Page 68 of Ciaran

“Don’t go. Please. Don’t leave me. I’m begging you.”

I almost lose it. Almost. I dig my fingernails into my palms, the pain momentarily detracting from the screaming inside my head. “I’m not leaving you. I’ll never leave you.”

His face crumples. “I won’t give up on you. On us.”

I bend down, kiss his cheek, and whisper, “I’m counting on it.”

Chapter 25

Millie

I yank my arm out of Tanner’s grip as we walk down the Jetway. I refused to say a word to him on the flight from New York, despite several attempts from him to engage me in conversation. It’s as if we’ve undergone a role reversal. I’ve changed the way I am with him, and so far, he’s changed the way he is with me. But this is Tanner. His nicey-nicey attitude won’t last long, and when he breaks, I’d better be ready, because the backlash will be vicious.

Ciaran’s face plays on a loop in my mind, sending crystal-clear pictures of his utter devastation when I left him sitting in that bar. God, was it only yesterday? His distress and anger slice through me, the memories so raw, it feels like my brain has been pickled in acid. Outwardly, I know I seem cool and calm, but on the inside, I’m screaming.

Despite the hurtful words we threw at one another, I know Ciaran. He’s one of the most tenacious, determined people I’ve ever met. Sure, the outer shell shows a chilled, relaxed guy who plays the role of peacemaker in his family to perfection. But peel back the layers, and beneath them is a passionate, strong-willed, forceful personality, with an inclination to want to help people. Either my plan will work, and I’ll save myself, or Ciaran will find a way to save me. I refuse to contemplate any other outcome.

I shoot a sideways glance at Tanner. I hate him. Hate. Him. With every fiber of my being. I’ve spent the last twenty-four hours fantasizing about stabbing him while he slept. I wouldn’t be able to go through with it, but it’s comforting to pretend.

The airport is heaving with people returning home from the holidays, and our luggage takes a while to arrive. We both stand by the carousel in silence, with Tanner having gotten the message I’m not interested in talking to him. He might win the world series when it comes to sulking, but I’m learning fast. After all, I had a great teacher.

A half hour later, the taxi pulls up outside my former home. I wait for a tinge of nostalgia to hit me. We had some good times at the beginning. But there is no nostalgic feeling. Instead, rage plucks at my stomach. I’m trapped, and right now, I can’t do a damn thing about it. But I’m in control now. I won’t rest until I beat this bastard at his own game.

Tanner unlocks the front door, drops my suitcases in the hallway, then walks through to the tiny kitchen at the rear of the house. I close the door with a quiet click and peer into the living room. The place looks the same as it did when I left almost five months ago.

I sit on the worn leather sofa, my anger growing like an out-of-control weed. Tension locks my spine, and my breathing shallows, forcing me to draw in a lungful of air.

Calm down. This is not your life. This is a temporary aberration.

Closing my eyes, I picture Ciaran, and everything inside me relaxes.

Beer in hand, Tanner flops into his usual chair, rearranges the cushion behind him, and grabs the remote control.

“I’ll allow this mood you’ve got going on,” he says, his gaze on the TV, not me. “It’s been a long day, and we’re both tired, but tomorrow is a different story, so get it out of your fucking system, because if you don’t greet me with a smile in the morning, you’ll find out just how mean I can be.”

I school my expression, my stare flat and cold, despite the staccato beat of my irregular pulse. “Do your worst. It’s nothing you haven’t leveled at me before.”

“Maybe I’ve got a new trick or two up my sleeve. You want to take that risk, darling?”

He won’t get a rise out of me. He can push and push, and I’ll respond with apathy—boredom, even. Let his scathing words bounce off me like raindrops on the ground during an almighty thunderstorm.

“Sticks and stones, Tanner.” I rise to my feet, spin on my heel, and leave him sitting there with narrowed eyes and flaring nostrils while I grab my suitcases and haul them upstairs. Pausing outside my old bedroom, I wish I had a hundred razor blades I could sew into his sheets.

I go into the spare room with no idea what Tanner will do when he comes upstairs and finds I’m not in our bed, but even he can’t be so stupid as to think I’ll sleep beside him? Even so, I pick up a chair and wedge it underneath the door handle. It won’t stop him if he really wants to get inside, but at least it will give me some warning.

My stomach growls painfully—I haven’t eaten since breakfast, and even then, barely—but hunger isn’t a stranger to me. Tanner used to refuse to give me money for food when he wanted to punish me. He’d come home after work with takeout and sit in front of me, licking his fingers while I looked on with a starved gaze.

I open my suitcase and pull out a pair of pajamas. It isn’t quite seven yet, but I may as well get some sleep. I’ll need all my energy for the oncoming battle. But one thing is certain.

I won’t go down without a fight.

Chapter 26

Ciaran

“Again.”

I tap my finger beside the empty shot glass. The bartender gives me the stink eye, but that doesn’t stop him from fetching the whiskey bottle and refilling my glass. We’ve already had words before I flashed my badge and asked if he’d like me to take a good look around the place. Oddly enough, that had shut the guy’s mouth and opened the whiskey bottle. It’s not my usual M.O., but what’s the point in being the nice guy? Nice guys always lose. I should fucking know.

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