Chapter 18

Everything about this situation is infuriating. The fear I saw in Nessa's eyes as bits of her skin were literally carved from her body is not something I could have imagined would ever happen to the woman I love.

Some mafia cultures may be different, but my woman is supposed to be untouchable. After the guards I hired failed my late wife, I made the decision that with Nessa, I would be her eyes and would not fail her.

Yet, I did.

I left my post and ran to them because they had been inside too long. It had been too long since I set eyes on her, and I needed to know she was okay.

That backfired tremendously.

To be fair, there have not been many times in my life where I have been ambushed by an enemy raining down from above with more men than we could have ever imagined. But I can guarantee it will be a concern from now on and something I will always be prepared for in the future.

We underestimated the enemy, and it turns out that Nessa's father is running this whole show.

I should have killed him when I had the chance. I watched as his daughter's fake casket was delivered to him on my orders. Nessa's mother wept at his side, but Donovan? He just looked pissed off at the loss of his investment.

I contemplated killing him then, especially after the few things Nessa had told me about him. But for some reason, I let him live. That is another mistake I intend to rectify. Once we get out of here and find the children he stole, I will personally deliver a bullet to his brain.

Over the year and a half that Nessa and I have been together, she has opened up about her father and what life with him was like. In the beginning, he adored her and her sister, but when it became apparent that he was not going to have a son to hand his legacy to, things changed. He became hard on her. When his men challenged her strength and whether or not she was capable enough to carry on the brutal Irish Reapers, he proved to them just how strong she was in the worst ways.

Now, I watch her sleep from my cell, counting her breaths to ensure she doesn't die before we can get out of here. If there is one thing that this venture has taught me, it is that the dumb tracking bracelets I invested in are practically worthless in our world.

The moment we escape, I need to convince the two of them to get advanced trackers under their skin that won't be affected by location or depth.

But thanks to Nessa, we're going to find out soon enough whether her plan worked or not. I am not used to having my control stripped away from me. It is not something a man like me experiences often and definitely something I would not tolerate under normal circumstances. But here, I'm helpless. I loathe it.

Glancing over at Cillian, I observe him as he uses some of the rock he broke to pick at the wall based on where we think the panel to open the door is. He didn't have to tell me his plan, it just sort of clicked when he began moving and I saw the hope in his eyes.

And now I have to find a way to trust him. Trust that he will get us out of here.

Cillian is careful to make sure his movements go unnoticed by the camera while also not making the hole in the wall too obvious. Which is smart because the men that come in here to check on us pay attention to detail.

Nessa's body presses against the glass between us, huddled tight. I cannot even begin to fathom the amount of pain she is in. There are multiple areas of skin missing from her body where that psychopath ate them like a rabid animal. I thought I had seen it all until I witnessed that.

Cannibalism is savage and deeply depraved. It can break a person's psyche very quickly, which is why it is rarely used. That, and only vile kinds of people enjoy that method of torture. The kind of people I would not choose to have on my team.

Torture is supposed to be an art. Tactical and methodical. You work to break down the body and mind. But there is a balance. Break down the body too fast, the information the mind can give is not nearly as accurate. Break the mind too fast, and you are lucky to get anything at all.

From the way Nessa looks at the door when she is awake, I fear that point may not be too far off. As it turns out, watching someone eat your own flesh weighs on the mind much more heavily than one would think. It threatens to strip you of your identity, who you are at your core.

I glance down at my girl, trying not to picture the woman I attempted to walk away from. The ignorant part of me says I am unsure of why I did it. But another part, the much louder part, says I do.

I did it because I was afraid.

Fear is not something I am used to experiencing as a former mafia don. Sure, I have fears, but they are not easily triggered.

Yet, seeing my girl's face as she came undone for her first love awoke a fear in me I was unable to deny.

My son lives a life of polyamory, and I swore that could never be for me. But seeing the way Cillian made her scream, I was afraid she was going to leave me. Or that I would have to explore something that made me feel vulnerable, something out of my norm.

Then, all I could see when she approached me after was her walking away to be with him.

I might have given them permission, but the two of them fit together so well, I had to help them see it. I just didn't expect the effect it had on me to be quite so frightening. It was so awful I could hardly taste my pistachio milkshake, and those are my favorite.

So instead of facing it all like a man and working through it in a way that created security and love for her, I thought walking away was the best option.

It was not.

Not only was I unable to sleep the vast majority of that night, but the second I heard her car leave, I was afraid I had lost her forever. That was my awakening moment.

I can't live without her.

I planned to tell her when she returned, but I found her fast asleep on Cillian's lap on the couch. He gave me a look that said not to wake her and I silently conceded.

I hope she can forgive me. I will never forget her face as he stroked her hair. Her cheeks were red, eyes puffy even when closed. I caused that, and Cillian was healing it, soothing her so that she could rest.

In that moment, I was grateful. Grateful that she came back and that she had someone who stayed by her side. Cillian's loyalty was terrifying at first, but the more I see what it means for Nessa, the more I want her to have it.

I have no idea how these kinds of relationships work, how to go about speaking to either one of them about it, or if they can even forgive me for what happened.

My only saving grace right now is that Nessa seems to divide her time evenly between leaning against our cells, as if she needs to feel both of us close. That alone helps me see how much she needs us both.

But it also brings doubt in my mind about me not being enough. I am not an insecure man. I do not need to be coddled or have my woman repeat to me that she loves me. Those things are nice, yes, but I do not require them.

However, I am beginning to see that my needs may be different than I originally thought when it comes to having another man in the mix. I need her to tell me she loves me so that I have the security that she does not plan to leave me for him. In some ways now, I want her to coddle me.

Nessa whimpers in her sleep and begins to shake before her eyes flutter open. I lean against the glass, watching her intently as her head turns to look up at me. Pain is written into every one of her features, but she lays her head back with a soft smile.

"I still love you," she whispers, as if she could hear my heart calling out for those words. Cillian stops what he is doing and turns to us. I anticipate his anger, but all I see is adoration.

Her eyes flutter closed again, this time looking more at peace as her breathing slows into a steady rhythm.

"Is there anything I can do?" I ask Cillian, trying not to allow my frustration over the situation project onto him. His heart was in the right place running into that building, even if it was a mistake.

I messed up too, coming into the warehouse instead of covering them from the outside. If I had stayed where I said I would, then I could have warned them. I have no idea how many men were involved exactly, but I could have gotten to a few, and they would have been prepared from the inside.

Cillian shakes his head. "Just do what you do best, Old Man. Watch over our girl."

He might be content to take all of this on himself, but the silence is causing my anxiety to spike. So, while watching over our girl like he asked, I help him put on a show for the cameras.

"You sure have been finding a lot of ways to rest in this situation," I say.

I want to help those watching us think that all he has been doing is laying on his cot outside of the camera's view every minute they are not in here.

"Rest can help us find a solution, Old Man."

I chuckle lightly, shaking my head and keeping my eyes fixed on where his head should be lying to sell the show. But I no longer know what to talk about.

"Hey, Kid," I chance.

"Yeah, Gramps?" I roll my eyes, the old jokes are growing overrated.

"What's the red tattoo for?"

His movements pause, and I watch as a lump forms in his throat. He swallows almost audibly. I have been wondering ever since that phone call and cannot seem to get it out of my mind.

He doesn't turn to me as he speaks, keeping his hands busy. "Has she told you about losing her sister?"

I look down at my girl, remembering her talk about that day that has held so much sorrow for her. She's sleeping soundly now, her breathing perfectly even.

"She did."

Cillian clears his throat. "I was there that day."

My brows pinch, Nessa never mentioned him being there.

"I was watching her."

Because Nessa didn't know.

"I almost killed him before he got to Enya," he says, his voice scratchy until he clears his throat to continue. "I couldn't calculate everything in time. I thought he was just going to talk with Donovan and they would come to an agreement. My scope was trained on Nessa when Ronan stood with the gun. He fired before I had the chance to process what was happening."

I can see the tension rising within him, his shoulders bunching as if trying to hide away from the awful memory while also trying to fight it.

"I seem to have a knack for being unable to protect the O'Neil women."

I can tell he is equal parts joking as he is berating himself.

"And the tattoo?" I ask.

Cillian sighs, dropping the rock and turning to face me as he scoops the dust of the debris he has removed from the wall under his mattress.

"When I heard Nessa died too, I lost it for a solid week. I killed every person who tried to even talk to me while I drowned myself in liquor. The kid that helped me save E, Juvie, he was the one to set me straight after I almost killed a sixteen year old boy who really didn't do anything wrong. I think I ran into his bike, but I blamed him for it and held a gun to his head."

I can practically feel his pain echoing in the space around us. I cannot imagine how I would react to Nessa's death, but I venture to guess I would be in a similar state.

Seems we do have a few things in common after all.

"He told me I needed to find an anchor. Tattoos were grounding for me when I became lost in the memories of the past. One thing that helped was putting them on my skin so that they could no longer run free in my head. Once they were there, they stayed exactly as I told myself they were. I couldn't run with thoughts of what could have been because what was had already happened."

"Why the celtic knot?" I keep him talking, needing a distraction and seeing that he needs to get some of this pain off of his chest.

"I told Nessa once that the knot stood for love, for us, for forever. I guess that was my way of showing her, and myself, that she was real and that she was my forever. There never was another woman for me and there could never be."

"And the red?" It was such a bold statement that I had to assume it had meaning behind it as well.

"A few reasons. After Enya's death, Nessa colored her hair blood red. I saw the strands stained with Enya's blood when they took her away; I could never get that picture out of my head. So, the red was for Enya, my reminder that I failed her, failed them both, and I needed to make sure I didn't fail anyone else who needed me again."

His head hangs low, but I am beginning to realize just how much saving these kids means to him. In his mind, it is his redemption for not saving Enya. The blood stained eyes on his forearm also make sense now. I would put money on them being Enya's.

"We will get out of here," I tell him. He does not seem to believe me though.

"Kid, look at me."

Ever so slowly, he lifts his eyes to meet mine. The depth of their darkness is nearly consuming. His gaze has this way of making you believe Hell is real. It is as terrifying as it is comforting to know that such a place exists. Terrifying because I deserve to be there, but comforting because so many others who have caused pain and harm deserve it too.

"We will get through this…together."

Those dark eyes soften, and a gentle smile tugs one side of his lips. He knows what that word means to me, what it means to Nessa, and it's what I can offer him right now. Because, like it or not, the three of us are staying together. No matter what.

"Together," he nods, sealing the deal.