Page 46 of Crimson Tears

Then, he laughs. Clutching his belly and drawing up his knees, he breaks out into a hysterical fit of laughter. Actual tears form in his eyes as he continues, and I have no choice but to sit here and wonder if I am sitting in the car with a psychopath, or if this is normal behavior for someone of his upbringing.

“Oh,” he says, practically wheezing. “Dammit, Old Man. You had me for a second. I thought you were serious.”

I look around, wondering if we might be on camera of some kind because this is not normal behavior. “I am serious.”

All of the laughter, the smile, everything vanishes faster than I could snap my fingers, and a new man sits in front of me. His face is growing red with what I can only assume is rage.

“Do not insult me. Do not insultherlike that.”

He moves over the console, pressing his body into mine while giving me no choice but to lean against my door.

“If you think what we have is worth twenty million dollars, then I’m so sorry to break it to you, grandpa, but it’s worthinfinitelymore than that.”

A breath of relief I was not expecting escapes me before I can control it, causing Cillian to grin.

“Damn, Old Man.” He sits up and puts the car in drive, turning around to get back home.

“You really had me there again. Your poker face is excellent. Is that how you got so rich?”

I think I am going to get whiplash from this kid.

“I got rich by brokering thousands of deals for the drug trade across multiple countries while also running fifteen legitimate international businesses.”

He whistles. “Such a hot shot. No wonder she fell for you.”

I cannot tell if he is being sarcastic or just his normal psychopathic self.

We sit in awkward silence for the rest of the drive as we finish our shakes. The closer we get to the house, the more I think of her. The way her eyes widened when I found them in the bathroom together.

Cillian may think he is sneaky, but I could feel his eyes on us the other day when I was feasting on my girl on the couch. Just like I could feel him there tonight. A body in the rafters. Those dark eyes were so focused on our girl I don’t think he noticed when I began watching him back.

Our girl. Fuck. Is she really ours, or just mine?

I saw the slight tick in his jaw when I touched Nessa. He is possessive, but not to the point that he pulls me away from her. Something I am confused about because the moment he walked into my house, I wanted to stand between him and Nessa so that he could not look at what was mine.

Cillian is different, he puts Nessa in front of himself. Not like a trophy to show off, but because he is aware of who she is and the gift she holds with her presence.

It pisses me off as much as it makes me happy.

The way he went down on her, touching her and getting a feel for everything she liked so quickly was something I never thought I would enjoy. But I did. It wasveryevident how much I enjoyed it. I just could not understand why.

Getting to watch her face from afar when she came undone was like a gift and a form of torture all in one. As much as I wanted to be the one between her thighs, I also loved watching every inch of her react to him.

But the scared look in her eyes at the end unbalanced me. I expected her to be putty in his hands as he helped her to the car or back to her seat. I expected her to pull me close and cling to the both of us for support on the way out.

I did not expect her to look hurt and fearful or to bolt out of there, leaving us behind. Just like Cinderella did with her prince.

Which has me concluding what Cillian already understood. I let her have what she has always wanted, and she was scared I was going to take it away from her.

As we pull up to the house, Cillian pats me on the shoulder before getting out and letting himself inside. I take my time though, knowing she is waiting for me, and I am not quite ready for the conversation we are about to have.

I expected tonight to go so many ways, but this was never one of them.

???

I take a deep breath as I lift my hand to knock on the door to our room. For a moment, I hear nothing as I strain my ears to listen for more. There is a split second where my heart rate picks up and panic starts to set in at the thought that maybe she left. I don’t think I could live life without her.

Before my brain can spiral into a whole host of ‘what ifs’, the door cracks open slightly and a sense of relief washes over me. She does not come out though. In fact, she doesn’t even look at me.

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