Page 4 of Crimson Tears

Before I can get it out or say anything, panic crosses her features. She clutches at her stomach as if she were hurting, staring at the walls like they are closing in on her. It’s not really in my nature to comfort people, but I reach out a hand and place it on her shoulder, pulling her attention to me.

“Just breathe,” I say as I unlock the door. She nods, but the concern is still there. I wonder what happened to her in that tower a year ago.

Pushing the door open a crack, I peek out carefully, gun at the ready. There are three entrances to the tower, two of which are inside. I assume they decided to protect the people at the party versus sending people down to this location.

Nessa comes out behind me, watching my back as we make our way to the parking lot with haste. Thankfully, there are tons of trees on this side of the property, and they’re well hidden in the shadows of the enormous castle. I grab my go bag strategically placed on the edge of the perimeter, in case I needed a quick getaway and throw it over my shoulder.

I watch Nessa move with calculated steps. She’s in full tactical gear with leggings and tennis shoes while I’m in a monkey suit with expensive shoes that feel like steel around my feet. If it weren’t for her clicking the unlock button on a car that’s hidden in some shrubs a few feet away, I would have tossed the shoes in favor of being barefoot.

Nessa tosses her rifle in the trunk before checking her red holstered gun. It’s then that I notice the black set of brass knuckles hanging from her tactical belt, and I have to hold back a groan.

Why are women with weapons so damn sexy?

Nessa nods to me then opens the driver side door. I strip out of my jacket and tie, throwing them on the ground behind some bushes while she hops into the car to start it up. The knot in my chest begins to ease, and I finally get into the very small two-seater.

Before I’ve righted myself in my seat, Nessa whips the car into gear and speeds down the abandoned back road, forcing me to grab the ‘oh shit’ handle and pray as she guns it all the way to the main road.

She doesn’t slow down by any means, but the speed becomes bearable when we are not being walloped by trees on a dirt road.

Where the feck did this woman learn to drive like this?

“What makes you think I want to kill my father?” Nessa asks after a long stretch of silence.

I scoff, looking out the window while noticing she’s headed for the airstrip.

“Because he’s a piece of shite,” I state matter of factly. “And because he is sending a lot of money to the Prime Minister to ensure these children are trafficked through his ports.”

She swerves as her head jerks to look at me before quickly straightening out the wheel. I, however, refuse to let go of my safety handle while this woman is in the driver’s seat.

“Are you certain?”

I shrug, pulling up my phone and activating the bug I placed on my target.

“Am I sure he’s funding it? Yes. I have seen the accounts. As for his level of involvement, that’s just a guess.”

Nessa grips the wheel, and I see the anger rising as surely as a thermometer heating up under pressure.

“He’s a dead man.”

Chapter 2

Driving to the airstrip, I find myself stealing glances at Cillian. He's so different, but also so much the same. Those eyes remind me of the boy I would look at as we laid out in the fields of flowers, tangling our fingers together. My heart yearns for the sense of home and belonging he once brought me, but it’s clear those days are over now.

I sigh as I shift gears, pulling up next to the airplane hangar. Why does it feel equally as exciting as it is disappointing to see him again?

Because you let him down, asshole.

White knuckling the steering wheel, I realize that's the understatement of the century. I’ve let a lot of people down in my life, but over the past year, things were finally starting to get better.

I have a man I love waiting at home for me in a house we built together. I have friends, a real family with Evie, even if she is sort of my boss. This job she sent me on was supposed to be easy. Find her man, find out what he knows and make sure he understands the need to check in with her.

I glance over at Cillian again.

“Why did you color your hair black? It used to be the perfect Irish red and you were so proud of it.” I watch him, trying to figure out what kind of man he is now.

Cillian used to be my knight in shining armor. I may have been the one to save him physically, but he saved me with his joy and those smiles that felt infectious. Even on the darkest days with my family, if Cillian came around, I found a way to smile.

“Same reason you colored yours,” he retorts, almost as if the question offended him.

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