12. Cormac
Chapter Twelve
CORMAC
“Want to tell me what that little stunt was about?” I slam the door to Fiona’s bedroom so hard it rattles in the frame.
Somewhere down the hall, one of the babies starts crying, but I don’t even flinch.
I’m beyond pissed, and Fiona needs to know it.
She blinks at me. “Stunt? Is this about Zoe?”
The way she says her name so casually makes my jaw tighten.
“Yes. It’s about you inviting people into this house like you’re not on fucking lockdown!”
Her brows knit together. “Ciara invited her. I didn’t—”
I stalk closer. “I don’t care who sent the invitation. You don’t get to decide who comes and goes. Not right now. Not after everything.”
Fiona straightens, folding her arms over her chest. “She’s my best friend. She was worried about me.”
I let out a cold, humorless laugh. “Funny. You didn’t seem too worried about me when you were sneaking around behind my back.”
Her face pales as I stalk toward her, but she doesn’t look away, though I almost wish she would.
“Did you think I wouldn't find out?”
Fiona lifts her chin defiantly. “Am I supposed to sit in my room and stare at the walls all day?”
“Yes,” I say without hesitation. “That’s exactly what I expect.”
Something flashes in her eyes then. Hurt, maybe, or anger.
“I didn’t realize seeing my friend for an hour was crossing some unforgivable line. Especially, when you didn’t bother to tell me it wasn’t allowed.”
I glare down at her. “You don’t need permission to breathe, but for everything else? Yeah, you do.”
Her lips part like she wants to argue. But instead, she swallows.
Her shoulders sag just a fraction, and the fight drains out of her in a way that makes something twist uncomfortably in my chest.
“I wasn’t trying to undermine you,” she says quietly.
That’s when it hits me. This feeling that arose in me the second I saw Fiona with her friend… It was jealousy. The fact that another person made her smile or heard her laugh or offered her comfort, those things feel like they should be mine alone right now.
“Well, you did. And you don’t get to forget who you belong to just because you had tea and cake with your friend.”
“I didn’t forget,” she whispers.
I step even closer, crowding her back until the back of her thighs hit the edge of the bed.
My hand comes up to grip her jaw, not rough enough to hurt, but firm enough that she has no choice but to look at me.
“Then don’t act like it.”
I dip my head and take her bottom lip between my teeth.
Fiona gasps, her hands moving to my chest to steady herself.
But I instantly grip her wrists.
Feeling the heat from her hands seeping through my shirt sets off alarm bells in my head. It’s a slippery slope to having her reach into my pants and stroke my cock, and I can’t have that. I can’t have her setting the pace or being in control of my pleasure.
“Lie back.”
Fiona does as I say without question, lying down onto the comforter and looking at me with curiosity. But I have no intention of joining her on the bed.
I reach for her ankles and start tugging at her leggings.
When I have her naked from the waist down, I keep her legs together and throw them over my left shoulder. Because if I were to part them, no amount of self-control would stop me from dropping to my knees and tasting her.
I stick to my unspoken rule of unbuckling my pants just enough to pull my cock free.
I never get fully undressed anymore, and that’s a deliberate choice.
There was a time, only too recently, when being naked with Fiona felt like something sacred.
Now I keep my clothes on, leave my shirt unbuttoned at most, and my belt loosened just enough so I can get what I want.
And what I want isn’t intimacy. It’s control.
I want to remind both of us that whatever this is between us is on my terms now.
“Fuck,” I hiss as I slowly thrust my hips.
Fiona’s back arches off the bed as her eyes flutter closed, a look of pure ecstasy on her face.
She might have lied to me and betrayed me, but despite all of that, I can’t deny that watching her take my cock is fucking breathtaking.
She keeps her eyes closed as I move inside her, as if she’s needing to put distance between us too.
I lean forward and brace my hands on either side of her, practically bending her in half.
Her top has fallen down, exposing a bra that can barely contain her breasts, but not once do I touch her, no matter how badly I want to. Not even when I turn my head and my mouth is less than an inch from her bare thigh or when Fiona’s moans grow louder as she reaches her climax.
Even as we’re both coming, I keep my hands on the bed, gripping the comforter so tightly my knuckles turn white.
Fiona does the same. Where she once would have pulled on my hair or clawed at my skin as she climaxed, she sinks her fingers into the soft sheets and turns her head away from me.
The relief of my climax fades in an instant, and I quickly pull myself free.
I turn my back on Fiona as I tuck my cock back into my pants, the tip still leaking, but I don’t care.
Fiona gets to her feet and starts getting dressed, and I sneak a glance at her over my shoulder.
Immediately, I notice her hands are shaking as she pulls on her leggings.
It’s subtle, anyone else might have missed it, but not me. I’ve learned her tells, whether I want to admit that or not.
She finishes dressing and steps back instinctively, putting space between us without being told.
I don’t expect it to sting, not when I’ve been trying so hard to keep that space from shrinking until it no longer exists, but it does. And when she leaves the room without giving me yet another apology, it makes me pause.
That’s new.
At first, Fiona said it constantly until the words blurred into noise. However, somewhere along the line, the apologies stopped. Not because I don’t think she’s sorry, but because she’s learning that they don’t change anything.
I wonder then if I’ve finally broken her.
The idea should satisfy me. In some twisted, ugly way, I think it does. This is the consequence she has to face. She lied to me, betrayed me, and whether she meant to or not, she put Scout in danger. And yet…
The door clicks shut behind her, and the silence feels louder than any argument we’ve had.
I exhale slowly and finish adjusting my cuffs, my jaw tight.
I tell myself this distance is necessary, that if I let myself feel too much, I’ll forget what she did. Or worse, decide that I don’t care.
I head downstairs and nearly collide with Ronan coming out of the living room.
He stops short when he sees me, a deep crease appearing between his dark brows. “You look like shit.”
“Good morning to you too.”
It seems the release I found with Fiona only moments ago has already worn off. Perhaps I’m more tightly wound than I care to admit.
Ronan folds his arms and leans back against the wall. “Are you sleeping?”
“Enough.”
It’s a lie. Sleep comes in short bursts now, broken up by memories of those dark hours when I didn’t know if my son was alive or dead.
Most nights, I sneak into his room and watch him sleep, but even when I can see the soft rise and fall of his chest, it’s not enough to ease the gut-wrenching pain that follows me around like an omen.
Ronan studies me for a long moment, his gaze sharp in that way of his that makes people nervous.
“Are you sure about this plan?” he eventually asks.
I know what he’s really asking. “You mean, am I sure about Fiona?”
“Yes.”
I clench my jaw. “She’s agreed to help us.”
Ronan’s gaze hardens just a fraction. “That’s not what I asked.”
Of course it isn’t.
“Cormac.”
“She gave her word. And so did I.”
Ronan exhales slowly. “Just remember whose side she’s actually on.”
I glare at him as he pushes off the wall and walks away.
I was going to go and check on Scout, but I’m too on edge to be around him.
He’s a smart kid and will immediately pick up on the tension radiating off me, and that’s the last thing he needs.
I want him to believe that the danger is gone, so until I can get a hold of myself, I slip back upstairs and into the office.
I’m immediately hit with the scent of Fiona’s perfume, which still lingers in the air from the other day.
I screw my eyes shut and swallow a groan as I try to ignore the way my blood instantly heats, as if I didn’t just have her coming on my cock minutes ago.
I need a distraction before I storm out of this room and do something stupid like seek her out again.
I take a seat behind the desk and pull out my phone.
Something has been weighing on my mind ever since the call between Lorcan and Fiona the other day. I can’t shake the image of it, the way she sat there with the phone pressed to her ear, her shoulders tight like she was bracing for impact.
The way her eyes flicked to me, just once, like she was checking whether I was still there. Whether I was listening. Whether I was judging her.
And I was.
Christ, I still am.
But seeing it, actually seeing it, was different.
Hearing Lorcan’s voice filter through the speaker, smug and assured, talking to her like she was something he owned…
It made my skin crawl. It made everything real in a way it hadn’t been when it was just words, a confession dragged out of her under pressure.
I drag a hand down my face and stare at the ceiling, my jaw tightening.
Lorcan doesn’t need to threaten Fiona directly anymore. He doesn’t need to raise his voice or remind her of what he is capable of. He’s already done the damage. His mere existence is a constant reminder that if Fiona were to step out of line, someone innocent would pay for it.
Her nieces.
The thought of it makes my throat burn.
If only there were a way to kill Lorcan’s threat. To cut him off at the knees by taking away the one thing he has over Fiona.
If she no longer believes her silence is the price of her nieces’ safety, then his hold weakens, and he loses his edge. And nothing would piss him off more than that.
I pull out my phone and, without thinking, dial Aiden, who answers on the second ring.
“Oh, how I’ve missed our little chats,” he drawls.
“I need dirt. On Joe. Everything you can find. Bank statements, tax returns, the lot. I don’t care how old it is or how insignificant. If it can bury him, I want it.”
There’s a pause. “The brother-in-law?”
“Yes.”
“I thought I already looked into him?”
“That was surface-level shit. I don’t need a phone number or an email address this time. I need something that could be used as a bargaining tool.”
“That’s crossing into sensitive territory, my friend.”
“So is having someone threaten a child’s medical care in order to control their aunt,” I growl. “So, dig.”
Aiden is silent for a beat. “You’re really doing this for leverage?”
“And for protection.”
For Fiona. But I don’t say that part out loud.
“All right. I’ll see what I can find.”
When the call ends, I lean back in my chair and stare at the ceiling.
Lorcan had no right to hold those girls over Fiona’s head like collateral. But more than that, he had no right to make me doubt her loyalty when the truth is I would have done the same. If someone threatened Scout, there’s nothing I wouldn’t do to save him.
Maybe that’s why I’m finding it so difficult to continue acting like I don’t care about Fiona…
I don’t like what this says about me. I don’t like that after everything she’s done, I still want to fix something for her.
I should let her sit in the consequences of her choices. I should stay cold and detached, but it's becoming harder and harder to ignore the truth. I’m doing this because I care, and because whether I want to admit it or not, some part of me still sees her as mine to protect.
I’m about to get to my feet and go in search of Scout when my phone rings again, only this time with an unknown number.
I straighten, my mind instantly going to Smirnov.
He’s been unusually quiet, especially considering he’s learned he has an heir, though I know better than to think he’s keeping his distance.
He’s biding his time, more like.
I’m already planning how to get Scout underground as I’m answering the call, but instead of a heavy accent on the other end, I’m met with a shrill, high-pitched voice that could shatter glass.
“Cormac Sullivan!”
I wince, holding the phone away from my ear. “Who is this?”
“Your worst nightmare.”
“I highly doubt that.”
“This is Zoe, Fiona’s best friend?”
Zoe?
I blink, genuinely surprised. “How did you get this number?”
“It’s not important. What is important is that you’re treating Fiona like she’s disposable, like she’s some kind of possession you can punish until you feel better, and I want to tell you to cut it out.”
My grip tightens on the phone.
Am I seriously being lectured right now by someone who looks like they drank a bottle of glitter?
“This doesn’t concern you.”
“Like hell it doesn’t! She’s my best friend, and if you had any idea of the shit she’s been through, you’d understand why she did what she did.”
“You think I don’t know what she’s done?”
“I think you don’t know why. Or if you do, you’re choosing to ignore it.”
“She betrayed me.”
“She protected her family,” Zoe counters. “There’s a difference. And if you can’t see that, then maybe you’re not the man she thinks you are.”
I ball my hand into a fist. “You don’t get to judge me.”
“I absolutely do. Because from where I’m standing, Fiona is loyal to a fault.
She loves deeply, and she sacrifices herself without complaint.
And you—” She exhales sharply. “You’re punishing her because it’s easier than admitting you’re hurt.
But you better put your pride aside, and fast, because you’re going to lose her, and I’ll tell you right now, Cormac Sullivan, you will never find anyone better than Fiona. ”
Silence stretches between us.
Zoe continues, quieter now. “She would do anything for the people she loves. And for reasons I don’t understand, that includes you too. Quite frankly, if you can’t recognize that, then you don’t deserve her.”
The line goes dead, and I lower the phone slowly, my thoughts a tangled mess.
Of course, Fiona is fiercely loyal. I know that.
The question that won’t leave me alone is whether that loyalty is freely given, or something she’s learned to trade for safety.