CHAPTER EIGHT
KIERAN
IT’S BEEN TWO days. Smooth and uneventful, the kind of rhythm I prefer. She spends her time sneaking around, searching for an exit that doesn’t exist. I let her. Hope keeps people alive longer, and I need her breathing—for now. I leave food for her on the living room table and eat alone in the kitchen. She’s happy to keep her distance, and I’m happy not to listen to her shallow attempts at defiance.
Except today, she’s watching me. She thinks I don’t notice. Sitting cross-legged in the armchair, her gaze flicks to me over the rim of her water glass as I pass through the room. Not fear this time. Curiosity. Like I’m some puzzle she thinks she can solve. It’s almost insulting.
“You’ve been quiet,” I say, my voice breaking the silence like a gunshot. Her eyes widen, and for a split second, the fear resurfaces. Predictable.
She sets the glass down slowly. “What’s there to say?” Her tone is cautious, a tightrope walk. She’s learned I don’t react well to lip.
I lean against the counter, folding my arms. “You’re curious about me. Ask your question.”
She hesitates, her fingers curling into the fabric of her jeans. “Why am I here?”
An obvious choice. Safe. But her voice shakes just enough to betray her. I smile—a controlled gesture, all teeth and no warmth. “Because I’ve decided you’re useful.”
Her brow furrows, and she tucks a red curl behind her ear; her hair is a mass of red curls, tangled and free. “Useful how?”
I shrug. “You’ll find out when it matters.”
Her lips form a tight line. “How long will that take?” Her anger is seeping through.
Before I can respond, there’s a knock at the door. Three sharp raps. My body goes rigid as I glance at her, and she freezes, understanding that this interruption wasn’t planned.
The cleaners aren’t expected for another three days.
“Go into the kitchen with Charlie. If you make a sound, I’ll kill you and Charlie,” I command, my voice cold and final. It’s not a threat—it’s a promise. Hazel’s wide eyes track my movements, but she knows better than to argue.
I head for the door, unholstering my gun as I go. There’s no peephole—Patrick doesn’t believe in security measures that might give someone else an edge—but I nudge the curtain aside just enough to see the visitor.
It’s Sean. Patrick’s errand boy. Wiry, older, sharp as a blade. He doesn’t knock without reason, which means this isn’t a social call.
Ignoring him isn’t an option. Hazel’s car is parked right out front—damn it—and Sean’s vehicle now blocks hers in the drive. He’ll notice. Patrick will know. Slipping the gun into the waistband of my trousers, I open the door.
Sean’s face is etched with suspicion, his eyes narrowing as he steps inside uninvited. “Kieran,” he says, his tone casual but probing. “I was passing by, saw the car. Didn’t think it’d be you, so I thought I’d check in.”
“Yeah,” I reply smoothly, leaning against the doorframe like I don’t have a care in the world. “I’m on the hunt. Stopped here to grab a few things.”
Sean’s gaze flicks over the empty living room. No sign of Hazel, but the glass of water and empty plate on the table scream that I’m not alone.
“What are you hunting?” he asks, but his tone says he already knows. Patrick sent me after Hazel. Sean knows it’s not my car outside. The question is whether he’s playing dumb or testing me.
“A girl,” I answer, the word clipped.
A soft whine from the kitchen makes his brows lift. His jacket shifts, and I spot the glint of his holstered gun. “You got yourself a pet?” he asks, casual on the surface but loaded with intent.
I tap my thigh, never taking my eyes off him. “Charlie,” I call.
The dog trots out, his tail wagging like nothing’s wrong. Sean chuckles, but there’s no warmth in it. “Nice dog.”
“It’s not mine.”
Sean glances at me, suspicion hardening his features. Patrick sent him to sniff me out. I can almost hear Patrick’s voice, doubting me, questioning my loyalty. Did I leave a trail? Did I slip up?
“I want to show you something,” I say, forcing a grin that doesn’t reach my eyes. “Something Patrick will want to see.”
Sean’s jaw tightens, but he nods. I jerk my chin toward the kitchen and turn my back to him—a calculated risk. Sean’s not the kind of man you trust, but I need him to think I’m careless. That I don’t suspect him.
His footsteps follow me into the kitchen.
“What really brought you here, Sean?” I ask over my shoulder, keeping my tone light.
“The cameras were disabled,” he says flatly. “Patrick wanted me to check what the problem was.”
Relief trickles in. It’s a plausible excuse, one that fits. But I know better than to trust coincidence.
Sean steps into the kitchen, his eyes snapping to Hazel like a predator locking onto prey. She’s leaning against the counter, her face pale, her body stiff with fear.
“Who’s she?” he demands, his tone sharp.
“This is Hazel,” I say, my voice as casual as I can manage. “Found her while I was out.”
His gaze darkens. “You found her. But why—”
I don’t let him finish. His hand twitches, and I know he’s reaching for his gun. Mine’s already in my hand.
The shot echoes, sharp and final. Blood sprays across the wall, and Sean crumples like a marionette with its strings cut. The room falls silent except for Hazel’s scream.
“You didn’t have to do that,” she whispers, her voice trembling like a thread about to snap.
I crouch, wiping my gun on Sean’s blood-soaked shirt with calm, deliberate movements. “He didn’t give me a choice,” I reply without sparing her a glance.
Hazel’s breath catches, and I can feel her fear emanating like heat from a furnace. It prickles at the edges of my awareness, a raw, unrefined energy that reminds me why emotions are liabilities. She doesn’t answer, but the silence is loud enough, her trembling frame vibrating in my peripheral vision.
Then she starts to cry. I ignore her and rifle through Sean’s pockets.
“Stop crying,” I say over his shoulder.
The command has a great effect, and she isn’t crying, not anymore, but the sound of her ragged breathing fills the room like white noise.
“I’m going to get sick,” she mutters, her voice barely audible. Her hands clutch at her stomach, and I watch as she staggers toward the door, her steps uneven and desperate. I return my focus to the problem at hand and pull a phone from Sean’s jacket pocket.
I’ll need to wipe this, dispose of the body. His car, too. I can’t leave any tracks.
The scrape of feet against the hardwood floor interrupts my train of thought. Too fast. My gaze snaps to Hazel just as she bolts, her panic driving her toward the front door.
The door swings open, slamming against the wall with a bang. She’s running—unsteady, but faster than I expected. By the time I make it to the window, she’s already yanking the car door open. “Charlie,” she keeps the door open, her gaze darting across the front of the cabin. “Charlie, now.” She screams.
I place the phone in my pocket before opening the front door and stepping outside. She slams the door closed, the dog forgotten, and presses down on the locks.
Each step I take is deliberate, measured, and she’s watching me, paralyzed. Her grip on the steering wheel tightens until her knuckles turn white, but she doesn’t move. The closer I get, it’s like she snaps out of the haze she is in and starts fumbling with the car keys. That surprises me, that she had found them and kept them.
Her hands shake so badly that she drops them twice before managing to start the engine.
“Get out.” I give her one warning, but it’s clear she doesn’t intend to.
Pulling out my gun, her eyes widen, but I spin it using the butt to smash the driver’s side window. The glass explodes inward, scattering across her lap like jagged diamonds. She screams—a high, piercing sound that grates on my nerves.
“Out,” I order, yanking the door open and pulling the keys from the ignition in one fluid motion. She flinches, shrinking into herself, but I don’t give her time to resist.
Her tears flow freely now, carving tracks down her pale cheeks. She stumbles out of the car, her legs barely supporting her weight. I grab her arm, my grip firm but not cruel, and drag her back toward the house.
The door slams shut behind us, the sound echoing through the quiet space. I lock it, turning to face her. Hazel is shaking, her chest heaving with every sob.
“That,” I say evenly, my tone like ice, “was a mistake. One you won’t repeat.”
She doesn’t respond; her shoulders shake as silent sobs wrack her body. Her face is buried in her hands, muffling the sound.
I ignore her completely, my attention returning to the mess at my feet. Sean’s lifeless body is sprawled across the tile, blood pooling thick and dark beneath him. The sharp metallic scent fills the room, clawing at my nostrils. I crouch down, rolling up my sleeves, and begin the grim task of cleaning. Precision is key. Every drop, every trace, has to disappear.
My phone vibrates on the counter, its buzz cutting through the stillness. I glance at the screen. Saorise. Perfect timing. I’m debating not answering, but I’ve never ignored a call from my sister.
I swipe to answer, keeping my voice calm, controlled. “Hello.”
“You’ve been quiet lately,” she purrs, her tone honeyed but laced with suspicion. Saorise never calls without a reason.
“Busy,” I reply curtly, my eyes drifting back to the crimson streaks staining the floor. “Is everything okay?”
“Yes. I was just thinking of coming to visit over the weekend?” I can’t even think what day it is, Wednesday or Thursday. “I won’t be around. I’m out on a job. But I can ring you when I get back.”
“Okay, I just need to check my diary.” her voice carries humor, as if I’m not standing over a corpse with blood drying on my hands. I play along,
“If you're too busy to see your big brother…”
She laughs. “I’m joking. That’s fine, ring me when you get back from your big job.” She says it in a joking manner. She thinks I do maintenance on rich people’s houses.
Across the room, Hazel huddles in the corner, her pale face betraying the terror she can’t put into words.
“I will.”
“Love you.” She sings before finally hanging up.
I toss the phone onto the counter and straighten. Hazel flinches as I take a step toward her.
“Come with me,” I command, my voice sharp. She doesn’t move until I close the distance between us and grip her wrist. Her skin is cold, trembling beneath my touch. I pull her toward the basement door without another word, her feet dragging like dead weight.
The concealed shelter beneath the house is as it should be: cold, unwelcoming, and suffocating. I flip the switch, and fluorescent light floods the narrow space, revealing metal walls, sparse furnishings, and nothing resembling comfort. It’s a place designed for survival, not living.
“This is where you’ll wait while I tidy up.”
I release her wrist, and she looks up at me. “Understand?”
Her head jerks in a shaky nod, but her wide eyes betray the panic threatening to overwhelm her. She’s not cut out for this, but she’ll have to learn. Fast.
I step out, pulling the door shut behind me and locking it with a deliberate click. She stares at me through the small glass window, her expression a mix of fear and betrayal. I press the button on the intercom, my voice low and unyielding.
“You wanted to escape,” I remind her. “Now you’ll learn what that really means.”
Her muffled cries echo from under the door as I turn and walk away. I don’t look back.