With each slice I make into his skin, Liam’s screams hit a new pitch. After the second word, I take a towel from the table and shove it into his mouth. He jerks his head violently from side to side, and the only sounds now are his muffled cries. Once I’m done, I remove the towel, and it’s covered in blood and saliva. I toss it to the side. Liam is breathing heavily, his nose is snotty, and a mixture of blood and saliva is pooling under his head.
“Tell me what happened to my mother,” I grit out.
“She… she wasn’t… in a wreck…” he pants between words, eyes closed, jaw clenched.
“Spit it out,” I say, reaching for the lemon juice. He hesitates. But I don’t. I pour the lemon juice on the freshly carved words on his chest, and his desperate screams begin again.
“She was kidnapped and murdered!” Liam yells wildly, his voice high and childish.
“By who?” I ask, hovering the vial of juice over his chest again.
“I don’t know…” he stammers, and I move to pour the juice again, which seems to jog his memory. “I only had to make sure they made it to the gala! I don’t know who took her or who killed her!”
I consider his words, then I pour the juice anyway, not feeling anything as I gaze down at him, watching him writhe pathetically under the restraints.
I walk to the table covered in tools and weapons, and almost don’t notice Orin standing there. He’s looking at me intently, and I can read a mixture of concern and anger in his expression. I feel my hackles instantly rise.
“What? Why are you looking at me like that?”
“Do you think someone else should take over?” His question causes me to pause. I can hardly think, not with Liam's screams filling every empty space.
“What are you saying, Orin?” I pause with both hands resting on the table in front of me.
“I’m saying, Maeve,” he turns to face me now, placing a hand on my shoulder, “I think it’s time you sit back and breathe before you get too deep into this.”
“Somebody shut him up!” I yell, gesturing at Liam, whose screeching cries were echoing in my ears. One of Uncail’s men emerges from the shadows and punches Liam in the jaw, knocking him out cold.
I turn away from Orin and stroll around the room, floating on anger and adrenaline. “Who else is concerned about how I’m handling this? Huh? Speak up now or hold yourfuckingpeace.”
Orin approaches me again, his palms held up in a gesture of peace. “I’m not saying you should leave, Maeve. I’m just saying take a breather, is all. We all do it. It’s nothing to be ashamed of.”
Ronan, who is standing against the wall opposite me, nods his head, and suddenly I feel a hand on the small of my back. I look up to find Callum’s blue eyes on me. It’s hard to read the expression there. Hurt? Disappointment? It only makes me angrier.
“What?” I ask.
“Let one of us take over,” he says, his tone that of a parent talking a child down from a tantrum.
I jerk away from his touch, and his hand falls limply to his side. “He knows what happened to my mom, Callum! I can’t stop now.”
“He’s likely saying that to keep you from finding out what we originally came here to find,” Callum says gently.
“Why would he say that? Of all things, why that?” I ask, my voice sounding high and wild.
Callum sighs and runs his hand over his jaw. “One of us will get the information out of him, Maeve. We just need to focus on gettinginformation about what iscurrentlyhappening. Your emotions are clouding your judgement right now.”
My eyes widen and my jaw drops. How dare he? I take a breath, about to rip into him, when he adds hurriedly, “As they should be! This is a lot of information, and it’s normal for your emotions to run the show. You can have another go at him, but let someone get the information we need out of him first, okay?”
I breathe in deeply, slowly exhaling through my nose. I put both hands on the table and look down at them. There isn’t an inch of skin visible through the blood coating them. There’s even blood caked under my nails. I may have cut myself at some point, but I can’t tell right now. I look over my shoulder where Liam is still lying limp under his restraints, then back down at my feet, and I see that my boots are coated in blood, too.
“Fine. I need a shower,” I say listlessly as I turn to walk toward the door. I look at no one else on my retreat. If Callum is following me, I don’t know it. Right now, I don’t care. One of the men guarding the door knocks once. It swings open, and I walk through without stopping. I can hear footsteps behind me as I climb the stairs back into the meeting room. By the time Callum and I make it to our room in the main house, I’m numb. Physically and emotionally numb.
I step into the bathroom and take in my gory appearance. My face is crimson. Blood drips down my neck into my shirt. It’s coating my clothes, my hair, nearly every inch of me. The sight of it barely registers. So I just stand there, staring at myself, this blood-covered, spectral thing.
My eyes connect with Callum's in the mirror when he walks in, but my face remains blank. He walks up behind me and slowly helps me remove my clothes. There is no passion or anticipation in it. It’s purely mechanical, like a caregiver helping his ward.
And still, I feel nothing.
Chapter 40
