Chapter 17
SEVENTEEN
Cian
“Fucking idiot,” I whispered to Devlin’s sleeping face as I drew a comb through his still-damp hair. “You fucking idiot.”
I pulled the sheet down to his ankles, then catalogued every single bruise on his broken body. I felt them like they were my own. I forced myself to think about how he had felt when he’d thought I was dead. When that first fist had connected with his jaw, and he’d dropped without defending himself.
“Absolute fucking idiot,” I murmured as I rubbed arnica cream into every bruise I could find. He didn’t wake, only letting out a few small whimpers whenever I moved his sore limbs.
“Promise? I’ll give you a fucking promise…” I muttered.
I was gentle with him now, because he was injured. But as soon as he was healed, he was going to be in for a world of hurt. He was going to let himself die? Oh fuck no. There’d be consequences for that.
No one killed Devlin Walsh. Not even himself.
And especially not me.
He could take his precious promise and fuck all the way off. He didn’t get to hold my hand while I nearly bled out in the dark and then expect me to kill him. But that was a lesson for another day. We’d only just begun his education on what it meant to belong to Cian O'Shea.
I pulled the sheet up to his shoulders, then laid a fleece blanket over top of him.
He only wore a pair of boxer briefs, and I didn’t want him to wake up cold.
I also made sure he had a full bottle of water and an extra sleeve of crackers on the nightstand.
He’d need something more substantial to eat when he woke up, if he could stomach it. And I was hungry too.
But before I could eat, I had to talk to Rhys and Jace. Just thinking about the way they’d looked at me earlier made my gut twist. Guilt was an unfamiliar feeling for me. I made decisions and stuck with them, and I made sure they were the right ones. Usually.
My decision to keep Devlin was objectively the wrong one—but I didn’t fucking care anymore. The heart wanted what it wanted and all that bullshit.
Rhys and Jace hadn’t been in that crawl space with me. They hadn’t heard Devlin’s words, or felt his trembling hands pressed against my wound. They’d never been locked in a closet with seven-year-old me, stifling my sobs so my father wouldn’t hear and hurt me all over again.
But Devlin had been there. He’d held my hand. He’d stayed with me.
I left my apartment and headed straight to Rhys’s. My hand shook as I raised it to knock, but before my knuckles could make contact, the door swung open with so much force the air nearly sucked me into the room.
I swayed and braced myself against the doorframe as Rhys’s lips curled in a snarl. “Don’t say a fucking word to me until you make things right with Jace.”
I blinked at him. “Wha—?”
“I said,” he growled, “not a fucking word.” Then he pointed down the hallway.
“Jace is in the gym, stress lifting and probably beating the shit out of a dummy with your face taped to it.” His eyes dropped to my feet before lifting back up, as if he couldn’t help checking that I was okay.
Then he huffed and slammed the door in my face.
I stayed frozen where I stood. I tried to remember a single time Rhys had ever talked to me like that and came up with nothing. I’m sure he would’ve held back in front of the crew. But we were alone here, and he let me have it.
Not that he was wrong to be mad, but a “How are you feeling, Cian?” still would’ve been nice.
I made a face at the closed door, then lumbered down the hallway toward the garage, where we kept some basic gym equipment I wished more of the men actually used.
I saw almost no one on my way there except Mads, who was sitting at the bar with Jeremy, scarfing down a plate of French fries.
He glanced up at me and did a double take, then swallowed nervously.
I was surprised he didn’t rapid-fire questions at me.
That was Mads’s thing. And if Mads didn’t even have the words, that told me just how weird and fucking serious things were.
I had a lot to say to my crew. Anyone who hadn’t already seen me carry Devlin to my room had heard about it by now, and my men needed an explanation. So, I’d start with the ones I trusted most.
“Officer meeting. Tonight at ten,” I announced. “Spread the word.”
Mads nodded, his eyes wide as he watched me leave.
I heard Jace before I saw him. The clang of a barbell. The steady, rhythmic thud of him hitting the self-defense dummy. Then a harsh “fuck,” followed by heavy breathing.
I found him bent at the waist, panting. He was wearing a pair of athletic shorts, and his skin was covered in a sheen of sweat. He straightened immediately when he saw me, and I could see the way he watched me warily. Like I was a threat. Not to be trusted.
I felt fucking sick. “Jace.”
He tore off a pair of fingerless gloves before grabbing a towel from a nearby bench and swiping it over his sweaty hair. He didn’t answer me, and I didn’t like that. Jace wouldn’t normally hesitate to lay into me and tell me exactly how I’d fucked up. But this? This was Jace hurt.
“Sit,” I said, gesturing toward the bench.
He immediately balked, which I really should have seen coming. “No. I want to stand.”
He wanted the upper hand, which he’d eventually lose. But whatever. He could have it for now. “Well, I need to sit.”
I grabbed a metal folding chair from against the wall, dragged it beside the weight bench, and collapsed into it with a groan.
My shoulder and neck burned, and I could still smell the arnica cream on my fingers.
I wanted to be back in bed with Devlin. But I also wanted to be here, saying mea culpa to my brother.
“Do you… have any questions for me?” There. My best attempt at starting this conversation.
The way his eyes widened before narrowing into angry little slits let me know I’d chosen poorly. “Any questions? Any questions? Are you for real right now? How about this: what the fuck, Cian? What the actual fuck?”
Rhys had joked once—a nearly historic event—that Jace spoke like he just learned swear words. He wasn’t wrong. Jace’s face was always so animated, which made his constant cursing even more amusing to watch.
I had to answer his question. Even when I didn’t know “what the fuck.”
“I’m not going to kill Devlin. And I don’t want him hurt.”
Jace’s chest heaved in barely contained anger. “Why?” he spat.
I shifted my jaw. “Because I want to keep him.”
“You want to keep him,” Jace jeered, his pale skin flushed. “What a load of shit. Just fuck him and kill him like normal people do, Cian.”
I rubbed my forehead. Because of course Jace’s perception of normal was fucked. “I don’t want to kill him, and I’m not going to.”
“Ci—”
“Jace. I need you to listen to me.” I braced my elbows on my knees and held his gaze as firmly as I could. “Devlin didn’t kill Patrick.”
He went deathly still, but otherwise didn’t react. Also odd for Jace. Finally, he rasped, “What…?”
“Devlin didn’t kill him.” I emphasized each word. “He didn’t give the order to kill him, either. Patrick died in the crossfire of the war that took Devlin down. That’s it.”
I could see the pulse in his neck throbbing as his eyes bounced between mine like a ping pong ball. Then it was like his body came unglued. He threw his hands up and rolled his eyes. “You’re fucking lying. You’re just telling me this so you can get out of killing him.”
I refused to get mad. I stayed calm and cocked my head. “Do you really think I’m lying to you? About this?”
Jace planted his hands on his hips and turned his head to stare blankly at the wall. He bit the inside of his cheek and remained silent for a good thirty seconds. Then I watched as some of the sass and defiance faded from his posture. When he finally faced me again, his voice shook as he spoke.
“You mean it?”
“I mean it. I just found out. Right before I was shot. I was already feeling…” I rubbed at my chest. “…different about Devlin. And then I put the pieces together.”
Jace sank down onto the weight bench, our knees almost touching, and he fiddled with the gloves in his hands. “How do we know we can trust him?”
I don’t like the dark.
You’re not alone.
“You’re going to have to trust me.”
“And you do?” His head came up, and the naked concern on his face made him look like the teenager I remembered. “You trust him?”
“Yes. I never meant to feel anything for him. I was supposed to hate him. That’s it. But… I don’t.”
Jace gnawed his lower lip. “So he’s going to… what? Be your boyfriend?”
I didn’t like that term—boyfriend. It was too casual. But whatever.
“Sure.”
He scowled. “You can’t make me be nice to him.”
I huffed a laugh that sent pain screaming down my arm. “I wouldn’t dare.”
“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”
“I was in denial.” And that was the truth. “Then I got shot, and Devlin saved my life. I couldn’t deny it anymore.”
“So what happened? At the warehouse?”
I explained everything. How I’d opened the door to a masked man with a gun, how Devlin had dragged me into the crawlspace, how he’d held my hand in the dark.
I rubbed my palms together as I stared at the floor. “I was scared. Vulnerable. I thought I was going to die. What he did for me in the dark…” I lifted my head to find Jace watching me carefully. “I’ll never forget it.”
I reached out and grasped the back of Jace’s neck. Sweat dripped from his hair onto my skin. “I don’t expect you to understand or accept it. I just need you to support me.”
His spine stiffened. “I always support you.”
“I know. And I’m asking you to keep doing it.”
He poked at a hole in his shorts, and his knee knocked against mine. “You’ve barely talked to me since you brought him here.”
And there it was.