Chapter 31
Thirty-One
“He locked me in his world... and then handed me the key. Now I don’t know whether to run or use it to open his heart.”– Aria Boschett.
As the car turns off onto a long, bumpy country road, a strange hollowness settles in my chest. The heat Cyan stirred in me still smolders, but now–without his taunting words, without the weight of his gaze pinning me down–it’s. Unresolved.
I should be grateful he stopped. Instead, my skin prickles with restless energy; my body is taut, like a string pulled too tight, waiting for a release that never comes. I swallow hard, forcing my breathing to steady. I wanted him to stop. So why does it feel like a loss?
I steal a glance at him, and time seems to freeze.
He’s too much, too handsome, too intense, too everything that sets my blood on fire.
His beard frames the sharp angles of his jawline, adding a raw, masculine appeal that shouldn’t make my stomach flutter.
But it does. I shouldn’t notice the faint crease in his brow, the way exhaustion lingers around his eyes, as if he hasn’t slept in days.
I shouldn’t care. What was he doing while he was away?
Probably hunting down the men who killed Chester.
Committing murder. Would he even tell me?
He could have ended up like Chester. My fingers twitch in my lap, grounding me.
The idea of anyone wanting to harm him sends a sharp pang through me–dread, anger, maybe protectiveness. That’s the worst part.
Cyan MacBrady holds me captive. He kidnapped my grandmother.
He’s the worst thing that’s ever happened to me.
So why does my heart stutter at the idea of losing him?
I tear my gaze away. The world beyond the tinted windows is a blur of green, the trees lining the road standing in stark contrast to the wildfire raging inside me.
I should have been gone by now. Found my Nonna and escaped.
For days, I tried to manipulate Rosa, hoping I could turn her loyalty into a way out.
At first, it was just a game, a calculated effort to gain her trust, to make her believe I had accepted my fate.
But somewhere along the way, a small part of me stopped pretending.
At first, it was little things. Looking forward to dinner instead of enduring it.
Laughing when she scolded Johnny as if he was a rowdy teenager instead of a grown man.
Noticing how she always made sure I had something on my plate that she knew I liked.
Now I wasn’t just tolerating Rosa. I respected her.
I don’t know when hatred stopped being simple for me.
She’s fiercely loyal, not just to Cyan, but to the entire Irish Fist. Even though I despised my situation, even though I wanted to dislike every single one of them, I couldn’t deny that her kind of loyalty isn’t something you could fake.
It’s real, and for the first time since this nightmare began, I wondered.
..what if I had been born into this life?
Would I have been like Rosa? Loyal and unwavering?
Or would I have fought against it, like I am now?
The car makes a slow turn into a private parking lot surrounded by trees, and comes to a stop. I snap back to the moment. Get a grip, Aria. I need to stop thinking about his world and refocus.
Salvo steps out first, opening my door. As I step onto the fresh asphalt the sweltering heat of the pavement rushes up to meet me. The air is thick with the scent of tar and earth. I blink up at the log fence that surrounds the property. It’s high–too high to climb.
A sprawling ranch-style building sits at what appears to be the heart of the property, blending seamlessly with the landscape, its polished wood exterior reflecting the late afternoon sun. I glance at the sign near the entrance. Amber Village City Hall. A city hall?
Cyan steps up beside me, his presence a wall of heat at my side.
“Salvo, stay in the car, will ya?”
“Sure thing, boss.” Salvo steps back toward the vehicle.
What is this place? I don’t ask. My body is still humming from Cyan’s earlier taunting, with frustrated, pent-up needs. My heel wobbles on the pavement. Cyan’s hand shoots out to steady me. As soon as I find my balance I step away.
Why the hell has Cyan brought me here? Yet I can’t risk opening my mouth when I don’t trust what might slip out. I mentally reach for the only thing that has ever given me control. Numbers. Reciting the twelve times table in my head.
Twelve times one is twelve, twelve times two is twenty-four, twelve times three is thirty-six.
.. each calculation is a tether, pulling me back to something predictable.
Reminding me of the only thing I can count on numbers.
They don’t lie. I can never do them harm with my curse.
By the time I reach twelve times twelve is one hundred forty-four, my storm of the mixed emotions are under control.
I rub my thumb along the bracelet–an unconscious reminder that no matter where we go, I’m still tethered to him and he’s holding my grandmother hostage.
I swallow, my throat dry. “Cyan, where are we?”
“You’ll see soon enough, Dove.” That damn nickname.
His voice is smoother than whiskey, but I force myself to remember that poison can taste sweet, too.
The heavy glass doors of Amber Village City Hall sweep open, and a tall, brown-skinned man with ruffled salt-and-pepper hair strides out to greet us.
“Hello, Mr. MacBrady,” the man greets Cyan, his Indian accent thick, but warm.
“Dr. Sunil. How are you?” Cyan replies
“Fine, Mr. MacBrady. We are glad you’re here. As our bene—” Cyan cuts him off before he can finish.
“I’d like to introduce you to my lady, Aria Boschett.
She’s the inspiration behind this project.
” Cyan’s words roll off his tongue. I whip my head toward him, but he doesn’t even glance my way.
I want to protest, to tell Dr. Sunil that I’m not his girlfriend, that I do not know what the hell he’s talking about.
Before I can find my voice, Dr. Sunil smiles broadly and reaches out to shake my hand.
“Wonderful to meet you, Miss Boschett. I am Dr. Sunil. On behalf of Dr. Ochco, myself, and our staff, thank you.” Thank me? I manage a stiff smile as I shake his hand, my brain short-circuiting. What project is he referring to? Cyan grins, pleased with himself.
While I force out an awkward “You’re welcome?” when I have zero idea what’s going on, but my curiosity is piqued. I glance at the large ranch-style building, the impeccably maintained grounds, and the high, secured fencing surrounding the compound. What the hell is this place?
Dr. Sunil gestures toward the entrance. “Mr. MacBrady, please come in. Dr. Ochco is with a patient, but she’ll join you in a bit. While you wait, I can give you a tour.”
Cyan shakes his head. “A full tour will have to wait for another visit. That’s not why I’m here today.”
“Ah, of course,” Dr. Sunil nods, a flicker of understanding passing over his face.
“How could I forget? Silly oversight on my part. Let’s proceed.
” As we follow him, my mind is racing. Why does Cyan have anything to do with this place?
What the hell does he mean by “inspiration behind this project”?
I glance at him, but his face is unreadable.
Before I can demand an explanation, we’re ushered toward the double glass doors as Dr. Sunil punches in a code on the keypad.
The electronic lock clicks open, and we step inside.
It’s a reception area, and it’s so... warm, and welcoming.
There’s a cozy contemporary farmhouse aesthetic, with the walls painted a soft, inviting cream.
The reception desk features a shiplap design with a duck-egg blue finish, complemented by a striking, black-veined stone counter.
Watercolor paintings depicting landscapes and animals adorn the walls.
Before I can process the oddness of it all, the striking blonde receptionist rushes to her feet she’s all smiles.
“Mr. MacBrady, it’s lovely to see you again,”she’s all smiles, staring at Cyan and licking her lips. I don’t like it. Her gaze locks onto him, holding eye contact just a second too long. Oh, for fuck’s sake.
Dr. Sunil cuts in, redirecting her attention.
“Marlene, Mr. MacBrady and Ms. Boschett are here for their visit.” He pats his pockets, frowning, then turns to Cyan.
“Please excuse me, Mr. MacBrady, Ms. Boschett. I must retrieve my phone from my office. I need to keep it with me at all times in case of emergencies. I’ll be back.
” Fumbling, he hurries down the corridor.
The second he’s gone, Marlene pivots in Cyan direction not missing a beat, gliding toward Cyan.
She doesn’t acknowledge me, her gaze locking onto him like she’s trying to melt into his suit.
She steps around the reception desk, hips swaying like she’s following a choreography titled: Come Take Me, Mr. MacBrady.
She grabs hold of his arm. “Thank you, Mr. MacBrady, for all you’ve done for us here,” she purrs, pressing her body against him.
Bitterness snaps through me like a live wire.
I fold my arms tight across my chest, and my nails dig into my sleeves.
I shift a half-inch closer to him before I even realize it, a coil of scorn rising sharp and vicious.
Cyan doesn’t pull away. Of course he doesn’t.
The smug bastard. The corner of his mouth twitch up. He thinks this is funny.
“It’s my pleasure,” he answers, voice dipping into a tone he absolutely knows will piss me off. “It’s a worthy cause.”
Marlene plasters herself to him, angling those double D’s against his arm like she’s offering a fucking pillow. Her eyes flutter up at him, dripping with suggestion. “If you need anything, Mr. MacBrady… anything at all… please ask.” That’s the final straw.