Page 21 of The Celtic Resolution
“Fine. Seen worse.”
“So have I,” I say, then I scold myself. It’s hardly a competition. “It doesn’t get easier.”
“No.” He sighs deeply and rubs at his eyes. “I knew, though. I heard them talk about dolls. I heard that guy say it was a holding house so I knew, but I just didn’t expect them all to look so…” He rubs at his bearded jaw while he searches for words. Failing, hepuffs out his cheeks. “It’s like being aware of something terrible and then really facing it for the first time makes it feel unreal. Like, how can it possibly be real?”
The cocky man with the swagger and smirk has been replaced by a deeply troubled guy struggling to wrap his head around the true dark depravity of what we’re dealing with.
“Focus on the positives,” I say gently. “We saved them. We got them out. They’ll get treatment and… sadly, it does prove what I feared. There’s human trafficking going on right underneath our noses.” The Russians made a huge spectacle of cleaning up this kind of filth a few years ago when Anastasia took over. Is it possible she’s gone back on her word? Doubtful. She wouldn’t be working with the Triads, that’s for sure.
“Is that a positive?” Bruno fixes me with an earnest look. “Is that really how you see it?”
I shrug as casually as I can. “If I look at it any other way, I risk spiraling down a dark path. We all do fucked up shit in this life, but the moral line of people as product? We don’t cross that line. And someone is. So, we’re going to stop them.”
“We are,” Bruno agrees, although it sounds more like a question than a determined decision.
“Cheer up.” I smirk, elbowing him lightly. “Your hair is getting as flat as your mood.”
“Oh, no!” Both his hands sink into his hair and he tries to ruffle the strands enough to return them to their original voluminous look. “Shit.”
“Don’t tell me the volume was fake?” I gasp. “Our trust is crumbling.”
“It’s true,” he replies with mock sadness. “It’s all mousse and a teasing comb.”
“Old school. I like it.”
“Oldies are the goodies.”
“Fair.”
“Saoirse, let me buy you a drink.”
I stop dead a foot away from my car door. It’s an innocent request and after a night like this, I need one. But is it so innocent when I’ve already entertained that glimpse of his waist and enjoyed the coyness in his smirks?
Fuck it. I need something good.
My hand lingers on the door as I turn back to where he still leans on the hood of my car.
“One drink.”
9
BRUNO
One drink turns into three, for me, at least. Saoirse sticks to lemonade, but I don’t press the issue.
All I want is some time together.
Time that’s spent being real people after the horror we witnessed in that house. Those poor women… The blonde one who clung to me like her life depended on it still has my leather jacket, but I don’t have the heart to take it back from her. If it brings her comfort, then I’m happy to let her keep it for as long as she wants. Forever, in fact.
The Black Ox is quiet for a Thursday night. Hazel’s busy at the bar cleaning glasses and wiping down the bartop with polish and a duster. Two men drink together in the back corner while Saoirse and I sit near the door. She toys with the lemon slice from her drink while contemplating how to answer my question.
“Alright, if I had to choose which sibling I’d take with me to a desert island it would have to be Cian, my twin. Not just because he’s my twin but because if anyone is smart enough to find a way to contact the outside world and get us rescued, it would be him.”
“Is he some kind of survivalist?” I chuckle over the edge of my glass.
“No, he’s just lucky.” She shrugs one shoulder. “He’s got this knack for scraping by in life. Honestly, once he was shot, and it somehow missed every single vital organ despite how it should have killed him from the angle. He’s fallen out of trees without a scratch, jumped from a three-story window with only a sprained ankle while I broke my arm and three ribs.” She laughs softly. “He’s blessed by someone.”
“Why the hell were you jumping out of a third-story window?”
