell you what happened.”
Cillian says nothing. “ Are you upset that I killed someone?” I press.
“ No,” he cups my face; warm eyes make me feel like I ’ m not alone for the first time in weeks.
“ I thought you all were trying to cage me, but I understand you were just trying to protect me. But, Cillian, you all forget that there is a key that can open the cage, and sometimes a more dangerous monster finds that key. She found me and I knew she was coming for us all.” his eyes narrow as he leans closer. “ So I tried to trick her; I allowed her to take me, teach me, mold me. I just wanted to help. I wanted you all to see me not as someone who needed saving but as someone who could save you. Do you think Dash will see it that way?”
“ We will talk about this later. We need to leave.” He pulls me closer to him. “ Dash is on his way, but it ’ s going to take him a few hours before his plane arrives.”
“ He ’ s alive?”
He stills, “ Yes,”
“ Oh, thank God!” Reaching out, I grab his shirt. “ Listen to me, Cillian. You need to go back and find Camilla. You need to kill her! She ’ s going to destroy it all. She wants to bring down The Rites of Passage. You need to find her. She ’ s searching for Damian…”
“ Shhh,” he stops me. “ Just stay calm. We will talk once we get back home.”
Home. Where is my home now?
“ But you need to stop her! I lied to her because I knew she was going to hurt you all. I wanted to try to save you. I tried.”
“ Mila,” Cillian takes me by the shoulders. “You ’ re safe. I won ’ t let anything happen to you. Let ’ s go.”
“ I sound crazy. You don ’ t believe me.”
“ I do. Just not here.” He looks at the cells surrounding us. “ Let ’ s go.” He grabs my hand and tugs me through the police station towards the emergency exit. Night creeps over our skin as we walk through the parking lot. “ We ’ ll talk in the car,” Cillian says. His hand behind my back hugs me closer to his huge frame.
Three SUVs are waiting; the engines are running as armed men stand outside, waiting to carry us to safety.
We ’ re so close. I ’ m so close, and then it happens. The first sound of retaliation rips through the air.
She found me!