6. Chapter Six

Chapter Six

D reams were always a problem for me, but dreaming of him was the worst. I’d made a lot of bad decisions in my life, poor choices that couldn’t be explained away with youth and stupidity, but the things I did with him were far and away the most shameful moments of my life.

I could try to excuse it by saying I’d been a captive, trying to escape before the patriarch of that twisted family lost patience and did away with me. I could say my mother had failed me by not letting me know about the danger that was coming before I tumbled into it, head over heels. I could say he should have been the one to bear the shame, since he had technically been free while I’d been the one imprisoned. All of that would be lies, though—awful, facetious lies. The truth was, I’d seen an opportunity in S?ren’s eyes, and I took it.

I’d never witnessed anything like that in another fate since, a moment of teetering where my own actions would make a significant change in another person’s destiny. I’d never seen it before that, either. By the time I’d realized what was going on, it had been too late to turn back. I might as well have shoved S?ren down the lightless hole I saw in his eyes myself. The only thing I knew—knew completely, uncontrovertibly—was that he was dead. He had to be dead. There was nothing left to see. The vision ended in the dark, with all his fear and confusion and helpless anger consumed by…

I didn’t know, and I didn’t want to know, but my mind wouldn’t let go of it. The painkillers kept me under for a long time, and every second of it was a misery, because every second of it was with S?ren. Worst of all, it wasn’t just the end that replayed in my mind. I remembered every minute with him, from the first halting, shy glances to the heat of his fumbling, eager embrace. I remembered every moment of seducing him, turning him to my purpose and sealing his fate in a way I hadn’t understood then and hadn’t cared to. He’d been a means to an end, and it wasn’t until the end came that I’d realized what a goddamn idiot I’d been.

I woke up with a headache and a hard-on, which I glared at before stumbling to my feet and heading to the shower. My arm hurt―it hurt like hell―and I swallowed another painkiller and antibiotic before turning on the hot water.

“Cillian!” Marisol banged at my door. “You better not get that wound wet. Come here, let me wrap it.”

Oh, for the love of… I stared down at my crotch. Nope, still there. Whatever. I’d leave the door mostly shut and just hold my arm out. She could deal.

I opened the door a crack and saw Marisol, hair pulled back into a messy bun and wearing nothing but a purple sarong and her slippers.

She tapped the doorjamb with a box of plastic wrap. “Come on then, let me see it.”

“Hang on.” I tried to turn myself so I could stick my right arm out the door while still concealing the rest of me, but extending it was harder than I’d thought it would be.

“Just open the door.”

“Give me a minute.”

“Stop being an idiot and open the door!”

“Mari!”

“Cillian!” She looked me up and down and then rolled her eyes. “Oh please, I’ve seen it all before. You’re not going to shock me with your morning wood.” She pushed past me and into the room. “Sit down.”

“Jesus Christ, you’re pushy,” I groused, but I sat for her. She touched my right arm with warm, tender fingers that belied her snappish tone.

“I bathed you as a baby,” Marisol reminded me as she peeled back the bandage and got a look at my arm. “Right there in that very same bathtub, so don’t get stupid with me when I’m just trying to make sure you don’t injure yourself further.” She ran her hand up to my shoulder and pressed on the muscles there, making me groan with relief. “You should wear a sling today, let your arm relax.”

“It’s done nothing but relax for the past twelve hours.”

Marisol gently smacked the side of my head with her free hand. “That’s all it should be doing, after being shot. Honestly, Cillian.” Her lips were terse lines as she rewrapped the bandage and carefully covered my elbow with plastic wrap. “I called your mother last night.”

“Ah.” I would have paid to have heard that conversation. “She say anything interesting?”

“Just that this was a necessary step for you. I asked her ‘how is your baby being shot a necessary thing, huh?’ She didn’t answer, of course. I love your mama, Cillian, but I swear she makes me want to rip out my hair sometimes.”

“Try living with her,” I joked.

Marisol sighed as she tied a knot in the plastic. “I know how I would feel in her shoes. I’d want to know my baby was safe. I’d do everything I could to keep him that way.” She paused. “You’re sure, aren’t you? About Tavo?”

“I’m sure,” I said. “I see his face beside your bed on the last day of your life.” It was a truth so twisted I was surprised the words even made it out of my mouth, but technically it was true. Marisol had a good bullshit detector, but in this case, I knew she wouldn’t call me on it. She wanted to be fooled.

She leaned in and kissed my cheek. “Thank you, Cillian.” She smiled and then stood. “Phin’s making breakfast downstairs. You’d better hurry if you want to get any of it.”

I stared at her. “Why is Phin here?”

“Because I asked him to stay last night.” She took in my expression and began to laugh, evilly, almost a cackle. “What, you didn’t know he’s my booty call? My man on the side? My—”

“Stop. Leave, go―I don’t need to hear anything else. I really don’t.”

“Oh, you’re such a wimp.” Marisol grabbed the plastic and left, and I got on with my neglected shower.

The warmth was incredibly relaxing, and despite everything I might have been tempted to get off that morning except, of course, I was right-handed. It was hard enough to open the shampoo bottle with my left hand, much less resurrect my erection.

I showered thoroughly, getting the flecks of blood and the patina of sweat and alcohol off me, and also, maybe, prolonging things so Phin would be gone by the time I got downstairs. I got dressed, another bitch of a thing to do with an arm injury, and took a second to mourn the loss of my nice gray suit pants before I finally went downstairs.

Phin was still there, of course, wearing a fresh pair of jeans and a clean white undershirt. He was sipping a cup of coffee and reading the paper with the help of a pair of spectacles I’d never seen on him before.

“Eggs and sausage are on the stove,” he told me as I came into the kitchen.

“Since when have you worn glasses?” I asked as I fetched my breakfast.

“They’re just reading glasses. I keep a spare pair here.”

“You’re over often enough to keep spare things here?”

“We all have needs,” Marisol informed me from where she sat shuffling the tarot deck. “It’s not a sin. Come on now, sit, eat. We can do a spread.”

I sighed. “Can we not? Yesterday’s was kind of inconclusive.”

“All the more reason to try again today,” she coaxed. “It might give you some clarity.”

“Fine.” I was such a sucker. I awkwardly stabbed a few puffs of scrambled egg and ate while she shuffled a few more times. The painkiller was kicking in, and the sweet coffee helped take care of my headache. Everything would have been fine if not for the fact that I felt like I was forgetting something.

“Here.” She handed me the deck. “Cut.” I cut it once, again, and then a third time before handing it back since I couldn’t shuffle on my own. Marisol fanned the cards out. “Now pull three.”

“My lucky number,” I muttered, but I obediently pulled three cards and laid them facedown on the table. She held a hand over the first one and then slowly turned it over.

“The Eight of Wands, reversed.” She frowned at it. “Something important is going to happen today. You’re going to want to jump into it quickly, but be careful about that. It could lead to frustration and mistakes.”

“Sounds like me,” I agreed.

“Don’t be flippant, Cillian, this is serious. I thought you were planning on staying here another week.”

“I am. Where would I go, especially with this?” I gestured with my good arm at the bandaged one.

“ Somewhere , if this card is to be believed.” Marisol shook her head a little. “Ah, well. Let’s see what’s next.” She turned it. “Oh. Death.”

“He’s coming for revenge since I cheated him yesterday.”

“No, that’s not what it means and you know it,” she chided me. “Death is a sudden and unexpected change, a transition, a―it’s the beginning of a whole new phase in your life.” Marisol looked at me, her concern clear in the furrow of her brow and the downturn of her mouth. “What’s going on with you today, Cillian?”

I swallowed. “I don’t know.” Except there was something at the back of my mind, niggling at me. “Turn the last one over.”

She did. “The Hanged Man, reversed. Again.” We all stared down at the card. “Cillian, think, something important must be happening today. Is it related to the man you met yesterday, the cowboy?”

“No,” I said slowly. “I don’t think so. He was part of it, but…” What was it that had spurred my awful night? “Oh, shit.” I pawed at my pocket for my phone, pulling up the article on it as fast as I could get the damn thing to turn on. I found the picture I needed, zoomed in as best I could, and stared at it.

I could be mistaken. It had been two years―that was a long time to still be able to recognize someone, especially since he’d only been twenty when I met him. You still changed a lot at that age. Of course, he’d been taller than me already and broader through the shoulders thanks to his Nordic heritage, so how much bigger could I expect him to get? But the curve of his chin, the way his naturally blond hair seemed to reach skyward, the way his hand lay on the side of the gun…it looked like him.

I pulled back and scanned the article for a name that might confirm it, the name I’d missed the night before. A businessman who’d angered the government of Iceland by moving a portion of his ancestral homeland—emphasis on the land , I had no idea how he’d done it—to America, where it was sitting in a warehouse outside Chicago. Possible ties to the Bróeurlega, the Icelandic mafia. Shit, who even knew they had a mafia? Name, name―there. ólafur Egilsson.

It was him, then. Fuck my life. It felt like the floor had just vanished and I was freefalling straight into Hell. “It’s…well.” I swallowed hard. “I think I’m looking at a dead man.”