Page 40 of Destroy (Deadly Hearts 2)

I’m about to stand up, grab him by the collar and yank him over his desk while I educate him on the finer aspects of being an independent woman, when his eyes meet mine and in their blue depths, there is a warning for me to shut the hell up and stay still. I shut my mouth, but I can’t help looking back over at Tadgh. His dead black eyes hold my gaze for a second before he drops it in a very clear sign of submission.

Well, fuck.

What is that about?

“You read that file?” Tadgh asks Cillian, his rough and ready attitude dimmed slightly now.

“Yeah,” Cillian replies and slams it shut. “You know what to do?”

Tadgh nods and then backs out of the office, slamming the door behind him.

I raise my eyebrow at Cillian. “Belong to Declan,” I snap, unable to help myself now that the threat is gone.

Cillian waves his hand dismissively. “Don’t get your knickers in a twist. There are very few people who intimidate Tadgh. Declan is one of them. In case you hadn’t noticed just by looking at him, he is a bit of a sociopath.”

That makes my blood run cooler. Somehow that scares me more if it’s an accurate assessment. Boomer was a complete psychopath. He had absolutely no conscience, no moral compass, no consideration of right or wrong. Tadgh is the opposite of that. He knows, he just doesn’t care and rationalizes his behavior. The tendency to be impulsive and hot-headed is what makes sociopaths unpredictable, and therefore more dangerous in my book. Although the opposite is usually true, case and point, Boomer, one could point out that I am a bit of a sociopath myself. That’s what makes it scarier. I know what I’m capable of.

“Knife,” I blurt out. “Do you have one?”

Cillian’s concerned eyes hood slightly, but he reaches down into a drawer and pulls out the most beautiful black, double-bladed knife and hands it to me, hilt first.

As soon as it hits my hand, I feel better. I relax and stick the tip of my finger on the point of one of the blades and twirl it around. “Pretty,” I murmur.

“I’ll need that back before you leave the country,” he says.

“Mean something to you?” I ask.

“You could say that,” he replies cagily.

I huff out a breath and stand up. I start to pace. “We’re a lot alike,” I say.

“I know,” he says.

“Declan knows too.”

“He does.”

“I like the way you look at me.”

“Oh?” he croaks out, standing suddenly.

“You don’t look at me like I’m a fragile china doll that has been physically and mentally abused.”

“Why would I?” he asks carefully.

“He didn’t tell you?”

Cillian shakes his head slowly.

“Good. That’s good. I’m sick of being the victim! I’m sick to death of being scared, and I’m sick of constantly thinking about being sexually assaulted and stabbed in the gut while I was helpless!” I roar and with all the pent-up anger and frustration coursing through me, I throw the knife at the wall next to where Cillian is standing. There’s that hotheadedness and impulsiveness, I was talking about.

Unpredictable.

The blade buries deep into the plasterboard and vibrates as we both look at it.

“I need to get out of here,” I shriek and aim for the door, almost hoping I run into Tadgh so I can show him exactly what I’m made of. Right now, I would rip him to shreds with my bare hands. There is fire in my veins, blood roaring in my ears. I’m hot and sweaty and the feeling of the walls closing in is making it hard to breathe.

I wasn’t ready.

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