“Whatever you’ve done to piss him off, I wouldn’t do it again,” the boy in the hallway says, a sympathetic note to his voice.
He swipes a hand through his white hair as he tracks his gaze over me, his ice-grey eyes, and the paleness of his lashes, skin and hair stunning me momentarily. He’s beautiful.
I give him an automatic nod, then curse internally. I haven’t done anything wrong so why am I nodding like I’m admitting culpability? Before today I hadn’t even met the guy. I don’t know him, and I don’t want to know him either. Whatever his problem is, it’s got nothing to do with me.
“If you want to survive your time here, you should do whatever you can to please Arden,” he continues, the tone of his voice changing from one that’s sympathetic to coercive. “And that extends to his best mates as well…”
My spine snaps rigid, warning bells ringing once more, but I force myself to relax, meeting this boy's gaze with a neutral one of my own. Who the hell are these people?
“I’m Lorcan,” he says with a tip of his head as though I spoke that question out loud. “I’m the nicest of the group. You’ll meet Carrick soon enough. He’s stuck in solitary right now, and he’s gonna be tense as fuck when he gets out. I’d watch your back, he likes to prey on nice girls.”
Without thinking my actions through, I stride towards the door and slam it in his face, locking it.
My back hits the door, my legs giving way as Lorcan’s laughter taunts me from the hallway, and as I sit on the floor of my new home for the next few years, I can’t help but wonder what I did in a former life to deserve the hell of this one.
2
Lorcan - Present day
“Cyn, it’s time to start fulfilling your debt,” I demand, my fist pounding against her door.
The moment we showed her to her suite twenty-four hours ago, she barricaded herself in and hasn’t stepped out since. Gritting my teeth on my waning patience, I swallow my annoyance and lighten the tone of my voice.
“You’ve not eaten or drank anything since you arrived here. You must be hungry,” I point out. Truth is, she didn’t arrive here, not of her own accord anyway. We called in her debt and it didn’t matter that she wasn’t ready, she didn’t have a choice but to come with us.
Just over a year ago she came to us requesting the name of the man responsible for the death of her mother, a death she witnessed at just four years old that led her to losing her ability to speak.
We gave her that information in exchange for the murder of her childhood friends and our bitter enemies, The Masks. Except the night we stole her back from The Masks, Arden changed her debt, allowing his cousin, Christy, the honour of killing The Masks for kidnapping her, and forcing Cyn to make a drug called diamonds for us instead.
It’s a risk, of course, keeping her here. She is, after all, the daughter of Niall O’Farrell, one of the most feared bosses in Ireland. Not that it matters who her father is, he may be feared by many, but not by us. And whilst her late mother’s family, the O'Briens, are friends of the Deana-dhe, we don’t owe them a damn thing. Cyn made a deal with us several years ago, and we’re calling in that debt now. Neither of the warring O’Farrells and O’Briens can change that fact.
They know the score, as does she.
“So you're going for the sympathy tactic. I see that’s working well,” Carrick says with a heavy dose of sarcasm as he watches me from the other side of the hallway with his coal black eyes.
“I’d rather choose the path of least resistance, brother,” I shrug.
“Sympathy never worked before on Cyn. She saw through your kindness when we were kids and she’ll see through it now.”
“Go on then, smartarse. What do you suggest?”
He grins, a sly smile jerking his lips upwards. “I thought you’d never ask.”
Shoving me aside, he curls his fingers around the doorframe, then lifts his foot and slams it into the door. On the third kick, it flies open.
“There,” he says, stepping into the room. “Brute force wins out over sweet talking every damn time.”
If he wasn’t my best friend I’d hate him a little bit right now. “You’re gonna need to fix that,” I point out, stepping into the room behind him.
“Fuck the door. If she insists on barricading herself in we’ll just remove it altogether,” Carrick retorts, striding down the entrance hallway and into her bedroom suite. “FUCK!”
“What?” I ask.
“She isn’t here.”
“What do you mean, she isn’t here? Where the fuck is she?” I ask, stepping around him.
Her bed is made, the duvet pulled tight over the mattress as though she hasn’t even sat on it, let alone slept in it.
“Cyn?!” I call out, striding over to the door in the corner of the room where her ensuite bathroom is located. I know before I even push it open that she isn’t in there either. “Fuck!”
I check under the bed and in the wardrobe before tugging on the sash window, but like all the upstairs windows it’s nailed shut. Never questioned why that is until now. Maybe this was more of a prison than a monastery. Not that she’d get very far even if she had been able to escape through the window. Our island is small, remote and surrounded by an ocean with powerful currents that will drown even the strongest of swimmers. It’s why we made it our home. No one can get onto the island without us noticing and whilst we’re positive no one is brave enough to take on the Deana-dhe, it pays to be cautious, especially when we have someone so valuable living here with us.
“And you still don’t think she’s a witch,” Carrick remarks dryly as he twists on his feet and searches the room, as though expecting Cyn to appear out of a wall or something.
“She’s a healer, Carrick, not a witch,” I reply.
He shakes his head, sneering. “Whatever you need to tell yourself, brother.”
“She can’t have gotten very far. Come on,” I say, ignoring his dark mood as I pass him by and head back downstairs.
Carrick chuckles darkly as he steps into stride beside me. “If she wanted to play a game of cat and mouse, she should’ve said.”
“This isn’t a game, Carrick. She’s here for a reason, and you and I both know we can’t afford to lose her.”
“Lose who?”
“Arden…” Carrick begins, then slams his mouth shut when he notices the scowl on our best friend’s face as he steps out of the living room.
“Well?” he insists, a muscle ticking in his jaw.
“Cyn’s not in her room,” I say, cutting to the chase.
Arden isn’t a man who minces words, and neither am I. We’re as close as we are because we understand each other better than our own flesh and blood ever could. There is no bond stronger than the one we share. I expect his anger, understand it.
Arden’s eyes flare dangerously, the golden hue turning fiery.
“Where the fuck is she?”
“I’ll check the grounds and the beach,” Carrick says, grabbing his coat from the hanger by the front door. He’s gone before we’re even able to respond.