Chapter 16 #2
He did, giving me the broad expanse of his back.
My hands paused, hovering on their way to his head.
I hadn’t seen his back this close before, and while I’d spotted scars, I hadn’t realized how many there were.
Raised lines and jagged indents littered his back like constellations.
And the tattoos—a scene of what looked like lions on an African prairie—did little to hide the worst of them.
He glanced over his shoulder and caught me staring. The Cian from two days ago would have glared and snapped at me. But today’s Cian only lowered his gaze and finished rinsing his hair before turning off the shower.
He helped me out of the shower, and while we dried ourselves off, I asked, “Why lions?”
He paused halfway through tugging a pair of threadbare sweatpants over his legs and gave me a wry grin. “I was young. Trying to look tough. And I was really into nature documentaries at the time.”
I couldn’t help it. I laughed.
And then I promptly almost fell over. Cian grabbed me, manhandled me into a pair of boxer briefs, then carried me bridal-style into the bedroom. I felt like a fucking idiot.
“This is the last time you will ever carry me like this, asshole,” I grumbled. “I don’t like it. It makes me feel weak.”
“You are weak,” he said. “And every time you are, I will carry you.”
His words felt heavy. This entire day felt heavy. I was too tired and too injured to fight him on anything—physically or verbally. I was at my most vulnerable, and instead of using it to his advantage and breaking me into pieces, Cian seemed determined to put me back together.
He laid me on the bed, then settled on his back beside me with a groan.
When I rolled to face him, his forearm was draped across his eyes.
I remembered another morning where he’d done the same thing, and I’d slipped under his arm and…
For a moment, I’d thought he was going to kiss me. But he’d shoved me away instead.
I wasn’t sure what he’d do now—or what we were.
Life was easier when I knew Cian hated me.
When I could count on certain reactions from him.
But now, I had no idea what he’d do. This kindness…
it fucked with me. I could get used to it, and that felt dangerous.
As soon as I started craving his care, he could yank it right out from under me.
And then I’d want to be something worse than dead.
He pulled his arm away from his eyes and turned his head. They were tired, but not hard. The pissed-off, me-against-the-world expression he usually wore was gone.
“Why didn’t you tell me the truth?” he asked.
I blinked and tried to make my brain work. The painkillers Dr. Bev had given me were kicking in, and I felt a little floaty. “About what?”
He shifted onto his side, mimicking my position. “You didn’t kill my father.”
That cut through the fog of the painkillers.
I sucked in a breath too fast and began to cough, each one sending bolts of pain screaming through my torso.
Nausea climbed up my throat, and for one terrifying moment, I thought I was going to throw up all over the bed.
But Cian was right there, forcing me to sip some water until the coughing stopped.
He swiped at my damp eyes with the edge of the sheet. “Don’t fucking do that again.”
“Trust me, that’s the goal. That sucked,” I snapped, but my words didn’t have much heat.
Cian gave me a half-smile. “Answer my question.”
I rolled onto my back, trying to get comfortable. I should have pretended to faint. Anything to get out of a conversation I’d hoped to never, ever have.
“Because,” I said simply.
“Because why?”
I rolled my head on the pillow. He was up on an elbow, watching me with those icy blue eyes. I was going to tell him. Because he asked. Because lying to Cian no longer felt right.
“I wanted you to believe that I killed Patrick,” I admitted. “And I wanted to protect the person who really did.”
Cian went completely still, and his eyes lost all their softness. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”
“Patrick got caught in the crossfire between Soto and me.”
“Soto killed him? Why the hell are you protecting him? Didn’t he almost kill you?”
“Yes, but...” This was so fucking complicated. Where did I even start? How could I make Cian understand?
“Devlin—”
“Conrad is Soto.” I blurted it out.
His brows drew together as he seemed to search his memory. Suddenly, his eyes went wide before narrowing into slits. “Conrad? The guy you…” His jaw clenched, and he made to get up. To do what, I wasn’t sure.
I reached out and snatched his wrist. “Let me explain.”
“Explain faster,” he growled. “The guy rejected you, killed my father, took over your empire, then nearly killed you… And you’re still trying to stop me from ripping his head off? What the fuck?”
“Yes,” I answered. “Now lay back down.” He remained in his near-flight position, halfway off the bed. “Or I’ll just warn Conrad you’re coming.”
Cian looked absolutely murderous as he surged toward me on the bed, stopping just short of blanketing me with his heavy weight. Even in his anger, he held himself back from hurting my bruised body.
But he did collar me with his palm. “You won’t speak to him again without my permission,” he growled in my face.
I didn’t back down. “Listen, and I won’t.”
He blew out a harsh breath through his nose before releasing my throat and settling back onto his side, but not without a grunt of protest and a fiery glare.
I had to start at the beginning, so I told him all of it. I told him about Conrad and Ben. About how we used to steal for food, then stole for fun. I told him how I’d learned to read people, and how power could shift the balance between social classes.
“After Conrad rejected me, I had nothing and no one. And I made it everyone else’s problem. I reinvented myself. Because if Conrad didn’t want me the way I was, then I’d become someone he would want.”
Except it hadn’t gone that way. I’d started small, ingratiating myself into crews around Chicago and doing grunt work. Until I’d found the perfect power vacuum, slipped in, and taken over.