Chapter 21
TWENTY-ONE
Cian
Devlin didn’t speak for the next few hours. Not one word. And I didn’t fucking care. I didn’t want to hear anything out of his mouth, because I already knew what he was going to say.
My side burned where the gravel had scraped my skin raw, and I was tired of dragging around dead bodies.
I wanted to get the fuck out of here so I could deal with Devlin in private.
He wanted to throw himself in front of a fucking Range Rover spitting gravel at seventy-five miles an hour?
Fine. So could I. He could be pissed at me all he wanted, but he was going to learn how things were from now on.
His education in belonging to me had been put on hold while he healed, but class was back in session. Effective immediately.
We handled the initial cleanup of the cabin before Hack told us through our earpieces that the disposal crew had arrived. By morning, the cabin, the bodies, and the Range Rover would all be ash. Hack had already paid off the area’s fire chief.
The Russo twins were dead. That wasn’t the outcome I’d wanted, but I was prepared for it. We’d been able to recover all of their devices, which Hack would begin analyzing immediately. I was confident the Bianchis were behind the hit on me—now I just needed confirmation.
I assessed my men’s injuries. Tyson had been stabbed in the arm, but the wound was superficial. Utz had rolled an ankle. Welk had a minor bullet graze on his side. I finally breathed a sigh of relief when all my men were alive and accounted for.
By four in the morning, we were back at our cars. I threw our bulletproof vests in the back next to another large duffel, then I nodded to Rhys, who steered a confused Jace away from our SUV and into another vehicle. Devlin watched them go with a frown.
He spoke for the first time in hours. “Why aren’t they riding back with us?”
And just like that, I was pissed. “Get in the car.”
Devlin stiffened, giving in to his first instinct to resist me. “Why?”
I shoved him against the side of the car and jabbed a finger in his face. “Get in the fucking car or I’ll tie you up and throw you in the back.”
Despite the angry red flush staining his pale skin, he got in the fucking car.
He buckled his seatbelt with a lot of pissed-off muttering as I settled into the driver’s seat.
When we peeled off in the opposite direction from the other cars, Devlin twisted in his seat to watch the gap between us grow.
He slowly turned back around and addressed me with narrowed eyes. “Where are we going?”
Instead of answering, I glanced at myself in the rearview mirror. I’d cleaned up as best as I could back at the cabin, but a few gashes on my face had started bleeding again.
I pointed to the glovebox. “Hand me some wipes.”
He yanked it open with sharp, angry movements and handed me the wipes. As I swiped at the blood on my face, he crossed his arms over his chest and stared out the side window. The fury radiated off him in waves. He was about to blow. And I would blow right the fuck back.
I drove for another hour with the radio low, trying to drown out Devlin’s noisy thoughts.
By the time the sun’s rays started peeking over the horizon, he was nearly huffing in the passenger seat like an angry dragon.
He was so lost in his rage he didn’t even realize where we were.
I pulled into a parking lot, and he turned with fire in his eyes, ready for battle.
“Why the fuck would you jump in front of their car? What would possess you to do that, Cian? Jace was there. Right fucking there. What kind of trauma do you think seeing his own brother run over by a damn Range Rover would give him?”
I wouldn’t have been run over. My goal had been to redirect the car, and I’d accomplished that.
I turned off the ignition. “Get out of the car.”
His jaw dropped, like he couldn’t believe I’d just told him what to do. “What? Oh, hell no.”
I opened my door and stepped out without another word, wincing as I stretched my arms over my head and popped my back.
Devlin leaned across the center console. “We’re talking here, assho—”
I slammed the car door shut. Which, of course, sent him into a spiral.
He threw his head back against the headrest and screamed, then surged out of the car.
I rounded the hood as he stomped over to where I stood, already spewing bullshit.
But then he stopped dead. He furrowed his brows and sniffed the air.
Stared up at the sky as a white bird flew overhead with a familiar cry.
Then he looked down at his feet, at the concrete parking lot where a thin layer of sand crunched beneath his sneakers.
His breathing stuttered as he realized where we were. He swallowed roughly, and another seagull cried out nearby. Posted near a path of wooden steps that scaled the nearest sand dune was a sign that read, “Beach Access.”
As if an invisible rope pulled him, Devlin took one step forward.
Then another. He ascended a few of the wooden steps, me right behind him, and I nearly ran straight into his back when he suddenly stopped at the top.
Spread out before us, glittering in the first rays of the rising sun, was the Atlantic Ocean.
I’d been to the beach plenty of times in my life, but knowing Devlin had never seen the ocean had been sitting like a splinter under my skin. I needed him to see it. I needed him to see it with me. So, here we were—at a public beach in Wildwood, New Jersey, in May, before the summer rush.
I placed my hand on his lower back and gently pushed him forward. He stumbled a step before continuing along the path and down another set of wooden stairs. Then he stepped onto the sand.
Devlin stared at the tops of his sneakers as they sank, then bent down to tug off both his shoes and socks.
They went flying somewhere onto the dune behind us.
Then he was running. He took off in a sprint, bare feet kicking up clumps of sand behind him.
When he reached the shoreline, he came to a halt.
After kicking off my own shoes and socks and rolling up my jeans, I joined his side just as the incoming tide touched his bare toes for the first time.
He pulled up his pant legs, and I crouched down to roll them up as cold seawater rushed over our feet.
When I stood, he stared at me with wet eyes, and a tear tracked down his cheek.
He blinked quickly before turning his head to stare out at the rising sun.
The early morning light reflecting off the water colored his green eyes a soft teal.
And I decided right then that Devlin belonged on the beach at sunrise.
“You risked your life for me,” he said in a choked voice. “And I’m really fucking mad at you.”
I ran a hand over my short hair as the sun warmed my face. “I don’t care.”
I peeled off my pants and shirt, leaving me in just boxer briefs, and waded out into the surf until I could dunk my head under the waves.
The saltwater stung the cuts on my face, and I floated silently for a few minutes before walking back to shore.
Devlin sat farther up the beach, out of the reach of the water, with his forearms resting on his bent knees.
I settled on the sand beside him, mimicking his position as I let the sun dry my skin.
The beach was nearly deserted. A few joggers went by. Someone walked their dog in the distance. This was still too early in the season for a large crowd, but we only had a few hours before tourists began to stake out their spots for the day.
“Stop doing this,” he finally murmured, poking at the sand between his legs. Blood belonging to someone else dotted the collar of his shirt and stained his neck.
“Stop doing what?”
“This isn’t going to work.”
I snorted, and that seemed to bring some of his anger back.
He glared at me. “I’m a novelty. You’re not going to keep me.
So just stop. Don’t bring me to the fucking beach.
Don’t save my life. Don’t fight my nightmares.
” His voice shook now, but he forced it steady. “Just be a man and keep your promise.”
I knew this was the source of his anger, but hearing it out loud still stung. I leaned back on my hands. “No.”
His shoulders shook. The panic was taking hold. “Cian—”
I gripped the nape of his neck with one hand and wrenched his head back as he let out a startled cry.
I looked around to make sure no one was going to report me for manhandling him on the beach, but there weren’t any witnesses.
The nearest jogger had to be a half mile away, and the woman walking her dog was gone.
“Shut up,” I warned. “Anything you say is just going to piss me off more, and I’m so fucking tired of being pissed at you.”
He struggled against my hold, then gripped my knee and dug his fingers in around my kneecap, sending a jolt of pain up my thigh.
I snarled and grabbed both of his wrists before slamming him onto his back in the sand, pinning his hands on either side of his head.
He struggled until I rose over him and held him in place with my body.
“Fuck you,” he spat. “Fuck you!” Then he started fighting me even harder. I let him rage until his strength finally gave out and his body sagged.
“Is this what you wanted?” he shouted in my face.
“Fine! You win. You’ve given me everything I’ve ever dreamed of, and now you can rip it away and watch me crumble.
Go ahead, Cian. Fuck!” He made one last half-hearted attempt to struggle in my grip.
“I’ll walk into the ocean and drown myself. You can watch.”
I squeezed his wrists until he grimaced in the pain. “That’s the last time you talk about offing yourself. The last fucking time.”
He choked out a sound beneath me, his expression twisted in an anguish that made my heart lurch. I knew it was going to be an uphill battle convincing Devlin that I was keeping him, but already I felt like fucking Sisyphus.