No. Insane. That’s what it really is.
When I was young, before Lorcan taught me about focusing and channeling my violence and darkness, and before my parents knew what to evendowith me, I spent a few weeks here and there at quiet, discreet, expensive institutions.
I’ve heard people speak like this—in that near manic voice—more times than I care to remember.
“In the study, Cillian!” Gail calls brightly again. “We’reallhere, and we can’t wait for you to join us!”
All.
My teeth grind.
What the fuck is she talking about.
I move out of the kitchen, the smell only getting worse and worse as I approach a door that’s cracked open.
“Come in, Cillian. Slowly, now.”
I push open the door, and I walk into—
Jesus Mary and Joseph and all the saints…
The first thing I see, lying in the near corner, is Neve, hogtied and gagged on the floor next to a table.
Why is she here.
I want toscream. I want to scream at her, asking her what thefuckshe’s doing here too. But there’s no time. I push the door further open, and something rips inside my chest.
Una is on her knees, kneeling on a high-backed chair—a gag across her mouth, hands tied behind her, tears streaming down her face. Gail stands behind her, a gun barrel jammed against the head ofthe woman I love.
Past them, even Iflinch at the pure horror hanging on the wall.
The dead one—nailed to the wall in a Crucifixion of Christ pose, because of course she did—is Seamus. A very dead, very rotting,verydecomposing and disgusting Seamus.
It’s the very much still alive man, bound to a newer, makeshift crossnextto him on the same wall, that really yanks my attention.
Ares.
Oh, fuck.
There’s a ringing sound in my ears and a numbness in my chest as I try and focus onsomethingin this hellish room to ground me, with three of the people I love the most in this world in trouble. My eyes lock onto Una’s—so big and blue and full of tears and pain and terror.
Mine green, narrowed, and full of vengeance.
“Put the gun on the floor, Cillian.”
My gaze snaps to Gail, staring lethally at me, completely calm.
“Now, if you would, please? Slowly.”
I grit my teeth, easing down to lay my gun onto the floor.
“Kick it over here.”
I glare at her.
“Now, Mr. Kildare.”
My toe connects, sending the gun skittering across the room to land by the legs of the chair Una’s sitting on.