Chapter 12
Cillian
Icruise along the hedge-lined fence of an estate I know too well, its blueprints burned into my memory by years of study. Not only was knowing every facet of the Hadezes’s properties expected of every Holy Hunter, but it was also enforced.
I can still hear my father and Trenton’s dad going back and forth about why the Atlanteans chose those plots. While my father was convinced they sat over more magical sources, Dominic Caruso was betting on secret passages straight to Atlantis. In the end, both theories were debunked.
As I turn into the driveway entrance, I spot a figure standing before the wrought-iron gates. One that develops into the woman I’ve come to see. Has she been waiting outside since she sent me her text message, or did the cameras along the property line alert her to my arrival?
I roll down my window as I slow to a stop. “I drove out here as fast as I could,” I tell her, taking in the splash of color stretched across her breasts. The hue pops against her olive complexion.
She approaches my side of the car like she’s about to take the wheel. From what I’ve seen, there’s no magical fence keeping outsiders from driving onto the property, so I’m not sure why she’d insist on driving.
But then she stops a foot away, tips her head to the side, and asks, “What are you doing here, Cillian?”
I frown. “What do you mean?” I put the station wagon in park. “You asked me to come.”
She opens her mouth to say something, but snaps it shut when the looming gates grind open and out strolls the asshole Electra is desperately trying to seduce.
I get out of the car, opting to stand tall beside her rather than stay tucked in my Volvo. It’s what a jealous boyfriend would do.
As if he hadn’t already sized me up the other day, Malachi scrutinizes me from backward ball cap to doodled high-tops. “Everything all right out here?”
“Yes,” Electra says.
I put a possessive arm around her waist. “Just came by to see my girl.”
She stiffens, and it makes me recall her pet peeve—the one about being owned. I should probably let go but decide to stake my claim on her instead.
For show.
Her red top rides up, giving my fingers access to her warm skin. The sensation of rising goosebumps is all the encouragement I need to keep my hand on her body.
Malachi looks me over like I’m something he scraped off his shoe. “Didn’t you call a cab?”
“No, she called me,” I say.
Malachi stabs his hands inside the pockets of his pressed chinos, probably to keep himself from throttling me with his magic. “She has a mouth. How about you let her use it? Women tend to appreciate that. At least the ones I know. Can’t speak for the ones you pick up at your gym.”
I’ve just entered a pissing contest—one I plan to win. “I don’t pick up women at my gym. Never have and never will. You’re welcome to stop by and ask.”
Malachi doesn’t even give me a cursory look this time. “I was heading back. I can drop you off at yours, Elle.”
I slide my fingers nearer to Electra’s navel. “Ballsy move, trying to poach another man’s girl right in front of him.”
“He’s not trying to poach me,” Electra grumbles. “Thanks for the offer, Mal, but I’m all set. You can go back to…” She sweeps her tongue over her lips like she’s unsure how to finish that sentence. In the end, she says, “…to the others.”
He switches to Atlantean, and although I don’t understand what he says, I imagine it’s something along the lines of: “Don’t go off with this asshole.”
Electra’s expression sharpens as she hisses back something that makes Malachi shake his head and mutter something else. Something that makes a cold smile cut across her lips and a cold tone coat her next words. The blond male’s eyes flash with annoyance and then with magic.
He swings his attention onto me, and in English, he growls, “Take your hands off her, get into your car, and drive away. Leave the city and never come back.”
My heartbeats speed up at his command, because leaving would put a serious dent in my plans. More than a dent…I’d have to rethink the whole mission. Maybe even choose another target and try my best to seduce them before summer’s end.
The mere idea of swapping targets makes my stomach clench. I don’t want to start over with someone else.
I don’t have time to start over.
Still, I force my fingers to unflex and drift off Electra’s waist.
Right as I turn, her fingers spear through mine, sending what feels like an electric jolt into my elbow. I blink at our hands, then at her face.
Her eyes are bright—and not because of the landscape lighting. “Cillian Lowry, get behind the wheel of your car.”
My chest aches like her compulsion is landing, like this is the last time I get to look at her. I don’t want to tear my eyes away. I want to keep looking…keep touching.
Her fingers slip out of mine, and my chest caves in, as though the muscle in it is following suit—slipping away too.
Eyes still fastened to me, still brilliantly bright, she adds, “And take me home.”
Compulsion has no hold on me, yet her words reel my heart up and settle the organ back behind my ribs. I exhale slowly, my relieved sigh strong enough to lift the wisps framing her face.
“Elle?” Malachi snarls as I fold myself behind the wheel and shut my door, watching Electra circle the Volvo’s hood. “What exactly are you trying to do? Make me lose my fucking mind? Don’t go home with him!”
“I hear Ines yelling your name,” she tosses over her shoulder as she opens the passenger door.
Is she trying to get under Malachi’s skin by bringing up the woman he’s only keeping close so her ex stays far? Hopefully, by the time Electra finds out why her crush is feigning a relationship with Ines, I’ll have won the dark-haired Atlantean over.
“Don’t get into his car!” Malachi yells.
“Eyes on me, Lowry,” she says, as she climbs in.
Not a hardship.
“Electra, I swear…” Malachi’s voice vibrates with the sort of fury that makes me picture my departure from Boston, not with a spell but zipped up in a body bag.
“Don’t mind him,” she murmurs.
But I do mind him, because if he kills me before I can set foot on Atlantis, then Quinn never goes free.
“I’m guessing you didn’t read my last texts?” Electra says, rolling her neck as though the altercation with Malachi tensed her up.
Certainly tensed me up. Fuck.
I squeeze my steering wheel so tightly as I drive away from Tarian’s estate that I worry I might actually end up warping the plastic. “I try not to look at my phone when I’m driving. What did you send me?”
As I slow at the reddening traffic light, I find Electra studying my strained knuckles.
I relax my grip, even though I fail to relax my shoulders, which are as stiff as the backrest. “Did you ask me to lose your number?”
“Something like that.”
“Our scheme is obviously working. Did you see how angry he got when you chose me?”
“He thinks of me as a sister,” she says, clicking open some ride app on her phone and canceling her request.
Explains why she was standing outside.
“I have a sis— Had a sister. I never looked at her like he looks at you.”
“You’re imagining things, Cillian.”
“I’m not.”
“Just because you want to fuck me doesn’t mean anyone else does.”
Her words shoot straight into my groin as I suddenly picture her sprawled beneath me, bare of clothes, legs parted in invitation, nipples peaked in anticipation. Would she taste like the women I’ve had, or did the Atlanteans taste different?
“Cillian?”
“Hmm.” The sound of my false name does nothing to subdue the throbbing between my legs as I stare at the stone-cold beauty sitting in my station wagon.
“The light’s green,” she says.
Still, I don’t floor the gas pedal, enjoying the sight of her next to me, splashed in neon light. Especially when the latter catches on her very tight top and the tits carving into the fabric.
“Stop undressing me with your eyes and drive.”
My blood feels molten as I return my attention to the road. “Where to, Miss Serran?”
I will her to say: My bed.
She lets her spine kiss the backrest. “Take me to your favorite place in Boston.”
Her answer snaps me out of my lustful reveries, because I think she’s giving me the illusion of control over our destination to avoid revealing where she lives. I could be wrong. I hope I am.
I push my hoodie sleeves up as I finally gun the Volvo across the intersection. My favorite place isn’t in this city, but I obviously can’t take her to Kennebunkport. Too many people know me up there.
Sure, my hair was cropped short, and I mostly wore contact lenses, but still, I’d get recognized. Can’t risk that.
I consider a waterfront park but dismiss it—too tacky. I rack my brain for other possibilities. It’s only once we reenter the heart of the city that I decide on the perfect place. One I’ve only ever gone to as Cillian. A hole-in-the-wall speakeasy that a client of mine told me about.
Thanks to the easy flow of Sunday traffic, we pull up in front of the red phone booth entrance in no time.
After finding parking, I pocket a few bills from the zippered pouch under my seat, then jog around the car to get Electra’s door.
She’s already out by the time I reach her side.
I hold out my hand. She studies it like it’s some complex Captcha she’s meant to solve.
I realize the handholding was only for show back at the estate, but maybe—
She takes my hand, and my heart misses a beat. I lock my fingers around hers before she can reconsider, then guide her to the phone booth.
With my free hand, I pick up the phone. The word “mambo” sounds in my ear. I secure the phone between my ear and shoulder and punch the numbers corresponding to the five letters.
Once I’ve keyed them in, the back panel of the booth unlatches, revealing a private club with a zinc bar, paper lanterns, and a stage where a local band is midperformance.
Electra’s eyes widen. “What is this place?”