Chapter 7 Faina
FAINA
The hotel is rather cozy. On the outside it looks like a quiet building without anything eye-catching.
It could easily be passed over in a glance, but it strikes me as something you’d find in a hidden gem brochure about the island.
Cian at least plays the part of the adoring husband in front of the hotel desk and soon, we’re entering our room for the night.
It’s small. The Fairways clearly don’t have a big budget.
Straight in the door, there’s a king-size bed against the wall to the left and a television unit on the wall opposite.
A small drinks cabinet next to a mini-fridge hugs the far wall next to a door leading to the ensuite, and the television stand sits next to a glass door leading out onto a small balcony overlooking the bay.
“Cute,” Cian murmurs as he wanders the room.
It’s difficult not to look at his leg. There’s more going on there than he’s willing to tell me, but I wish he would get over his macho bullshit and just admit there’s a problem.
I can plan for accuracies, not what-ifs.
Moving to the edge of the bed, I flop down and toe off my shoes to free my aching feet, then immediately dive into my laptop.
Just because we want to take a moment to rest doesn’t mean Hexagon will.
“What are you doing?” Cian busies himself at the fridge seeking out a chilled soda, but his attention is split with me. “You’re so busy on that all the time. And here I thought all Russians being hackers was just a shitty movie trope.”
“It is.” I briefly turn the laptop toward him where several programs litter the screen, running anything from tracking the money wire transfer we’re following to Spain, and countless other payments of specific quantities through very specific accounts.
Cian cracks open his drink with one hand and studies the screen, but despite his frown, he clearly has no clue what’s looking at. “I have no idea what any of this is.”
“Honestly, me neither. I’m actually pretty inexperienced in the tech side of things. My espionage relates to tracking real people in real time, not online footprints.”
“But you know where the money is going?” Cian stands over me and drinks deeply for a few long seconds.
The way his throat bobs and a bead of sweat rolls from his jaw to the hollow of his throat is painfully distracting and I can’t tear my gaze away until he lowers his can and meets my eyes.
Luckily, any embarrassment warming my cheeks merely mingles with the heat of the room. “Yes, I do. But Erik set this up. You remember him? Anastasia’s husband?”
“Shit.” Cian drags a hand down his face. “I didn’t know if he was even still…” Cian trails off and a shadow moves over his face. He slowly sits on the bed next to me. “I never asked properly… How is he? And Anastasia? How are they really?”
I drum my fingers lightly on the laptop, chewing on my lower lip while debating how truthful I should be. Knowing Cian, anything I tell him will be added to his personal responsibility even though we all know nothing about the explosion was his fault.
“Anastasia is surviving. So is Erik. Her uhm… her daughter? Clara—”
“Oh God.” Cian cuts me off and sits poker-straight. “Did she…?”
“She’s alive,” I assure him quickly. “But the explosion took her hearing and it’s been hard for Anastasia to help her with that. You can imagine someone so young losing something so essential is… tough.”
“Shit.” Cian’s jaw tenses, and the nerve just below his ear jumps as if he’s chewing hard on something I can’t see. “I can’t believe it. I’m so sorry. Do they know I’m sorry?”
The urge to reach out to him is smotheringly strong. “Cian, they know it wasn’t your fault so there’s absolutely nothing for you to apologize for.”
“I’m the only one left,” he says hoarsely. “Someone has to take responsibility.”
“Someone will. But not you. The shadowy fucker behind Hexagon who thinks he can take on all crime in New York will be the one we make take responsibility. For everyone who was hurt, everyone who died. This isn’t on you, Cian.”
He shakes his head as if fighting off the truth of my words. Maybe the guilt is the only thing keeping him going, and I wish I could show him he has more to live for.
“I know Anastasia doesn’t blame you because she was desperate to find you after you vanished. She really wanted to talk to you.”
“Shoot me, more like,” Cian mutters while staring down at his half-drunk can of soda. “I would let her.”
“No. If she wanted you dead, do you think I’d be here with you?
I don’t know what she wanted to say to you.
She wouldn’t tell anyone, but I know it was important for her.
She was distraught when you vanished from the hospital.
” She wasn’t the only one. Too many times, I’ve feared Cian was dead only for him to reappear like some injured phoenix desperate for life.
This is the first time I’ve seen him so defeated.
“Once this is over,” he says after draining his can and crumpling it in one fist. “I’ll talk to her. She can do whatever she wants to me then, but after.”
The wall of grief around Cian makes my words useless so I nod in gentle agreement and return to the laptop, following all of the brief lessons Erik gave me on how to stay on top of what I’m looking for.
The only surefire way to reach Hexagon is through the money so as long as I stay connected, we won’t lose them.
“Shit.” Cian yawns widely and rubs both his hands down his face. “I’m fucking tired.”
“When was the last time you slept?”
He shrugs. “Before I met you at the bar.”
“Then get some sleep. Two days without it is long enough. I’m gonna take a shower.” After linking the laptop up with the hotel CCTV, I shove it back into my rucksack and stand.
“You want the bed or the couch?”
“Whichever,” I reply as I head into the en-suite. “I can sleep anywhere.”
Cian grumbles to himself and I close the door, scanning the bathroom for an escape route should the situation arise.
The window is small, but I can squeeze through it if I try hard enough.
I doubt there’s much to catch me on the other side, though.
And I wouldn’t leave Cian to fend for himself in the bedroom.
Stripping off my dress, I turn on the shower and step under the steaming hot spray of water.
Given the time of year, I’d expect this area of the world to be a lot colder but for some reason, the heat has followed me all the way across Europe.
Or I’m just wound so tightly that my body is simply overheating from stress.
Regardless, the water is nice and I turn my face into it while trying to switch my mind off.
Each droplet hitting my face, I try to envision it like a mini massage, and the water pressure is enough that it’s enjoyable.
But despite my best efforts, my thoughts drift back to Cian. I want to help him, but he’s so closed off that I’m more likely to piss him off than make him feel better about anything he’s been through.
Can I even make it better? His entire family was wiped out after they’d just survived such pain at the hands of that Italian bastard and his Triad friends, and I want him to talk about it.
It’s not often I feel useless, but it settles heavily in my chest as I scrub off the sweat and grime from all that traveling.
If Cian won’t talk to me, then the least I can do is make sure we put a bullet in the asshole who caused all of this.
Tropical shampoo lifts my spirits as I massage my roots and breathe in the mouthwatering smell, then I turn to lemon and mango body wash that makes my skin tingle.
Calmness slowly seeps into my aching, tired muscles, and the allure of sleep calls to me.
I could sleep for an entire week if we were truly somewhere safe.
Free of soap and gel, I’m reaching for one of the pre-packaged disposable razors when a strange sound cuts through the rain of the shower.
Alarm pulls down my spine and I’m instantly on alert as all the calm in my muscles fades.
I stick my head out of the shower and shake water from my face while listening for a repeat of the sound.
Did I imagine it?
Maybe I’m the one who’s going crazy.
Then I hear it. The most gut-wrenching sound of pain tearing from the bedroom.
I’ve never moved so fast in my life. Springing from the shower, I snatch up the scrubbing brush as a weapon and burst into the bedroom, ready to kill whoever the fuck has broken in here, but to my surprise, there’s no one.
Only Cian, illuminated by the moonlight from the balcony, spread out on the bed fast asleep with one arm thrown to the side.
Confusion twists in my gut when suddenly, Cian twitches on the bed and another wounded noise of fear escapes him.
It’s so pure and clear that my heart immediately breaks.
Abandoning everything, I slide onto the bed and gently touch his bare shoulder.
“Cian?”
His head tosses back and forth and he flinches violently, half rolling one way and then the other. I pull my hand away, unsure how to proceed until another pure sound of fear makes it past his lips.
“Cian! Cian, wake up!” Grasping his shoulder, I shake him as firmly as I dare. Suddenly, he bolts upright with a cry, tears clinging to his lashes and his fist raised ready to throw in my direction, but he stops himself just in time.
Our eyes meet. His are wide and terrified while tears roll down his cheek. I’ve never seen him look like this before and in the pale moonlight, he looks particularly ashen.
“Cian,” I gasp. “You’re okay. You’re here with me. I’m sorry, you were having a nightmare and I had to wake you up. I didn’t mean to scare you.”
Cian, panting heavily, keeps his fist raised for a long moment just staring at me. Gradually, he seems aware that he’s no longer trapped in his nightmare and his fist slowly lowers. Then his head hangs low between his bare shoulders and he grips his hair with one hand.
“Sorry,” he rasps.
“Don’t,” I say calmly. “It’s fine. You’re okay. I’m okay… You’re okay, right?”
He scoffs roughly, like each noise is scraping its way out of his throat.
“Every…” He swallows audibly. “Every time I close my eyes, I’m back there.
In that tiny fucking cell with this blinding light above me that never goes out and I can’t reach it to turn it off.
It’s just always there glaring down at me.
And it’s my blood on the floor, on the walls.
They don’t take me anywhere. They just come into my cell and laugh as they fucking peel the flesh from my bones. ”
I’m frozen in place with one hand on his shoulder as Cian suddenly starts pouring his heart out. Will moving remind him who he’s talking to and make him clam back up?
“Sometimes they come in with their little tools and see how deep they can slide their blades between my ribs. Sometimes they bring tools and try to chip away at the bone sticking out my leg. They tell me Saoirse’s dead or that they’re torturing her until she can’t walk, and I’m powerless to help her.
Sometimes they just tie me up until my joints are screaming, and I can’t do anything but suffer.
Every single breath feels like I’m about to dislocate my hips and my shoulder.
And sometimes, they laugh and play games while holding my head under the water, and it’s all in that fucking tiny room and I can’t ever get out. ”
I have no words for the horrors pouring from Cian’s mouth.
Months he was held captive along with his sister, months the Irish tore apart the city looking for them with no clue that a supposed ally was the one tearing them apart.
I glance at Cian’s covered leg and can barely stomach the picture he’s painting with his trembling words.
Without thinking, I slide my arms around his shoulders and pull him close against my chest while tucking his head under my chin.
“I’m sorry, Cian. I’m so fucking sorry you went through that and I hate that I can’t fix it.
To take even a fraction of your pain is something I’d beg to do. But I’m here, okay?”
Very gently, I cup Cian’s face and stroke his silent tears away with my thumb, then I coax him up to look at me.
“I can’t promise you much, but I swear I will do everything in my power to make sure that never happens again. Do you hear me? You didn’t deserve that, but you’re safe now. I promise you’re safe here with me.”
It takes every ounce of strength I have not to cry as each word splinters in my mind. Cian clutches onto me and in the darkness, I hold him as tightly as I dare. To survive what he went through, only for his family to be stripped away from him a handful of months later.
I already have hatred for Hexagon, but it triples in a single second.
“I’ve got you,” I whisper into Cian’s hair. We stay like that for an unknown length of time until Cian finally pulls away from me. The glow from the bathroom creates soft shadows across his face and he sniffles, then frowns and glances down my body.
“Why are you wet—wait, you’re naked.”
Oh, shit. I came right from my shower and didn’t even think about anything else. Is this a sign he’s okay? Squinting slightly, I nod. “I was showering, remember?”
“And you…?”
“I heard your nightmare and came to make sure you were okay.”
Cian’s averting his eyes while wiping his face, which makes me laugh softly. I guess this means he’s mostly okay. “Relax,” I tease softly, sliding from the bed. “It’s nothing you haven’t seen before. Just… don’t go to sleep again until I come back, alright?”
“Alright,” Cian croaks, and while he seems to be looking away, I’m certain I feel his gaze on me as I hurry back to my shower. Warmth flushes my cheeks and despite the horror Cian just confessed to me, there’s a flicker of hope in my chest.
He wouldn’t have said a word if he didn’t trust me.