“Rory…Cherry…talk to me.”
He turns away, like he can’t bring himself to look at me. My heart feels like it’s being ripped apart. I wasn’t good enough, and took Rory down with me.
I shove the gun beneath Bruce’s chin. “Don’t fucking move,” I order, then go to the door, look and see the guy is still there, knocked out.
Bruce is still trying to breathe. Rory still isn’t talking. I do the only thing I can think of—call Ollie.
“Hello?” he says, voice husky from sleep.
“We need Cillian…Rory needs Cillian. I fucked up. Jesus, I fucked up. We’re in a mess and we need him.”
“Hold on.” Ollie sounds completely awake now. I hear some rustling around and then Cillian is on the phone.
“We’re on our way, but if he’s fucking hurt, you’re dead.” More rustling sound, then Ollie comes back.
“How do they know where we are?” I ask.
“Location on Rory’s phone. Is he okay?”
“I’m fine, Bunny,” Rory says, and I hear Ollie physically relax, but I must admit, I’m hurt he spoke to Ollie but not me.
“I’m gonna go,” I tell Ollie.
“Okay, Cillian is…”
“I’ll be fine,” I tell him, then end the call. Cillian is pissed. Cillian is probably going to kill me, but I don’t fucking care.
I toss the phone onto the counter, grab Bruce, and hit him in the head with my gun. He slumps into the bathtub, not moving, as I kneel in front of Rory.
“Baby…let me check out your arm real quick.”
His head whips in my direction, pupils flared, breaths coming out harsh and rough. Did I say something to make him angry?
“Please.”
Rory nods. I set my gun down, then pull his good arm out of his hoodie. When I go to the second, he winces but doesn’t fight me as I get that arm free. I tug the hoodie over his head and drop it to the floor. The short sleeve of his white shirt is stained red, blood running down his arm. My heart falls to my gut, flopping around like a dying fish, but I ignore it. I rummage under the sink and find a bottle of rubbing alcohol. I don’t trust anything in this house, so I take off my hoodie, then my tee, wetting it in the sink and trying to clean his wound. He lets me do what I want, washing it, then cleaning it with the alcohol. It’s not bad, thank God, just a slash, nothing too deep.
A million words sit on the tip of my tongue.I’m sorry. This is my fault. You’re mine, and I should have taken care of you…don’t change your mind…don’t stop wanting me, but I can’t make myself set any of them free. So I just clean him, try to take care of him, find a first-aid kit and begin to cover his injury, when I hear the guys arrive.
Cillian makes his way into the bathroom first. I’m not surprised when he grabs me, rips me away from Rory, shoving me against the wall, his hand wrapped around my throat.
“Put him the fuck down, Cil,” Tiernan says, but he doesn’t listen.
“I’m going to fucking kill you. What the hell did you let happen to him?”
My head is throbbing, throat closing up as I gasp for breath.
“I knew you didn’t fucking deserve him.” He grabs hisgun, shoves it beneath my chin, pressing in.
I want to feel scared, wait for something to hit me other than just disappointment at myself, but it doesn’t come.
“Let him go.” Rory’s voice is soft…rough…disconnected.
“Fuck that,” Cillian replies.
“Let. Him. Go, Cillian.” Then, “Please.”
The room is deathly silent—even I’ve somehow stopped fighting for breath—and then…then Cillian releases me, pushes away from me. I gasp, trying to pull air into my lungs as he kneels in front of Rory.
