“Oh God.” Cian cuts me off and sits poker-straight. “Did she…?”
“She’s alive,” I assure him quickly. “But the explosion took her hearing and it’s been hard for Anastasia to help her with that. You can imagine someone so young losing something so essential is… tough.”
“Shit.” Cian’s jaw tenses, and the nerve just below his ear jumps as if he’s chewing hard on something I can’t see. “I can’t believe it. I’m so sorry. Do they know I’m sorry?”
The urge to reach out to him is smotheringly strong. “Cian, they know it wasn’t your fault so there’s absolutely nothing for you to apologize for.”
“I’m the only one left,” he says hoarsely. “Someone has to take responsibility.”
“Someone will. But not you. The shadowy fucker behind Hexagon who thinks he can take on all crime in New York will be the one we make take responsibility. For everyone who was hurt, everyone whodied. This isn’t on you, Cian.”
He shakes his head as if fighting off the truth of my words. Maybe the guilt is the only thing keeping him going, and I wish I could show him he has more to live for.
“I know Anastasia doesn’t blame you because she was desperate to find you after you vanished. She really wanted to talk to you.”
“Shoot me, more like,” Cian mutters while staring down at his half-drunk can of soda. “I would let her.”
“No. If she wanted you dead, do you think I’d be here with you? I don’t know what she wanted to say to you. She wouldn’t tell anyone, but I know it was important for her. She was distraught when you vanished from the hospital.” She wasn’t the only one. Too many times, I’ve feared Cian was dead only for him to reappear like some injured phoenix desperate for life.
This is the first time I’ve seen him so defeated.
“Once this is over,” he says after draining his can and crumpling it in one fist. “I’ll talk to her. She can do whatever she wants to me then, but after.”
The wall of grief around Cian makes my words useless so I nod in gentle agreement and return to the laptop, following all of the brief lessons Erik gave me on how to stay on top of what I’m looking for. The only surefire way to reach Hexagon is through the money so as long as I stay connected, we won’t lose them.
“Shit.” Cian yawns widely and rubs both his hands down his face. “I’m fucking tired.”
“When was the last time you slept?”
He shrugs. “Before I met you at the bar.”
“Then get some sleep. Two days without it is long enough. I’m gonna take a shower.” After linking the laptop up with the hotel CCTV, I shove it back into my rucksack and stand.
“You want the bed or the couch?”
“Whichever,” I reply as I head into the en-suite. “I can sleep anywhere.”
Cian grumbles to himself and I close the door, scanning the bathroom for an escape route should the situation arise. The window is small, but I can squeeze through it if I try hard enough. I doubt there’s much to catch me on the other side, though. And I wouldn’t leave Cian to fend for himself in the bedroom.
Stripping off my dress, I turn on the shower and step under the steaming hot spray of water. Given the time of year, I’d expect this area of the world to be a lot colder but for some reason, the heat has followed me all the way across Europe. Or I’m just wound so tightly that my body is simply overheating from stress. Regardless, the water is nice and I turn my face into it while trying to switch my mind off. Each droplet hitting my face, I try to envision it like a mini massage, and the water pressure is enough that it’s enjoyable.
But despite my best efforts, my thoughts drift back to Cian. I want to help him, but he’s so closed off that I’m more likely to piss him off than make him feel better about anything he’s been through.
Can I even make it better? His entire family was wiped out after they’d just survived such pain at the hands of that Italian bastard and his Triad friends, and I want him to talk about it.
It’s not often I feel useless, but it settles heavily in my chest as I scrub off the sweat and grime from all that traveling. If Cian won’t talk to me, then the least I can do is make sure we put a bullet in the asshole who caused all of this. Tropical shampoo lifts my spirits as I massage my roots and breathe in the mouthwatering smell, then I turn to lemon and mango body wash that makes my skin tingle. Calmness slowly seeps into my aching, tired muscles, and the allure of sleep calls to me. I could sleep for an entire week if we were truly somewhere safe.
Free of soap and gel, I’m reaching for one of the pre-packaged disposable razors when a strange sound cuts through the rain of the shower. Alarm pulls down my spine and I’m instantly on alert as all the calm in my muscles fades. I stick my head out of the shower and shake water from my face while listening for a repeat of the sound.
Did I imagine it?
Maybe I’m the one who’s going crazy.
Then I hear it. The most gut-wrenching sound of pain tearing from the bedroom. I’ve never moved so fast in my life. Springing from the shower, I snatch up the scrubbing brush as a weapon and burst into the bedroom, ready to kill whoever the fuck has broken in here, but to my surprise, there’s no one.
Only Cian, illuminated by the moonlight from the balcony, spread out on the bed fast asleep with one arm thrown to the side. Confusion twists in my gut when suddenly, Cian twitches on the bed and another wounded noise of fear escapes him. It’s so pure and clear that my heart immediately breaks. Abandoning everything, I slide onto the bed and gently touch his bare shoulder.
“Cian?”
