Chapter 38 Sorcha
Sorcha
Icollapse against the table, Ciar’s weight pinning me there as we both struggle to catch our breath.
His cock is still inside me, twitching with the aftershocks, and I feel the combined cum of all three of them leaking down my thighs.
My body is wrung out, satisfied in a way that makes my bones feel liquid.
“Bed,” Ciar finally grunts, pulling out slowly. He scoops me up before I can protest, cradling me against his chest like I’m something precious instead of the feral creature who just fucked all three of them in the kitchen.
“I can walk,” I murmur, but there’s no heat in it. Truth is, I’m not sure my legs would hold me right now.
“I know,” he says simply, carrying me up the stairs.
Behind us, I hear Axl and Cillian moving around the kitchen, probably cleaning up. The thought of them wiping down the table we just defiled makes me snort, and Ciar glances down at me with a raised eyebrow.
“Nothing,” I say, but I’m smiling.
He deposits me on my bed, then disappears into the bathroom.
I hear water running, and when he comes back, he’s holding a warm, damp cloth.
Without a word, he cleans me up, his movements gentle and methodical.
The tenderness in his touch after such raw, animalistic passion makes my heart stutter behind my ribs.
When he’s done, he takes the cloth back to the bathroom and climbs into bed beside me, his muscular body taking up most of the space.
I curl into his side, my head on his chest, listening to the steady thump of his heartbeat.
“You think Liam’s going to come after us?” I ask quietly.
His hand strokes down my back, a soothing rhythm. “If he does, he’ll die like his father.”
There’s no bravado in his voice, just a simple fact.
“What if he doesn’t want revenge?” I press. “What if he’s grateful we took out his old man?”
“Then we’ll find out soon enough.” His fingers trace lazy patterns on my spine. “Either way, we’re ready.”
Ready.
Ready for what? Liam, the new VC, the OCU, the mafia families are desperate to get their hands on me. It makes me scared for Axl. What will they do to him to make me a widow and therefore fair game again?
My brain swirls around and around. The vodka, this day, the fucking, all catches up on me, and my eyes close.
At some point, I feel Ciar leaving the bed, but I’m too tired to protest.
I wake up in a ball under the duvet, steaming hot as the heating is blasting out. Another grey day greets me as I blink open my eyes and take in my surroundings. I was in such a deep sleep, I forgot where I was, who I was with, and it all comes racing back, making me smile.
Crawling out of bed, I head for the bathroom to brush my teeth and have a shower before we hit the campus hard to find out who the new VC might be.
There has to be someone who knows something.
It’s a university full of mafia heirs for fuck’s sake.
Powerful families know shit. Alex, Darragh and the mysterious Iain probably know something.
We should speak to them first. The guys have probably already thought of that, so I don’t hurry.
I take my time washing my hair and pampering myself a little bit before I have to pull the badass armour back on.
It doesn’t feel like I’ve had a chance to really revel in the luxury the Cerberus Order has provided for me.
I finish conditioning my hair and rinse it out, letting the hot water cascade over my shoulders for another few minutes before I finally shut it off.
The mirror is fogged up when I step out, and I wipe a hand across it to see my reflection.
I look different somehow. Less hollow than I was a few weeks ago.
The dark circles under my eyes are still there, but there’s colour in my cheeks now, a spark in my ice blue eyes that wasn’t there before.
The bruises are turning an ugly yellow, and my split lip is still tender, the cut on my arm is a jagged scab, but when I’m with the guys, none of that matters.
They are the only thing I care about. I have a sense of pride about being with them.
They are my destiny, my fate, as stupid as that sounds.
I truly believe they were born to be mine.
I wrap myself in a towel and head back into the bedroom, rifling through the wardrobe for something to wear.
I settle on black jeans and a tight vest top, which I pull my hoodie over as I slide Bessie into place and pick up my phone.
Turning it back on, I expect a barrage of messages from Cian, but it’s all quiet. I don’t know if that’s good or bad.
The time says it’s 8 AM, which explains why my stomach is rumbling enough to wake the dead.
Shoving the phone in my pocket, I lace up my boots and pick up my bag, slinging it over my shoulder before heading downstairs.
It’s quiet, and I figure the guys are sleeping in.
They deserve it after living on a couple of hours a night, if that, for days on end, while I’ve been playing princess and sleeping like it might all end tomorrow and I’ll be back in a lumpy bed, in a dingy flat, freezing half to death and hungry.
I drop my bag at the bottom of the stairs and head towards the kitchen.
Pushing open the door, I freeze before my blood rushes to my head in a hot wave that makes bile rise in my throat.
“No!” I roar as I lunge towards Ciar, slumped in a chair, bleeding out around the crossbow bolt that was slammed into his chest.
I press my hands around the bolt, getting sticky with his blood. “Ciar!” I scream desperately, feeling for a pulse, looking wildly around. “Cillian! Axl!” My heart is in my throat as no one answers me.
I shriek when a hand clamps around my wrist, and I spin back to Ciar. “Mo ríon dearg,” he slurs. “I love you.” His eyes flutter open for a second before they close again.
“No, no, no,” I chant, pressing harder around the bolt. “You don’t get to say that and fucking die on me! Where are Axl and Cillian?”
But he doesn’t respond. Only the sound of a wailing siren cuts through the silence as I grip Ciar’s shirt, my hands trembling as the red mist descends and my rage settles deep in my bones. “Who did this?”