“If you think it’s in your best interest,” she said delicately, though I didn’t miss the stubborn glint in her own gaze. Amelia either had more backbone than I’d expected or she was more than just a lackey.
“I accept,” I responded, my throat dry. “But please, let me see my father at least, one more time.”
“Fine,” Cillian said, his imperious gaze rankling me in the worst way. “He’ll be going free anyway.”
I swallowed hard. Freedom. Which I wouldn’t have for a long, long while. What would my coworkers at the library think? That I’d been abducted? That I’d flat-out quit? Honestly, I’d probably fade from their memories far too fast. Fuck, I was going to vomit.
“I’ll send him up,” Amelia said, pushing from her seat and striding out of the room.
Which left me in here with Cillian Ashmore.
Fuck.
He rose from his seat and strode over to a cabinet. It opened with a creak, and he tugged out a bottle of amber liquid that looked like whisky or scotch, though who knew what demonkind drank. Cillian poured a finger or two into one of the glasses sitting there and then sauntered back over. Considering this man would be my new employer, he was treating me as if I were a gnat to be crushed. I supposed casual conversation would be beneath him.
He sipped at his drink, and the silence settled over us with a thick tension, like a barrel of gunpowder ready to ignite.
“I’m a librarian,” I stated, cutting through the quiet. “So if you need help with files, that’s within my expertise.”
He arched a wicked brow at me. “Noted.”
My temper flared at his dismissiveness. If he wasn’t interested in my qualifications, what the hell did he want me here for? A dark thought flashed through my brain, but I squashed it before I could fully process.
I’d find a way out, no matter how long it took. Surely, sometime during my ten-year imprisonment I could muster a solution.
“Will I be confined to a room?” I asked, not sure whether I wanted the answer.
“There will be parameters,” he stated.
Clear as mud.
Amelia stepped into view again, and behind her stood my father, who was handcuffed. A big burly redhead strode up behind him, filling the doorway to make sure he didn’t bolt.
The sight of Dad offered a combination of relief and dread. He was alive, but I’d sold my freedom for his. His blond curls were matted against his forehead, streaks of dirt marring his skin. He looked worse for wear, his clothes wrinkled and stained, and his demeanor wasn’t sturdy but bowed.
I swallowed hard and rushed toward him, and as Amelia stepped to the side, I threw my arms around him. He stank, like he hadn’t showered in days, but I caught a faint hint of the overpowering cologne he always wore—the bay rum one. It reminded me of home, of him, and tears prickled in my eyes.
“You’re alive.” I hugged him even tighter. This might be the only chance I’d get in a long, long while. He sagged into me as if he’d been through horrors, and relief cascaded over me stronger than ever. I soaked up every ounce of it, from the heavy weight pressed against me to his ragged breaths. Gods, what would I even look like when I emerged from the Spires? If I emerged?
“What are you doing here, Beau?” he asked, his voice raspy, like it was unused.
“You’re free, Dad,” I said. “They can’t hold you anymore.”
He stilled against me. “What did you do?”
“Don’t worry,” I said, trying to shove the tremble out of my voice. “I’ll be fine.”
“No,” he stated, his voice harsh. The desperation there coiled around my own. “No, they can’t. I’ll go to the Pits. This is my burden to carry.”
My eyes stung, and his words alone reminded me this had been the right decision. “No, Dad. You won’t survive the Pits. I’ll be okay, I promise.”
“Come on,” the big burly guy said. “It’s time to go.”
Abruptly, my dad’s weight vanished. His deep hazel eyes widened as they met mine, and his mouth was tight with a frown, those wrinkles more pronounced than ever.
“No,” he said, trying to surge toward me again. “No, send me.” His head whipped toward Cillian. “Take me, not him. He didn’t do a damn thing.”
“Get rid of him,” Cillian said, the cool, cruel tone seeping into my bones. Dread settled in its wake.
