CHAPTER 5: COLLATERAL
701 Words
Valentina
The SUV smelled like wet leather, expensive cologne, and Cillian's blood.
Mostly the blood.
It had spread across his trousers and onto the seat. He kept one hand over the wound like he was holding down a napkin at a windy picnic.
Idiotic man.
Luna's carrier sat between my feet. Every few seconds she shoved her face against the mesh and made a sound that promised murder.
Same.
Ronan sat in the front passenger seat with two scratches across his hand.
"Did she hurt you?" I asked.
"No."
The blood on his knuckles suggested otherwise.
Cillian looked out the window.
I couldn't tell whether he was ignoring us or simply done speaking.
Chicago moved past behind dark glass.
I counted turns.
Left out of the garage. South. West toward the expressway. Two long lights. One sharp merge.
My father used to make Mateo and me do this with our eyes closed in the back seat. Mateo cheated. I always knew because he announced turns half a second before the car made them.
The memory hit hard enough to steal my next number.
I started over.
Cillian spoke without looking at me. "You'll lose the route after Cicero."
"I know."
My voice sounded thin in the car.
I started counting again.
My ankle throbbed. The cut on my arm had started bleeding again. My hands shook once, then twice.
Adrenaline leaving.
Bad timing.
I tucked my hands beneath Luna's carrier until they stopped.
Cillian watched the movement.
"Do you know everything I do?" I asked.
"Most things."
"What I eat?"
"Yes."
"What I wear?"
"Yes."
I had to wet my lips before the next question would come out.
"The people I see?"
He looked at me then.
"Three men in six months. One coffee. One dinner. One cancelled before it began."
The answer landed in my stomach.
The coffee had lasted twenty minutes. The dinner had been forty-seven minutes of a teacher checking his phone. The cancelled date had never known I bought a dress.
Cillian knew.
"You watched me in the dress."
"Yes."
I stared at the dark window.
"Did you..." I hated that I was asking. "Did you like it?"
Ronan shifted in the front seat and suddenly found the windshield fascinating.
Cillian didn't blink.
"Yes."
Of course.
The man could turn one syllable into something filthy.
I looked away first, which irritated me more than the answer.
"You were in my bedroom."
"Twice."
"You touched my things."
He was quiet long enough that I looked back.
"Yes."
"You're sick."
"I know."
I wanted him to argue. People were easier to hate when they defended themselves.
He just sat there bleeding and told the truth.
Annoying bastard.
The car hit a rough patch of road. His leg moved.
Blood welled through his fingers.
"You're bleeding too much."
"It is fine."
"No, it isn't. Press harder."
He did not move his hand.
"Cillian."
His eyes shifted to mine.
"Press the wound."
This time he did.
I reached into Cillian's coat before thinking too much about it and pulled out a folded handkerchief.
Of course he carried one. He probably also owned cufflinks engraved with the names of his enemies.
I pressed the cloth hard against the tear in his trousers.
He hissed once through his teeth.
"Too hard?"
"No."
His voice had gone lower.
I kept the pressure. The fabric of his trousers was soaked. My knuckles brushed the hard muscle of his thigh. I could feel the heat of him through the cloth — and something else. He was still half-hard. Or getting hard again from my hands on him.
I should have pulled away.
I didn't.
"You watched me change," I said.
"Yes."
"You watched me touch myself."
The silence in the car became absolute.
Ronan very carefully looked out his window.
Cillian's hand covered mine on the wound. Not stopping me. Holding me there.
"Yes," he said.
My face burned.
"You're a f*****g pervert."
"Yes."
"And you're going to do worse."
His thumb moved once across my knuckles, slow and deliberate.
"Yes."
I should have been more afraid.
Part of me was.
The rest of me was wet.
I hated him for that.
I hated myself more.
- Writer
