Mafia King (Young Irish Rebels #2) - Vi Carter Page 0,45
my ears. My hand moves to the knife in my trousers and stays there holding it. I don’t take it out of my pocket, but I don't release it either.
“Did you send men to kill her?” Shay’s voice is loud, and the stairs creak.
“Connor.” Shay’s mom pleads again.
I place my other hand over my heart, willing it to stay in my chest.
“If I sent men to kill her, she’d be dead.”
They are speaking about me. I’m a sitting duck being here in Shay’s home. Waves of panic keep washing over me, and I’m losing the conversation. It’s moving closer as Shay climbs the stairs, but the words are getting more muffled as blood roars and thrash in my ears. My vision wavers, and my face is scorched with heat.
“I don’t believe you.” Shay’s words are closer now.
I close my eyes and count while tightening my hold on the knife.
“Get her out of my home.” His dad was right outside.
The door handle rattles, and the door opens. I want to withdraw the knife, I want to stand taller, but I can’t even manage to breathe. Shay and his dad fill the doorway, both looking at me. Numbers float and disappear, and I’ve never felt more naked.
Connor steps closer, and I think this is where I’m going to die. Shay’s gloved hand lands on his dad’s chest, stopping him from entering the room.
“We’ll leave.” Shay’s words allow some air to re-enter my burning lungs, but it’s sucked back out as he steps into the room and closes the door behind him. Sweat pools in my hand, making the knife slick as I cling to it.
Shay turns a key in the door before walking over to his curtains and drawing them closed. I can’t seem to move as he starts to strip off his clothes. He doesn’t drop them on the ground but folds each piece and stacks them on his bed. I move, trying my legs out and getting away from Shay’s large form as he moves around to my side. He’s only wearing boxers as he pulls off his socks.
His hands are a bloody mess, and red droplets fall onto his strong thighs. He drags his boxers down his legs, and the reaction I have at seeing him naked is shameful for the first time. I shouldn’t feel this way after he hurt me.
His dark gaze lands on me and steals all the air, not just from my lungs but from the room. It hurts to breathe. It hurts to hold his stare. He hurt me.
His gaze drops to my neck; I don’t see regret or shame. All I see is indifference as he walks away from me.
I don’t breathe until I hear water running in the bathroom. I should hurt him back. The want to use the knife has me extracting it from my pocket. I’m imagining the look in Noel’s eyes when he hears I slayed the Northerner.
I don’t know how long I stand there staring at the knife when I notice the water isn’t running anymore. I slip the knife back in my pocket as Shay comes out of the bathroom with a towel around his waist.
He sits on his bed and opens a drawer in his bedside table. Taking out rolls of white bandages, he starts to bandage his hands. He needs help. He’s struggling, and from the strain on his face, he’s in a lot of pain. He doesn’t look to me like I want him to. I want him to ask for help so I can say no.
I hope each touch of the bandage is like salt in the wounds.
Once he has them bound, he finishes getting dressed and takes a bag from the top of the wardrobe. He stuffs the clothes he had folded neatly on the bed in it.
“Let’s go.” He still won’t meet my eye, and I’m not sure who is stupider here, him for assuming I’ll be a good girl, or me, for being the good girl and following him out the door.
We make our way downstairs, but his dad blocks our exit. My instincts are to reach out and touch Shay for comfort. Instead, I reach for the knife in my pocket.
“I already told you we are leaving.” Shay had paused and now continues down the stairs.
“Leo had to bail you out of jail again.”
My gaze dances to Shay’s mom, who watches the exchange between her husband and son; fear and pain are etched into her face.