This didn’t seem like the type of place Joaquin would frequent, even for a pretty man who knew how to use his ass.
The whore crossed his arms over his freckled, hairless chest. “You’ll regret touching me. Joaquin will come back for me.” He raised his chin smugly.
“Ye’re right,” Cillian said slowly, with a hint of pleasure. This wasn’t going to end well for Joaquin’s whore. Cillian stepped closer, boots loud in the otherwise quiet apartment. Even with a possible concussion, he was deadly. “He will come back for ye.”
The whore smiled as though he’d won. Poor fool.
“Ye just won’t be alive to see it.”
The curve of the whore’s mouth dropped as realization set in, but before he could react, Cillian snatched the knife that was still in my hand and swung it, the blade slicing through the whore’s neck as easily as it would liquid. The whore gasped, blood spurting from the nice, clean slice the blade had made at the base of his throat. He grabbed his neck, eyes wide and frightened.
Corbin let him go, stepping back to avoid the splattering blood.
Cillian crouched in front of the whore, smirking. “And when ye die, we’re gonna strip yer body of yer clothes and present ye like a wee piece of priceless art to Joaquin. Nothing more than dead flesh, a trophy we won in this war.” With each word, his voice grew deeper and more frightening as the whore—I’d never gotten his name—began to choke on his own blood. “And ye will forever be remembered as the piece of tail they found in an apartment in Miami. Naked. Ripped of his dignity. That’s the price Joaquin, andye, will pay for messing with the Killough Company.” He tapped the man on the nose with the flat side of the bloody blade. “Ye shouldn’t’ve betrayed us.”
The whore opened his mouth and coughed, blood dribbling down his chin. He tried to say something, but the more blood he lost, the less lucid he became.
Cillian’s jaw tightened. “And we’re gonna teach yer poor Joaquin a lesson.” He leaned in closer to whisper loud enough that I could still hear him. “Ye don’t hurt any of me men, Aspen included. Joaquin’ll die a painful death for stabbing him.”
The whore made a last attempt at saying something, but he lost consciousness instead, his head lolling forward, followed by the rest of his body, which collapsed on the floor when Cillian stepped out of the way.
Cillian sniffed and wiped the blood on the knife over his suit jacket sleeve.
“Did that make ya feel better?” Jamie asked.
Cillian shrugged. “I got to kill someone who fecked us over, so aye. It did.”
Jamie sighed. “What a fucking mess.”
“How angry is Sloan gonna be?” Corbin shoved his hands into the pockets of his pants and rocked on his feet casually.
Jamie winced and rubbed the back of his neck. “We’ll find out. I need to call him and give him an update.”
Cillian crossed his arms and bowed his head. For a moment, I was worried he would collapse forward, but he stayed stock still. “I fecked up.”
“Ya really doing thisagain?” Jamie shook his head and pointed at him. “We all fucked up, like before, but this whore was my responsibility.” He nudged the whore’s head with the tip of his shoe. “And he betrayed us when I promised the boss he wouldn’t. If Sloan takes anyone’s balls, it’ll be mine.”
Cillian grunted and walked past Jamie out the door of the apartment. I watched his back, then sighed and followed him, after I got a nod from Jamie that signaled he would figure out the dead body. Maybe even display it like Cillian had told the whore.
Cillian stormed ahead, and with the pain in my shoulder, I wasn’t fast enough to catch up to him. I stopped to grab my suit jacket and slip it on before I continued after him. He’d stopped on the next floor, though, his body swaying. I grabbed him from behind, wrapping my arms around his waist, even though it hurt with my injury, and kissed the back of his neck.
“I’ve got you,” I whispered. “I’ve always had you, Cillian.”
He stayed silent for a few seconds. “I know. I trust ye.”
And that meant the world coming from Cillian.
“Whatever happens, whatever the boss says, we’re in this together, you idiot. You’re mine now.”
He snorted and the amusement in the sound had me smiling. “Feck ye, Aspen. Ye’remine.”
I laughed gently. “Come on. Let’s go back to the safe house and call the doc. You’ve got a concussion, and I need stitches. If we’re gonna get our asses reamed, let’s at least be somewhere we can have a stiff drink.”
He patted my hand that rested on his abs. “Or something else stiff.”
“Yeah, that, too.”
20
