Page 36 of Exile and Embrace

I take a towel one of the waitresses holds out, replacing my shirt with it as I sit. “What else is there to talk about?”

“Why Portland?” Cillian leans back, his arms still crossed. “It’s a nice city, but you don’t exactly seem like the kind of man who wants to live in the middle of a city.”

“You’re right about that.” I chuckle and dab at the blood. “My fiancée’s family is from here. She thought that it would be a nice place to live. After the trouble I got myself into, there was no real arguing with her about it.”

Cillian laughs, the tension in his shoulders fading. “I know that life all too well. What kind of trouble did you get yourself into?”

“Nothing too bad, but nothing great either.” I shrug, the corner of my mouth curling up. “Just the kind of trouble where you piss off the wrong people with some powerful connections.”

“So, you ran.”

“No. I did what I could to smooth things over, and once I was given the okay, I whisked my fiancée away from all that. Except, it seems like there are still some problems following me. Nothing that getting another job won’t fix.”

Cillian rubs his hand along his jaw.

His dark eyes pierce through me, but I don’t flinch. I’m confident in my cover story.

“Tell you what.” Cillian stands and tilts his head to the door. “Come with me, and we can talk about your real skills. I get the feeling that there is a lot you aren’t saying and with good reason.”

Cillian leads the way through the VIP lounge and to a door hidden in the back. A set of stairs lined with soft white lights sits in front of me.

Cillian climbs the stairs as I trail behind him.

The office we step into a few moments later is small but built for whatever conversation he wants to have.

There are no cameras and only a few pieces of furniture.

He locks the door behind us. “What is it that you were really doing for work before you came here?”

I perch on the edge of the desk. “I was an assassin.”

Cillian looks like he’s won the lottery. “Were you? I have no knowledge of you.”

The corner of my mouth twitches. “Isn’t that the point? What kind of assassin would I be if everyone knew me?”

Cillian tucks his hands in his pockets, his head bobbing. “Alright, Finn. You say that you need a job. Which means that you are no longer employed as an assassin. That would lead me to believe that the story you just fed me about your problems is likely bullshit.”

The way he blocks the door has my palms sweating.

I avoid wiping them on my jeans. The last thing I need to do is give him reason to be suspicious of me.

I tap my foot against the floor, keeping time with the dull beat of the music.

It can barely be heard through the office door, but it’s still there.

The room isn’t entirely soundproofed, even though it is hidden away from the rest of the club.

“It was mostly bullshit. Can you blame me, though? I’m not going to announce to an entire club that I used to illegally kill people for a living.”

Cillian smirks. “Hence the marines. Was that part true?”

“Yes.” I push off the desk and stand up taller. “I had a job to do, and I got it done. However, there were a lot of people involved who didn’t take too kindly to that. I had to leave Nevada because there were people coming after me. I love my fiancée. I’m not about to get her killed because I pissed people off.”

“Admirable.” Cillian’s mouth presses into a thin line. “But that will be the first and the last time that you get away with lying to me. I will not tolerate it if you are to be employed by me.”

“You’re going to give me a job?”

It should be harder than this. Though, if he is offering me a job, I’m going to have to prove myself to him.

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