Chapter 10
Sorcha
Axl’s bed is like cloud-ten. Forget nine. That shit has got nothing on this expensive four-poster. I stretch when I wake up, groaning as my back cracks and the reality of the world floods back in.
“Eww,” I say, opening my eyes to find Axl standing over me with a mug of hot tea. “Do I have to?”
“What? Wake up? Unfortunately, sunshine.”
“How are you?”
“Fine.”
That’s all I’m getting, so I move on. “How’s Ciar?”
“Alive.”
“Gee, you are full of words this morning.”
He sighs and sets the tea down before sitting on the edge of the bed. “Sorry, shit is heavy right now.”
“You don’t say?”
He snickers. “Preaching to the choir.”
“Something like that.” I reach for the tea and take a cautious sip from the steaming mug.
“I’ve been thinking.”
“That’s nothing new.”
He smirks. “About Liam. It’s like waiting for the fucking guillotine to drop.”
“You’re saying I need to initiate a meet.”
He nods.
“I was thinking the same.”
“Do you have a contact number for him?”
I frown and reach for my phone, which I threw on the bedside table last night. “Maybe. I don’t know if it’s reliable. He was undercover, remember.”
“Something tells me he will have that burner strapped to his thigh waiting for you to call him, sunshine.”
I ignore the barb and scroll through the hundreds of contacts I have stored in there until I get to L. “Yeah. Here.”
“Call him, set it up,” Axl says, rising.
“Stay?”
“No, you need to make this convincing, Sorcha. You don’t need me here hovering over you.”
“You think honeytrap?”
“That’s exactly what I think. He isn’t going to come over if he thinks an axe is primed and waiting to chop his newly crowned head off.”
He leaves without another word, closing the door behind him. He has a point, but my first word of the day was accurate. Eww. But this is an opportunity. If I can convince Liam that I want to be with him so we can rule the underworld, he will bite.
I hope.
I take a steadying breath, the hot tea doing fuck all to calm the swarm of wasps in my stomach. Axl’s right. This has to be done, and it has to be convincing. I tap the call icon before I can second-guess myself again.
The phone rings, each tone a hammer blow against my nerves. I expect it to go to voicemail, expect him to have ditched the burner. But then, he answers.
“Sorcha.” Just my name. This number must’ve been specifically for me.
“Liam,” I say, forcing a tremor into my voice that I don’t entirely have to fake. “I… I didn’t know who else to call.”
A beat of silence. I can picture him on the other end, his guard up, calculating.
“And you’re calling me? What about the guys you hooked up with?” The suspicion is there, a sharp edge under the calm surface of his voice.
“They’re not what I thought they were,” I lie, hating the words as they leave my mouth. “I made a mistake. A huge one. I need to see you. Please.”
The silence stretches, and for a second, I think he’s going to hang up.
Then, he speaks, his voice a low, dangerous purr that promises nothing good. I’ve handed him a golden opportunity to get exactly what he wanted. Me. He isn’t going to pass that up. “Where?”
“My flat, same as before.”
He snorts. “A set-up?”
“No,” I say, my voice trembling as I drop it to a whisper. “Liam, please. I need you.”
He draws in a breath. It’s what he has been waiting to hear. “An hour.” He hangs up before I can agree.
But that doesn’t give me much time. I leap out of bed and down the rest of the tea, even though it’s still too hot.
I flap my hand about as it burns all the way down, but I’m up and moving to my room to get dressed and explain to Cillian and Ciar that this is the best move.
At least we will know once and for all what the hell Liam wants to do to me.
I find Cillian in the living room, still on watch.
Ciar is awake, propped up against the cushions, his face a thundercloud of disapproval as Axl has clearly filled him in on the plan.
“I’m meeting Liam,” I state, leaving no room for debate. “My old flat. In less than an hour.”
“Like fuck you are,” Ciar growls, trying to push himself up.
“Stay down,” I snap, my voice sharp enough to make him pause. “This is happening. Axl agrees it’s the right move.”
Cillian’s eyes narrow, his glare fixed on Axl even though he says to me, “You can’t go alone.”
“I have to,” I insist, my gaze flicking between the three of them. “He’ll be looking for you, for backup. It has to look real. He has to believe I’m desperate and running away from you and to him for help. That’s how I played it, and that is how it has to look.”
“It’s a trap,” Ciar bites out.
“Maybe,” I concede. “But it’s a trap I’m walking into with my eyes wide open.
We need to know if he’s coming for revenge or if he is grateful his dad is dead.
This is the only way to find out, and I’m sick of waiting around for him to make his move.
If he even knows his dad is dead. So far, he could just be missing. ”
“I’ll be there, outside where I can hear you scream,” Cillian says. “And make no mistake, if you scream, I will rip his fucking eyes out and shove them up his arse.”
“You really hate him, don’t you?” I snicker to break the tension.
“Hate is a fucking understatement,” he says, his voice flat and devoid of any humour. The air chills, the brief moment of levity gone. “He breathes the same air as you. That’s reason enough for me.”
“Okay,” I say, holding my hands up in surrender. “Point taken. You can be there, but he cannot see you.”
“He won’t,” Cillian says.
“I’m going with you,” Ciar bites out from the sofa.
Axl moves before he can, placing a firm hand on his shoulder. “No, you’re not. You’ll bleed out before you even get across campus.”
The look that passes between them is pure, violent frustration, but Ciar slumps back, defeated. He hates this. Hates being weak, being left behind. I hate it for him.
“I need to go,” I say, my gaze sweeping over the three of them. My protectors. My beautiful, broken mess. “I’ll be fine.”
None of them looks convinced, but they don’t stop me as I turn and walk out. Cillian is a silent shadow at my back as I cross the road, hurrying and looking like I’m making a big escape from the townhouse in case Liam already has eyes on me.