"Just wash up," I whisper. I don't have the energy for a shower. I don't have the energy for anything.
He helps me out of my ruined clothes, his touch clinical now, impersonal, and it makes my chest ache even more. He hands me a warm washcloth, and I clean myself as best I can while he finds me clean underwear and one of his T-shirts to sleep in. It's soft and smells like him, and I have to bite my lip to keep from crying as I pull it on.
When I come out of the bathroom a few minutes later, he's turned down the bed, the covers pulled back, the pillows arranged. He guides me to it, and I climb in, my body sinking into the mattress. Everything hurts—my face, my wrists, my ribs, my heart.
Sean pulls the covers up over me, tucking them around my shoulders. His hand lingers on my hair for a moment, smoothing it back from my face.
"Sleep," he says softly. "You're safe now. I promise."
I don’t know that I feel safe yet. Part of me wants to be alone, and part of me wants him to stay in the bed with me. I want to say something, but sleep is sucking me down, and I don’t know what I really feel. And what’s the point, anyway? He's already made up his mind. The job is done.
So I just close my eyes, feeling the tears leak out from under my lids and slide down into the pillow.
"Maeve," Sean says, his voice pained, but I'm too tired to open my eyes and look at him.
I feel him lean down, his lips brushing against my forehead, soft and lingering.
"Sleep," he whispers again.
I let the exhaustion pull me under, letting it take me away from the pain and the fear and the heartbreak. I fall asleep in Sean Flannery's bed, in his shirt, surrounded by his scent, knowing it might be the last time.
And I have no idea if that’s what I want, or not.
30
SEAN
I've been to the Council’s official building dozens of times over the years, reporting on jobs, receiving assignments, standing before the five men who control the Irish underworld and decide who lives and who dies.
Today feels different.
There’s something tight in my chest today, a feeling of dread that has nothing to do with a kill or an assignment. Maeve is back at the apartment, safe and alive. I left her there sleeping in our bed, and the thought of her waiting for me makes everything feel different.
I’ll go back to her when this is done. And I’ll make it all right, somehow.
The door opens before I can knock. Liam Fitzgerald stands there, Connor McBride's right-hand man. "Sean," he says, stepping aside to let me in. "They're waiting for you." His expression is pinched. I know he’s been hoping I’d fail. That Connor would have a reason to get rid of me. But I’m not going anywhere that easily.
Connor McBride sits at the end of the long table, his eyes cold. Brendan Kearney is sitting to his left, looking like he owns the place. His smile makes my skin crawl, as always.
"Sean." Connor gestures to the chair at the end of the table. "Sit."
I sit. Liam takes his seat to the right.
"I understand you have news about Cormac Brennan," Connor says.
"He's dead," I say. "I killed him this morning."
Brendan leans forward, that oily smile spreading across his face. "Did you now? How convenient, after your spectacular failure to do so the first time."
I don't rise to the bait. I just look at Connor and continue. "He kidnapped my wife. Held her in a warehouse, tried to use her as leverage against me. When I came for her, he threatened to kill her. So I killed him instead."
"Your wife," Brendan says the word like it's funny. "The girl we forced you to marry as punishment for your failure. Tell me, Sean, how does it feel to have your leash yanked?"
"Brendan." Connor's voice is quiet, but Brendan shuts up immediately. Connor turns his attention back to me. "Tell us what happened. All of it."
I tell them most of it. They don’t need to know about our fight, what I said to Maeve, or what’s passed between us in the days since we’ve been in Dublin. I tell them that Maeve went out for a walk without my knowledge and that Brennan caught her, about tracking her to the warehouse, about Brennan's men and the fight, and finding her tied to a chair with blood on her face. I tell them about Brennan's threats, his attempt to manipulate her, his plan to use her against me.
I don’t tell them how seeing any of that made me feel. That’s none of their business, as far as I’m concerned. What they need to know is that the job is done.
