47 - DD
Cordelia
The atmosphere is unnerving. The air, thick with the stench of stagnant rot. An invisible claw curls around my throat; long, bony digits locked in a chokehold, robbing the air from my lungs.
A grim representation of what’s to come.
No one’s been here for a while, judging by the rusted machinery and splintered containers scattered about the place.
Vines and branches breach cracks and crevices in the brickwork, formed over years of neglect and decay.
Tiny teeth marks deface the wood grain and plastic pipes, a clear sign of a large rodent infestation.
There’s probably all manner of creatures inhabiting this place.
Feeding off the mysterious pools of dank liquid that slosh beneath my feet.
Heels are not appropriate footwear.
The bitter tang of metal lingers as I progress through the empty rooms at a speed that could be outmatched by a giant snail. I know I shouldn’t be here. Logan will probably force me into some kind of house arrest for putting myself in danger. And, of course, it’s not just me.
A sharp jab to the stomach; and my little boy reminds me of my utter stupidity. My legs are heavy, encumbered by the guilt plaguing my mind. But what was I supposed to do? My best friend. Leaving him at the mercy of an Irish mobster wasn’t an option. The reason he’s been targeted is me.
Why did I wander off that night?
Why did I let my curiosity get the better of me?
And why, oh why, did I take that photo?
Now the ones I love are paying the price.
I step through the last and final door. The scene laid out turns my heated skin to ice. Two pairs of eyes: blue grey, laced with fear, and the others, so dark they can’t possibly be labelled with a colour. They are pitch-black, void of every nuance of humanity.
Last time I saw Cillian, he wore his emotions plainly on his face.
I can’t recall a moment when his eyes hadn’t sparkled with mischievous light, even when he stepped to the front of the church for his brother's send-off.
Considering he was burying a family member that day; he shed no tears. Can a person be that cold?
Theodore’s panicked gaze darts between Cillian and I. Beads of sweat roll down his forehead as he struggles against the ropes securing him to the metal chair.
“Cordelia,” Cillian says, and the way my name sounds on his lips is nothing short of terrifying. “Nice of you to join us. Sit.”
My eyes land on the vacant chair a short distance from Theo. Cillian uses a single finger to beckon me over, which I do, sitting down without hesitation. Even though my insides are screaming, I need to appear confident. And acting the part is my forte.
“Cillian,” I say, with a nod of acknowledgement. “I’ve done what you asked. Let Theo go.”
Cillian sweeps behind my back. For such a large-figured man, he’s surprisingly light on his feet, like a thief in the night.
He wastes no time binding my wrists, and I swear when he pulls the rope taut enough to sting, he chuckles to himself.
Once he’s added ties to my ankles, he steps back into view, scratching at his stubbly chin.
“Who the hell is— ohh,” Cillian’s tenebrous eyes slide over to my friend, who quickly averts his gaze, lips pressed together in silence.
“Just let him go. It’s me you want.”
“You think highly of yourself, lass. It’s not you at all,” he sniggers, thrusting his big hand into my friend’s blonde locks to drag his head up.
Theo’s refusing to meet my gaze, and the notion sends a shiver down my spine.
Why won’t he look me in the eye? “Let’s get something straight.
This Theo? He don’t exist.” Cillian says, raising a single eyebrow mockingly.
“Let me introduce you to this asshat. Dominic. My very Irish cousin.”
The blood drains from my face, and my confidence abandons me all at once. Thanks to inheriting Papa’s genes in that department, I‘m already uber pale. “What. I— “
Cillian shoves his hand up to cut me off.
“He’s a great little actor, right?” He’s grinning wide now, that sinister smile allowing a slip of emotion to seep to the surface.
Large hands snake out to grasp Theo’s chin, and he bends down, leaning in close.
Their faces are level, cheeks smushed together like they’re best buddies taking a selfie for their Instagram feed.
Dread creeps up my spine. My knees lock together with the sudden urge to clutch my chest. Fingers twitching, desperate for the burning friction. I part my lips, but nothing comes out, but a choked sob.
“Speak, kid,” Cillian orders, as if he’s dishing out a command to a dog. “Properly,” he adds, “not that French drivel.”
Nausea crawls up my throat. All I can do is stare ahead, eyes widening in anticipation.
“Get the frig off me, Cill,” Theo growls, eyes aimed at the psychopath next to him before flitting to me. The voice that materialises from his mouth isn’t his own.
Not the one I know, anyway.
The smooth French lilt usually present is gone, and it makes my blood run cold.
“Cordelia.” Even the way he pronounces my name doesn’t sound right. Impersonal. “Pleasure to meet you. Dominic Delaney, at your service.”
I’m pretty sure if he weren’t tied up, he’d take a fucking bow.
I swallow hard. It doesn’t happen often, but I’m speechless. My breath rushes out, but still, I struggle to breathe.
Drama Dork. DD. Dominic Delaney…
The letters he carved into tables at school. Inked onto his skin.
No.
I don’t understand. How?
I’ve known for years that Theo is exceptional at acting. I just didn’t realise quite how good.
The tears fall. Heavy droplets trailing down my cheeks, blurring my vision and stinging my eyes. A strangled choke escapes my throat.
“Aw, look what you’ve done, cuz. She’s gonna be ugly crying in the video now.”
Through my wet lashes, I catch Theo’s glare. Intense. Hateful. But Cillian doesn’t show any discretion when he rummages through my clutch bag and pulls out my iPhone. He holds it next to my face, and it illuminates with life.
“We’re going to give Loverboy a call,” he says, fingers swiping the screen. “Christ. He’s tried calling you thirty-two times. Ten outta ten for perseverance, Cox.”
I gulp down a sob when Cillian holds the phone in front of me again. It barely rings out before Logan picks up. His eyes grow impossibly large when the call connects.
“Cordelia!” he yells, anger gripping every word. “Where the fuck are you?”
Red streaks and blotches mar his skin. His eyes burn with unadulterated rage.
He rakes his fingers through his already dishevelled hair, as if he’s run them through it a hundred times over.
Logan never looks this chaotic in public.
He’ll hardly leave the house without doing his hair, and it’s always styled to perfection.
My eyes drop to my lap. Seeing what I’ve caused is heart-wrenching.
“I’m okay,” I mumble, raising my eyes just enough to peek at him through soggy lashes. Logan catches his breath, and his shoulders sag against the leather seat.
Cillian whips the phone from my grasp, putting himself back in the frame.
“Delaney,” Logan growls. Even without seeing his face, the promise of slaughter is alarming.
“She’s okay at this current moment in time,” he drawls out, tone deliberately goading. “But if you don’t get here, soon you may not be so lucky.”
“If you touch a fucking hair on her head, I’ll tear you apart limb from fucking limb! Do you hear me?”
“Promises, promises,” he snickers, waving a dismissive hand. “I trust you’re on your way. Not a proper party without the mini mafia.”
With a heartless laugh, Cillian ends the call, ignoring Logan’s violent threats and vitriol.
“They’re on their way, princess.” He throws me a wink.
Then a gun slides from his jacket pocket. Lethal. Deadly.
My eyes bug. “No, Cillian. Please don’t do this,” I beg, more tears crashing to the floor. “Don’t hurt them. Please. You can’t. You can’t.”
I’m close to hyperventilating. My voice is not my own.
“Shut your whining,” he snaps. “Or I’ll do it for ya.”
“Please, God, please.” I can’t stop the words from tumbling out. I can’t stop the uncontrollable sobbing. The trembling limbs. The relentless fever. “Don’t do this.”
“You’re doing my feckin’ head in,” Cillian stomps into view, gripping something in his hand. “Open wide, girly.”
Before I can get another word out, his fingers are pushing something hard and cold against my lips.
My scream amounts to nothing, and he seizes the moment to shove the device into my mouth, forcing the odd-shaped object behind my teeth.
My jaw burns from the stretch, and the strap around my head is constricting, suffocating.
“You suit a gag, Cordelia,” Cillian smirks.
Everything is muffled by the silicone ball crammed into my mouth.
Every attempt just prompts more drool to accumulate, and with no physical way of swallowing, it pools around my lips with nowhere to go but my lap.
Cillian bends at the waist, cupping a hand around his ear.
“What’s that, lass? Can’t quite understand you. ”
Cillian’s cruel laughter ripples through me. My gaze lands on Theo. The fear wiped from his face; it was all a fabrication after all. But something swirls in the depths of his silver irises.
Regret.
Guilt.
Perhaps not everything was fake.
Hope. A flicker. Gone as quickly as it appeared.
I avert my eyes. It’s only a matter of time. I’m not getting out of here alive.
I’m not going to get married.
I’m not going to give birth to my little boy.
I’m not going to have the family I always wanted.
As I swallow the bitter pill, loud voices erupt in the distance. I recognise all three; the one in particular bringing with it a rush of comfort.
“Over here!” Logan’s deep tenor cuts through the quiet, rage rippling at the surface of every word.
And then he’s standing in the doorframe, broad shoulders filling the entirety of the space. He stalks through the arch, takes one look at me and draws his gun. Ezio and Clarke step up to flank him on each side.
The cold metal of the barrel pressed against my skin almost stops my heart.