Page 7 of Dangerously Deceptive

“Where were you last night between two and five this morning, Mr…” Winslow clearly hadn’t missed his evasive tactic, and she seems very determined. Kellan still doesn’t seem fazed, as he smiles up at her with that sexy smirk of his.

Winslow doesn’t even bat an eyelid. There’s me squirming just at the sight of the smile that isn’t even aimed at me, yet her stone face remains. Kellan replies anyway, “I was in my hotel room. I am renting a room at The Shorebridge Motel, just on the outskirts of town. The booking is under Kellan O’Reilly. I checked in yesterday afternoon, and Shayla came to visit me shortly after. She stayed until around eleven before leaving to go to the club. I went to sleep shortly after she left, and was awoken by a call from the hospital. All of that can be confirmed by the motel’s records, and my phone GPS records. Although I think you will need a warrant to acquire them legally. But, I have nothing to hide, so I would rather you clear me as the suspect you seem to think I am, and move on to catching the real culprits. Also, as you can see, my hands don’t have a mark on them. Anyone who committed this level of damage would have evidence all over them. Would they not?” Kellan speaks very clearly and plainly, like he has obviously done this before. I wonder if O’Reilly is a pseudonym. He doesn’t seem like the type of guy to give out his real name so easily to the Garda.

A light chuckle escapes from Brown in the corner, and his partner turns to glare at him with an intense stare. It’s obvious she is frustrated with her partner, and if she grips her notepad any harder it will start to crumple. “Something funny…Sir?” she adds the final word begrudgingly, almost as though she is speaking through gritted teeth.

“He has you there, Mel. He has no marks, he has no motive, and now he has an alibi,” Brown adds, still managing to sound like he doesn’t give a shit.

“An alibi we will need to confirm, Sir,” she grinds out at her boss, before turning her attention to Kellan. “If we confirm your alibi, we of course will remove you from our suspect list.”

“Well, that’s very kind of you,” Kellan retorts, his voice dripping with sarcasm. He gains another chuckle from Brown, who does now look to be paying a little bit of attention to the room, even though he still appears disinterested.

“Shayla, you need to tell us what really happened. We know you left the club. We also know that there were several different DNA samples taken from you, which means you were likely attacked by more than one man. I’m not going to go into specifics right now, although we will need to when we have the results back and we take your full statement.”

From the minute she says she collected multiple DNA samples, I freeze, no longer hearing anyone else in the room. My heart starts to race and I can hear blood whooshing through my ears, as though my heart is pounding in my head. Black spots start to invade my vision as my breathing becomes rapid, and it’s obvious I’m hyperventilating. The movements are hurting what I suspect are broken ribs, but I don’t even acknowledge the pain. All I can think about is the truth coming out. I’m not bothered about them knowing who is really responsible, those assholes deserve to be found if they were stupid enough to leave their DNA behind. It’s the shame I’m most worried about. I can’t have people knowing what it’s really like to live at the compound, particularly not Kellan.

Just as I am about to faint, the queen of good timing, Annette, comes rushing into the room. She pushes her way past Winslow and grabs an oxygen mask that she places against my face, before securing it at the back of my head. She messes with some valves on the wall before crouching down so she is face-to-face with me.

“Breathe, Shayla. Just take some nice, deep breaths. Focus on my voice and slow your breathing right the way down. That’s it, love. You’re doing a great job,” she says, her words of encouragement, along with the extra oxygen, helps me to start to calm down and gain control of my panic again. Annette then turns to the Gardai. “I think this interview is over. You will need to come back another time if you want to continue.”

“I’m sorry that we upset you, Shayla. But it is very important we get more details from you,” Winslow states, looking very stern as she challenges Annette. The only problem is that the nurse, although small, is equally as fierce.

“I don’t care what you want. I am here to speak for my patient, and to do what is best for her. And right now, that is more pain medication and a nap. So, out. Now!” Annette says more forcefully, although she doesn’t raise her voice. She remains totally professional, yet even Winslow knows she isn’t going to win an argument with her.

“Fine, we will go. But, Shayla, we will be back tomorrow. Be prepared to answer our questions. I want to know where you went when you left the club, how you know Honey Killigan, and whatever else you can remember about where those DNA samples could have come from. But, most importantly, I want to know about your connection with the Reapers.” She stands on the final word, and even with the scrape of her chair, it was still possible to hear the numerous gasps in the room. It’s almost comical.

I was terrified at the very mention of the name. She has to know I won’t say anything about the Reapers, and it’s public fucking record who my father is. Brown is obviously nervous at the mention of the name on his partner's lips too, as he starts to shuffle around on the sofa before very ungracefully pulling himself up. Even Annette has obviously heard of the Reapers because she looks shocked at their mention too. Kellan is the only one who stays silent.

Brown practically drags his partner out of the door, and the silence in the room is palpable. I look over at Kellan, who is still holding my hand, he has since he picked it back up after his animated rant earlier. His face is almost as void of emotion as Annette’s. They both just look concerned for me, and it makes my heart ache.

“Okay, I’m going to go and grab some morphine to help with the pain. It should also help you have a nice little nap. When you feel like your breathing is back to normal, you can take off the oxygen mask. You had a panic attack, do you have them often?” Annette asks.

I shuffle around in the bed as much as the pain and the wires will allow. I’m still hooked up to machines and drips that are limiting my movements. I want to pull my legs up and curl up into a ball, but there's no way the pain would allow that. Making sure my eyes remain fixed on a small piece of thread that has pulled away from the ugly blue hospital blanket that is lying on top of the sheet, I answer honestly. “I’ve had them a few times, but never that bad.”

“Well, I think it’s something you could benefit from getting help with. I will mention it to the doctor to see what we can do. Does that sound okay?” she asks and with a small smile, I nod my head in thanks.

She obviously took my non-verbal message as consent as she returned my small smile before leaving, letting me know she will be back soon with my morphine. Once she leaves the room it’s like all the air is sucked out of it. It feels like the four walls are caving in, until there is only me and Kellan left. He doesn’t say anything, and neither do I. After a while the silence becomes deafening. I know he wants me to talk first, but I’m not sure what to say.

Thankfully, a woman I am quickly growing to love comes back in with my meds. After giving me the morphine directly into my veins, it begins to work quickly. I can feel the tingle spread up my arm, and I feel relieved that some of the pain might soon diminish and I can lay comfortably. I feel so stiff and awkward.

Annette leaves quickly, telling me to get some sleep and she will check up on me later. As soon as the door closes, the silence returns and it’s only a couple of seconds before Kellan caves. I’m glad he does because I wasn’t far behind. “I have to ask, Shay. What the hell happened to you? Did the Reapers do this to you?”

My mind instantly floats back to the horrifying events that took place just yesterday. I will tell Kellan about the beating and the humiliation I endured, but the rest, that I will keep locked away in my mind.

- Yesterday Morning -

Stumbling out of the bar, my phone beeps for about the twentieth time. I don’t bother looking, I know who it is. Reading and seeing how angry he is, isn’t going to help motivate me to get back quicker. I’ve only taken a couple of steps out of the bar, towards the road, with the intention of flagging down a taxi, when one pulls up. There’s a couple farther down who walk towards it, and since they have been waiting longer, I do the right thing and step back. Until the driver sticks his head out of the window and begins to shout. “This is her taxi. Go back over there and wait for another.”

I’m shocked because I didn’t order a taxi, but then I see the telltale sign. It may be small, but it is definitely there. The Celtic cross that screams Reaper associate. All Reapers have a tattoo of the Grim Reaper, holding his scythe, alongside a Celtic cross with a rose in the centre. That is the design of a fully patched member, but Reapers like to have a way to easily identify their associates and the people they have on the take, which is when they started tattooing the Celtic cross with a rose over the centre.

The taxi driver's tattoo is on his forearm and very clearly visible. Nearly all of Limerick know what that tattoo means. Sadly, this drunken idiot and his even drunker girlfriend either don’t know, or they don’t give a shit. As their loud reprimands of this taxi driver begin to gather attention.

“Like fuck I will. There is no way she pre-booked, your taxi firm doesn’t pre-book. I know this because I spoke to them. But they did say they were sending some cars down to deal with all the waiting people,” shouts the man holding his girlfriend up. He actually manages to speak a lot better than I was expecting. Maybe he isn’t as drunk as I thought.

“Well…there will be more cars then, won't there?” he states to the couple, before turning his attention to me. “You, get in!” His voice is stern and leaves no room for discussion, but once again the guy tries to step in front of me.

We are both now level with the back door to the taxi. I can get in easily as I got there first, and he is practically dragging his girlfriend. It’s unclear if she passed out or not. “You can fuck right off. I need to get my girl home. I have been waiting a long time. Now, move,” the man grinds out, as he full-on shoulder charges me with his one free arm. I stumble backwards, almost losing my already unsteady balance, and if it wasn’t for the bollard I was able to grab onto, I feel sure I would have crashed to the floor.

Upon seeing this, the taxi driver actually gets out of his car and starts around it. The man, in the meantime, opens the door and starts to sit his very drunk girl down on the seat. Within seconds, the taxi driver reaches us, he clasps the front of the man's shirt, scrunching it into a fist before using that to slam the guy's body against the car's side. The taxi driver steps even closer, getting in the man's face before starting to snarl at him.

---