Page 60 of Fearless

For all I know, Cole told Cillian to bring me this tea after putting something extra in it.

You know, something to take the edge off. To keep me complacent and submissive so Cole can come down here, tie me up, and do what his brother seems unwilling to do.

“Actually, it looks lovely,” I say. I crawl back over the bed, and Cillian steps away with a deepening frown as if he thinks I’m going to pounce on him again.

Oh no.

It was fucking obvious from the get-go, but I’ve come to realize there’s nothing I can do to physically hurt Cillian. He’s bigger and stronger and lacks…what is it again?

Oh yeah.

Empathy, the fucking psychopath.

But if he thinks I’m going to roll over and expose my soft little belly so he can rip me open and play with my guts, he’s got another thing coming.

I pick up the cup and saucer and perch on the edge of the bed, inhaling the steam with a quiet, “Mmm.”

Cillian’s eyebrows draw together as he blatantly waits for the punchline.

Ha! Two can play this game.

I kick my feet a little. They don’t touch the ground—they barely ever do, and it used to piss me off but I’ve had close to two decades to get used to it.

“Think this will help me sleep?” I ask sweetly.

Cillian’s eyes narrow. “You don’t have to drink it,” he says.

I laugh. “That would be rude,” I say. “After all, I’m sure the drugs you put in here are expensive.”

I pour the tea onto the floor.

Cillian watches me without a flicker of emotion crossing his handsome face. And then he turns around and rips apart my blanket fort with a quiet, determined fury that takes my breath away.

By the time he’s done destroying my creation, I’m huddled back against the headboard and still trying to dig my way deeper into the foam.

I dropped the cup and saucer, but I doubt he even noticed.

Cillian scoops up the sheets and blankets and pillows, spins around, and tosses them at me. I manage to get my arms up, but I’m still drowned in linen. I claw my way out, but by that time Cillian’s already dragged the sofa back to its original spot against the opposite wall, yards of concrete between us.

He stretches out on the seat, not bothering to take off his shoes, and pulls out a packet of cigarettes.

The smell of that smoke only reaches me a minute later. By then I’ve managed to sort out the linens and pillows.

We sit staring at each from across the room as he smokes his cigarette.

And with each drag he takes, my heart shrivels up more and more.

I should have been able to stay wide awake with him staring at me, especially after how he destroyed my fort, but my eyes grow heavier and heavier with resignation. It doesn’t matter what I do. What plans I come up with. He’ll always get the better of me. Always be one step ahead.

Silly thoughts start littering my mind as I slip into a pseudo daydream.

Cillian and Cole watch me being fitted for a neon green wedding dress while, all around me, camera’s flash and reporters call out inane questions like, “How did you meet?”, “How many children will you have?”, and “When did you know it was true love?”

I slip deeper still.

Cillian and Cole smile. Each grabs one of my elbows, lifting me, turning me. The fitting room disappears, but the reporters stay behind.

“Where will you live?”

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