23. Elle
ELLE
The silence in the penthouse is heavy. I sit on the edge of the bed and wipe my face with the back of my hand.
My skin feels tight from my tears. Lorcan’s departure left a hole that I can’t fill.
He didn’t just walk out; he retreated. I know that look.
It’s the same one people give when they don’t want to deal with the wreckage they found.
I want him to come back and tell me he didn’t mean it.
The door opens. I don’t look up. I expect Lorcan to return and finish the job of breaking me. But the footsteps are different. They’re slower.
I look up and see Fintan. He carries a plastic bag. He looks at the diamond necklace on the nightstand before his blue eyes settle on me.
“He’s an idiot,” Fintan says.
I don’t respond. I curl up in a ball away from him.
“He is currently paying for whatever he did to you.”
“Men like him don’t pay.”
“It’s self-inflicted.”
He doesn’t elaborate, and I don’t ask. I don’t care.
It’s a lie. But I tell it to myself anyway.
“Lorcan made you eat?”
“Yeah, so what?”
“Just asking so I don’t have to make you something.”
“What’s in the bag?”
He snorts gently and crosses over to me. He crouches and pulls something out.
I frown at it and then narrow my eyes. “Paper plates?”
“With balloons on, and these.” He holds up a box.
“Wooden knives and forks. You’re an arse.”
“An arse who doesn’t want to get stabbed with stainless steel.”
“I wouldn’t do that. I wouldn’t know how, for a start, and secondly, you would overpower me before I got anywhere near you.”
“I would never hurt you, Elle. I would let you stab me if that was the alternative.”
I stare at him. “That’s fucked up.”
“Yes. But it’s the truth.”
“Why does Tiernan enjoy being hit with a shoe?”
“Because he is fucked up too.”
“Does it mean I’m fucked up if I enjoyed it?”
He smiles. “Yes, probably.”
Fintan doesn’t move. He stays in that crouch, his large body taking up the space between me and the exit.
He looks at me without the coldness I see in Lorcan or the manic energy Tiernan carries.
There is a stillness in him that is almost more terrifying because it feels like a trap I’m already inside. I search his eyes, but I find nothing.
“What am I to you, Fintan?” I ask, not looking away.
“A woman who is trying to find somewhere to belong. A woman who wants to be loved. A woman who has been screwed over by the people who were meant to be protecting her and has been forced to live alone with no one for far too long.”
My mouth goes bone dry. “That sounds oddly specific.”
“I have my ways of seeing people,” he says, his voice a low vibration that I feel more than hear. He reaches out and brushes a thumb across my cheek, wiping away a stray tear. “You don’t have to be afraid of me, Elle. I’m the one who cleans up the mess.”
I shiver under his touch, but I don’t pull away. The silence of the penthouse doesn’t feel so heavy with him here. It feels like a cocoon, shielding me from the storm raging outside, the one Lorcan left in his wake.
He stands up, his shadow stretching across the bed. “You should get some rest.”
“I don’t want rest. I’m sick of rest and food and being locked away in here.”
“You’ve been locked away for a day,” he points out with maddening accuracy.
“So? The length of time doesn’t matter.”
“Kinda does, mo pheaca álainn.”
“Don’t call me that unless you’re going to tell me what it means. Or give me access to Google to find out myself.”
He smiles softly. “My beautiful sin.”
I gulp back the sob. “Don’t,” I say, shaking my head. “I’m no one’s sin.”
“No, you aren’t. I’m the sinner, Elle. You are the salvation.”
“Jesus. Now you sound like a priest.”
“Not a priest.”
“Then what are you, apart from a billionaire and a man who enjoys pain?”
“That’s a loaded question.”
“Not really.”
His phone buzzes as we lock gazes.
“Saved by the buzzer,” I murmur and turn away from him again.
After a few seconds, he says, “I’ll be downstairs. If you need anything, tell me, and I’ll get it.”
“A way out of here that isn’t in a box.”
“Anything except that.”
I sigh as he leaves me alone again. The bedroom door clicks shut, and I’m alone with the balloon-covered plates and my own racing thoughts.
Fintan’s words linger like smoke in the room, suffocating and sweet all at once.
Salvation. He says it as if I have some holy power to fix him, when I can’t even fix the draft in my flat or the holes in my own heart.
I roll onto my other side and stare at the wall.
The luxury of the room is a mockery of a life I have forgotten out of necessity.
I had no choice. It was ripped away from me, and there was nothing I could do to change that.
Being back in this world of wealth and privilege is making me sick to my stomach.
My skin still burns where Lorcan touched me. I can still see the fractured, desperate look in his eyes before he fled. He thinks he’s a monster, but he’s just a man who found something he couldn’t buy or bully into submission. He found the truth, and it terrified him.
I need to wash the tears from my face. I need to strip the smell of Lorcan’s expensive cologne and the scent of my own fear from my pores.
Climbing off the bed, I cross to the bathroom and turn the shower on, letting the steam fill the room until the mirror vanishes.
I don’t want to look at myself right now.
I strip off the leggings and the tee, and throw them in the hamper in the corner.
Stepping into the shower, the hot water hits my back, and I lean my forehead against the marble wall.
The heat makes my muscles go slack. I stand under the spray until my skin turns red and my mind goes numb.
Fintan’s words about salvation stay in my mind and bother me.
I turn the water off, plunging me into a silence I’m not a fan of.
I dry myself, wrap the towel around my body, and walk back into the bedroom.
I find a pair of silk pyjamas in the wardrobe and pull them on.
The fabric is cool and expensive. I can’t stay in this room while Lorcan’s rage still hangs in the air.
I open the door and listen. The penthouse is quiet.
Silently, I head for the stairs. Fintan is in the living room.
He is tapping something into his phone and turns when he hears me.
His blue eyes search my face. I stop on the bottom step and wait.
He doesn’t move. He looks at my damp hair and the way I grip the collar of the pyjamas.
He knows I’m searching for a way to breathe in this house, but he doesn’t understand why.
“Where did you grow up?” he asks into the silence.
I blink and scramble for a reply that will be vague enough not to tell him anything, but one he will accept.
I come up blank.
“North London,” I lie. Sort of. North of London is still north London.
His eyes narrow a fraction, but he doesn’t push it.
“Where did you grow up?” I ask.
He snorts and nods, accepting the change in topic, which I didn’t expect. “Ireland.”
“No shit.”
“You set the precedent for vague.”
I did. I can’t deny that.
“Ireland is a big place,” I say, stepping off the last stair. “Which part?”
“West coast.” He sets his phone down on the coffee table. The screen stays dark. He gestures to the sofa. “Sit down, Elle. You’re vibrating with the need to run, but there’s nowhere to go. Might as well be comfortable while you’re trapped.”
I ignore the invitation and walk to the window instead. The city lights are blurred by the constant drizzle. “Is Lorcan coming back tonight?”
“No. He’s... occupied.”
“Doing what? Beating someone up?”
Fintan doesn’t answer immediately. “He’s clearing his head. Lorcan doesn’t like losing control. You made him lose it.”
“I didn’t do anything.”
“You existed,” Fintan murmurs, his voice much closer now. I don’t turn around. I keep my eyes on the wet streets below. “For a man like him, that’s more than enough of a provocation.”
I feel the heat of him behind me, a solid wall of muscle and unspoken threats.
“I don’t like being gaslighted,” I murmur.
“I figured. But it’s the truth.”
“Don’t blame me for something I didn’t do,” I say, dangerously quiet. “It makes me stabby.”
“I’ll hide the wooden knives,” he drawls softly.
“Funny. Hilarious. I’m glad I’m a source of entertainment for you.”
I turn around to face him, my back hitting the cold glass. Fintan doesn’t back off. He stands in my space, towering over me with that calm, heavy energy.
“It’s not entertainment, Elle,” he says. “It’s a fucking revelation. You think you’re a victim of circumstance, but you’re the first person to make Lorcan look like he’s losing a war. That’s not a joke. It’s a goddamn shift in the atmosphere.”
“I don’t want to be a revelation,” I whisper, my hands fisting in the silk of my pyjama bottoms. “I just want my life back.”
“Which one?”
Panic hits my chest. I wet my lips. “What do you mean?”
“Pre or post stripper. That’s what I mean.”
I smile coldly. “You think the stripper job is the defining moment. Cute.”
He raises an eyebrow, and I’ve successfully surprised him enough to change his expression.
“You’re saying it’s not?”
“I’m not telling you anything. You’re a big billionaire. Hire someone to find out.”
“Is that what you want, Elle? Some stranger digging through your life?” He reaches out and touches my chin gently before grasping it. “Wouldn’t you rather tell me yourself?”
“No. That is how little it matters. My life before this penthouse is dead.”
“That’s very defeatist of you.”
“You claim differently?”
“No, but I expected you to fight harder to cling to it.”
“Shows you what you know.”
I look away from him, my gaze falling to the dark surface of the coffee table. He doesn’t let go of my chin, his fingers a firm but not painful reminder that he is still there, still waiting for the slip-up that gives him the key to the vault.
“I know how to wait, Elle,” he says, his voice dropping into that low, resonant register that vibrates in my blood. “I have more patience than my brothers. They want to tear the truth out of you. I’m happy to watch you give it up piece by piece until you’ve got nothing left to hide behind.”
“You’ll be waiting a long time.”
“I doubt it.” He releases my chin, his hand trailing down to the base of my throat. “The more you try to bury it, the more it rots.”
I shiver, the silk of my sleeves feeling like ice against my skin. Ain’t that the truth. “Have I told you lately how much I hate you?”
“No. I don’t hear it enough.”
“I hate you.”
“Predictable.”
“Okay, I loathe you. How’s that?”
“Better, but still. I think you can do better than that.”
His provocation is almost arousing. Why is he making it so tempting to fuck a man I hate? “You want a thesaurus for my hatred? How about revulsion? Disgust? Or maybe pure, unadulterated contempt for the fact that you think you can wait me out like a piece of fruit on a branch.”
Fintan doesn’t flinch. He doesn’t even blink. He just stares down at me, his blue eyes reflecting the city lights behind me. “Contempt is a strong word, Elle. It requires a level of superiority you don’t actually feel.”
“You don’t know what I feel.”
“I know the frantic thud of your pulse where it beats against my hand. I know your skin is flushed. I know you’re looking at my mouth because you want to know if I’m as brutal as Tiernan or as cold as Lorcan.”
I jerk my head away, but the glass is right there, stopping me. I’m pinned between the night sky and the most dangerous man I’ve ever met. “I’m looking at your mouth because I’m wondering when you’ll shut it.”
He laughs, a low, dark sound that settles in my stomach. “Liar.”
He lets me go and backs away, leaving me panting by the window, wondering if I should just tell him the truth or let it rot like it has been doing for the best part of a decade.