Chapter 5

Five

Q ueenie

My body ached in so many places. You weren't meant to sleep in a bathtub. If you can even call that a sleep. I should have at least brought a pillow with me. At least then my neck wouldn't have been in such a big knot.

Cillian was a man, so he must have had a job. Surely no one who could afford a penthouse stayed home all day. Yet I had no way of knowing considering my prison had no windows to confirm.

Surely with the lack of sound in the suite meant he'd left for the day. Maybe it would allow an unplanned getaway on my part. But where would I go? A women couldn't even open a bank account without the permission of a man.

It was like men wanted to keep us tethered to them until they passed us off to someone else. Papa's only means of parenting had been to prepare me to be someone's wife. But that didn't prepare me for hiding from the devil in a penthouse.

My first real obstacle would be to open the bathroom door. If the bedroom was empty, maybe I had a fighting chance that he'd left for the day. Slowly but surely, the bathroom door slightly creaked, but not loud enough to ring any alarm. Relief rushed through me to find a fully made bed with no one in it.

Being able to walk freely in the bedroom, I pushed a curtain open to confirm the hustle and bustle of city folk. Everyone was either on their way to work or finding an errand to run. For now, I probably had nothing to worry about.

Making the mistake of getting too comfortable, I carelessly flung open the bedroom door only to find the nightmare made of human flesh, sitting on an armchair, cleaning up the barrel of his pistol on the coffee table nearby.

His gaze slowly caught mine, paralyzing me to my spot as his deep yet cold expressive eyes gathered me with a not yet known regard. "Assume that I left?" He asked, not sure whether he wanted silence or an actual answer.

I didn't think giving one would make my anxiety flare so much. "The bed was made, so I only assumed a housekeeper made it?—"

"I spent three years in a federal prison and you think I can't make my own fucking bed?"

"I'm sorry." I said under my breath, eyes pressed so tight together, I didn't want to open them in fear he would be right in front of me. It didn't take long before I could feel a looming presence lightly pushing me up against a wall. All I could do to not pee on myself was to keep them closed and recite Psalm 34:4-5.

"I sought the Lord, and he answered me," as even as I tried to recite it, I held back tears at what was about to happen to me. "He delivered me from all my fears. Those who look to him are radiant; their faces are never covered with shame."

The heat of his breath I could feel so close to my face, that I may not even have the privilege of reciting the words of comfort in more than just my head, depending on how he planned to deal with me.

"You think I'm gonna hit you?" he asked, but all I had the strength for was to recite my words, even if I had to whisper them. "Or you just think I'm gonna rip all your clothes off and take the thing you're supposed to give me as a wife?"

Praying that it would be quick, he places his hands on both sides of my face and challenged me. "Open your fucking eyes."

Blinking through tears, when my blurred vision centered, I was coerced to make eye contact with tense blank eyes. "Where were you?"

"What? I don't think I understand."

"You know what I'm talking about," his Irish brogue suddenly low and steady. He must have meant where I witnessed his crime. Blinking out the residual tears, I found the strength to reply.

"I was looking through a basement apartment. Got a job cleaning for a white lady so I could afford a new dress for graduation. At first, I thought the first shot was my imagination. When I went to look, that's when I saw you." He didn't need to be reminded that he emptied his gun with the remaining shots.

He took a deep breath, holding in how he really wanted to react, as he lightly snatched his hands away to sit back down. "Sit." He demanded and I wasn't sure if it was optional until he eyed the chair that I was closest to.

"I've been contemplating all morning, what I plan to do with you. It was probably a good thing I had the night to become rational. If you had told me on the way here that you're the sole person responsible for my conviction, I would've been stuck between throwing you over the balcony, or wringing that pretty little neck of yours, just so I could watch the light go out in your eyes. Having time to reflect, I know I can't kill you. Not without destroying everything my brothers built in my absence."

Cillian arched his back deeper into the armchair, stretching his long legs to display his fancy ankle boots. "So, I'm just gonna subject you to a story instead. After this, we're done. We can go on never speaking to each other."

He relaxed in his position, as his arms elongated across the armrests. "Once, there was a God-fearing priest unconditionally loved by his community. He had the type of devotion that ensured families having hard times never went hungry. Even set up fundraisers for tuitions for those of us going places. Honestly, on the outside he seemed to be able to do no wrong. But the eyes of God are always watching. And none of that good even means anything when you can't keep your hands off little boys."

Something about that statement demanded my attention. I thought that I had known where the story was going, but Cillian…he was making me feel something. I wasn't sure what, but I didn't want to.

"Ashamed to say it, but most the times I'd look away. Say it's none of my business. A few altar boys in our time learn the hard way how ugly the world can be sometimes. But I couldn't look away when it's brought onto my doorsteps. A cousin of mine got raped when she was twelve. Nobody believed her, side from me and a few others. But to give her some sort of life back, the son she had from it is was being raised as her brother. He don't know she's his mother, so when he came to her, blood in his knickers…" His balled fists hinting the stress of it in real time, so a part of me was glad he understood that I didn't need a full explanation.

"Anyway, she came to me because she knew I wouldn't blame her for what happened to him. I said I was just going to talk to him. I nearly did. Just talk. But then that sorry tosser threatened to out my cousin. Ruin her reputation more than the fucking rape had. So, I just snapped," he snarled, holding in anger, as he violently rubbed at his forehead.

"I know when you look at me, you see nothing but evil. Maybe I ain't no saint all the time. But there's a difference between that kind of wickedness and mine. At least I can turn mine off. A person attracted to kids ain't never gonna be able to turn that off. And then they find another person to be interested in and forget all about you."

For some reason, that made him forget his thought for a second, like there was something more there that he didn't want to share. "Anyway, that type of shit stays with you. Even as you get older. But they just get to keep hurting people. So yeah, I fucking lost it. Did I enjoy it? Yes the fuck I did. And if you want to know if I would go back and repeat my mistake if given a chance, you better fucking believe I would. But not just because I fancy killing people."

He came to a stand, pinching my chin in his hand to look him in the eye again. "More than anything, family is most important to me. It could be a sister. An uncle. A wife I can't stand—hell it could even be a cousin three times fucking removed. Long as they got Sullivan at the end of their name, I'm gonna protect them. I hope your question about what would drive a man like me to kill a man of God, cold blood, on an open street. Protecting family . Three years. For protecting family," he ended in a low hitch.

Tucking his pistol in the back of his belt, he strutted over to the chair he once sat and grabbed his suit jacket from the couch's arm. "I've got business to take care of. If you need anything, Seamus and Finn are at the door. I can't predict how long things will go, but don't wait up for me. Just because we're stuck together don't mean we gotta be around each other." His last words before he disappeared from the penthouse and into the lobby.

Before shutting the door, I did get that confirming image that two well-dressed thugs were indeed manning the door. Probably trying to prevent me from having a way out.

Now that Cillian was gone, I became more conscious of the lack of breaths I took in his presence. He'd been calm, but so far unpredictable. But I could admit some of my fear dissipated hearing his side of story, assuming it was true. I still didn't think any man deserved to die in a manner fit for a rabid animal. Yet after knowing, all I could think about was his cousin. What that information would do to her reputation if her secret had ever gotten out. What would have happened to me if my secret ever got out.

Woman never outran the things people said about us. Once you were considered fast, that's all you were seen as. Honestly, women contributed to this narrative almost as much men did.

Did he really care about what happened to his cousin enough to protect her son? I'd probably never know for sure. Every man in my life did so little to protect me. When you were a Black woman, you were on your own. Forced to take abuse from white men, Black men, any man really.

Having to look Cillian in the eye, I was ashamed to admit it was the first time I saw a person. Mentally preparing myself for a black eye or any other cruel way a husband kept his wife in line, to my surprise he did neither.

My mama always said it took more than a man not beating you to be a good one. And I was still sure Cillian wasn't a good man. But maybe he wasn't a bad one either.

Relieved I wouldn't have to hold my breath or anticipate running into Cillian for as long as business hours would allow, I decided high time to get proper rest. The only question was, what was I going to do when he came back?