54 - Paddy
Cordelia
Nico picked us up shortly after my fitting. He’s been ferrying us around here, there and everywhere, and I get the sense he still feels guilty about the whole undercover thing. But I can’t blame him; he did what he needed to do to keep me safe.
When he drops us off in town, we find a cute little cocktail bar looking out across the river.
Not too busy, but enough to keep the vibe going.
With tall velvet-style chairs and a colourful wall perfect for snapping selfies.
London is always busy, but there’s so many quirky pubs, bars and restaurants, that there’s plenty of choice and most don’t get overcrowded.
“How are the boys?” I dare to ask, sipping from the straw protruding from my glass. Ah, cocktails. I’ve missed you so.
Renee taps her coffin shaped nails against her glass, smothered with Swarovski crystals and throwing off tiny sparks of fire with each tilt of her hand. “They’re all good. Looking forward to seeing you in a few weeks.”
My lips curve into a warm smile. But the calm shatters when a certain Irishman steps through the front door. His lips curl, echoing the radiance long gone from my expression. His eyes sweep over our table before he heads to the bar.
Shit.
My gaze falls to the vacant table beside us. He will sit there. No questions. In a rushed attempt to deter him, I scoop up our clutch bags and shove them on the spare chair. Both Chloe and Renee turn from their conversation, pinning me with suspicion.
“You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” Chloe comments on the blood draining from my face. “Ca va?”
Nope. Not okay. At all. “Oui, of course. We’re nearly done here aren’t we?” I stumble over my words, managing to convince the both of them I’m a bumbling idiot. “Let’s move on.”
Renee furrows her brows, gesturing to the very full cocktail sitting in front of me. “You’ve literally just bought a drink.” Her monotone voice mocks.
Damn.
I sink further into the chair as Cillian approaches, clutching a pint glass in his fingers. Strangely it’s not Guinness, or Beer or Cider. It looks like water. He slips behind the nearby table, flashing us one of those charming smiles.
“Evening ladies.”
Chloe fires him a dreamy smile, twirling one of her bangs around her finger. Whilst Renee senses the tremble rippling through my limbs and instinctively draws away.
With my hands grasping my phone under the table, I shoot off a quick text to Logan.
His response is immediate.
Logan: On my way. Where are you?
Oh god. Logan’s got the boys over tonight to help him with Jaxon. All we need is the three musketeers turning up to crash our party.
Me: No, no. We’re fine. He’s being…civilised-ish
Logan: Ain’t nothing civilised about that one, vixen. Be careful. Turn on your location now, or I’m sending a search party in 2 minutes.
I roll my eyes at that one. But do as I’m told, purely because he’d do it without batting an eye.
Me: Done. Is Jaxon ok??
Logan: Yes, my love. I am capable of keeping him alive without your supervision
My love. When he calls me that my heart bursts into song. And my spine tingles.
My heart picks up pace, eyes narrowing to slits. “What are you doing here?” The last time I saw this man he gagged and tied me to a chair. I had no desire to see him before our wedding day, and that was only because the decision was forced upon me.
Cillian lifts his glass in the air, inclining his head. With his other hand, he tips the chair, plummeting our belongings to the floor. “The same thing you’re doing, lass,” he chuckles, settling into the now empty seat.
We stare at him, mouths agape in disbelief.
Chloe’s dark eyes slide across to him, and I swear for a millisecond, something bright, daring, sparks in their depths.
“That was rude,” she snorts, eyeing our bags in a heap on the floor.
She angles her chin towards his glass. “Also, I’m pretty sure that comes out of the tap,” she deadpans, fluttering her thick lashes for effect.
The left side of Cillian’s lips curls devilishly. “You’re a bright spark ain’t ya, pet.”
Renee stifles a laugh. And I have to wrap my mouth around the straw in my cosmopolitan to stop myself.
Chloe, however, arches a thin brow in his direction, unperturbed by his insinuation of her intelligence. “Aye, pet. Try and keep up.”
He scoffs at her attempt– terrible, I might add– to replicate his Irish accent.
“Oh, it’s up, don’t you worry,” he counters back with the efficiency of a seasoned comedian.
Chloe folds her hands together, placing them on the table. “Ignore the idiot,” she tells us. “Bet I could drink him under the table any day.”
Cillian’s dark eyes illuminate. “Is that a challenge I hear?” He asks, puffing out his chest, muscles rippling against the jet-black shirt as he rolls the sleeves to the elbows, showcasing a canvas of intricate shadow and ink.
“This is a bad idea,” I say, tugging anxiously at the gold hoop in my ear. “Let’s just leave.”
“I’m not leaving on his behalf,” she responds with a wave of her hand. “What do you propose, paddy?”
His onyx eyes flash, fuel stoking the fire. Regardless of the fact, he’s still smirking which is creepy as.
“Well, as you seem so confident in your drinking abilities. Let’s say first to down a pint. Anything you want,” he holds out a red slip of paper, slotted between his fingers. It’s a fifty-pound note, excessive and deliberately flaunting his wealth. “Your poison, pet?”
Why do I get the feeling this is going to end badly? I should have asked Logan to send Clarke and Ezio over.
Chloe wrinkles her nose, folding her arms across her chest in a controlled, unhurried motion. “Beer,” she replies in a flat tone, lacking emotion. “Not fussy.”
With a curt nod, he stands and walks to the bar. My clammy palms hit the table fast. “What are you doing?” I whisper-shout. “That guy is…he’s not nice.”
None of my friends know that the man standing at the bar, hands shoved in his pockets like he’s casually waiting for a bus, kidnapped me.
They also have no idea what happened to Theo—Dominic.
Neither do I for that matter. Logan hadn’t offered up the information willingly and every time I asked, he dodged the question like an oncoming bullet.
Whoever ended up with his phone sent a generic message to our group chat explaining that he was going back to his parents for a while. A dull ache grips my chest. Even now, a part of us is missing. There’s a Theo-shaped hole in our group dynamic that can never be filled.
“I don’t care if he’s nice, Cor,” the stubborn girl says, flicking her hair over her shoulder like those sassy models in the shampoo adverts. “He’s an arsehole who needs taking down a peg.”
Oh god no. No, no, no. I need to stop this now. I can’t let her get caught up in the same shit I did. The pads of my fingers rub beneath the table, the warm friction soothing the anxiety climbing up my spine. My feet swing through the air, wishing the floor were closer to ground me.
When Cillian returns, he places the pint under her nose before slipping back into the empty seat next to her.
“What are the stakes?” Renee wonders aloud. I silently curse her for encouraging this. She’s usually the sensible one.
Those void less pits of emotion flit to each of us briefly, before settling back on me. His dark gaze burrows into my soul, and I swallow hard.
“If I win,” Cillian drawls, that teasing lilt suggesting he already has. “You’ll work for me. One favour. One day. No questions asked.
My stomach roils as my lips part. Because this man never does anything without a hidden agenda.
“What? No.” The words spew from my lips before I have chance to think.
His brows raise at once and a smug smile breaks free. “No? That’s the deal, I’m afraid. Hey, I promise not to get you to commit murder or anything.” He shrugs as if that’s a logical enough explanation for my acceptance.
I rake my fingers through my hair frustratedly, eyes darting to Chloe, who is waiting in anticipation, excitement flashing through her inky gaze.
“Ok. I’ll speak to Logan,” I mutter.
His twisted smirk widens as he turns to Chloe. “And as a little sweetener, you’ll dance with me. At the wedding. Just the two of us.”
My friend scoffs, looking incredulous. “You want to dance with me?” She shakes her head, and her black tresses bounce from the sheer amount of hairspray holding it in place.
If she steps too close to a flame, she’s likely to go up in smoke.
“Whatever. If I win you buy our next round and leave Cordelia the hell alone.”
“Deal.” The smirk on his face is downright terrifying.
Under the table, my fingers move at speed over the keys.
Me: Might need your assistance after all
Then I delete it. He can’t fight all my battles for me.
Renee sips from her colourful cocktail, getting her camera phone ready to record the debacle. Seriously? Chloe tilts her head innocently, gesturing to Cillian’s glass of perfectly clear, odourless liquid.
“You forgot to get yourself one, dipshit.”
“Oh no, I’m sticking to water,” Cillian dips his chin and adjusts his expensive looking wristwatch. He fires a wink at her and her mouth drops open dramatically.
The sly bastard has already won. Water is smooth, it has no fizz. It’ll glide down with ease. Renee and I share a panicked look whilst Chloe continues to glare at the Irishman.
“You—“she starts but Cillian cuts her off with a finger pressed to her painted lips. With a start, her eyes round, pupils dilating as fear curls inside her.
He tsks. “I didn’t specify what drink, pet. And I did say whatever you wanted.” His finger sweeps under her chin, tilting her head to him, dark eyes practically glowing. “So, are we doing this or what?”