My heart races as much as it fills with utter love for the man who would do this for me.
I stop a block from Cillian’s home and get out of my car. The bikes pull up behind me.
“Irish,” King says as I walk by him and Clutch on the front row.
“King,” I nod.
When I get to Spark, he takes off his helmet and grins at me. “Hey, little chick.”
“Don’tlittle chickme, Tyler John Hyatt.”
“Oh, she full-named him,” I hear Halo say, and someone chuckles.
I turn to glare, but Spark puts his hands on my hips and pulls me close. “You honestly thought I was going to let you come here alone?”
I sigh. “Yes. I did. You shouldn’t be here. I don’t want you to get hurt.”
Spark sighs. “And that right there is why I love you.” He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small black disk with a button. “We’re going wait down the block,” he says, tipping his chin further along the block. “But you press that, we’ll be with you in minutes. It’s an alarm connected to Vex’s watch.”
I hadn’t realized how tight my chest was until I let out a breath. “Thank you.”
“You’re never alone, LC. Never.” He fists my hair, tight enough to momentarily distract me, and kisses me hard. Fingers grip my hip. “You got an hour, then I’m coming to find you.”
I nod, unable to speak for the emotions choking my throat.
“Jesus, that kiss gave me a boner,” Niro jokes, and Spark flips him the bird while smiling at me.
“Go,” Spark says, tipping his chin towards my car. “You know how much I like watching your ass.”
As I walk back to my car, Clutch touches my elbow. “Good luck, Irish. We’ve got your back.”
I use the few minutes it takes to get to Cillian’s to compose myself. I have a found family that will put themselves in harm’s way for me and it’s almost more than I can handle.
I told Cillian I’m coming, so I’m not surprised when he personally opens the door to his home. “Young Iris. Come in.”
I brace my shoulders and step inside as my thumb rubs the black disk in my pocket. He leads to me his office ... not a good sign. He didn’t let us in there as kids. Family and business, he would say, shouldn’t mix. The fact he could say that so unironically—when the whole time, he intended to trap and bind us all to him—galls me.
It’s too warm for a fire, but one is roaring.
I slip my jacket off and sit on the opposite side of the desk.
“What have you learned?” Cillian asks.
“I’ve learned that Spark’s boiler broke months ago, and that he’s applying for a permit to build a workshop. I know he’s sergeant at arms and that he has something that feels a lot like PTSD, from being in the military. And I know the layout of the Iron Outlaws compound because I was there recently. But other than that, I don’t know anything that would be useful to you.”
Cillian leans forward and pushes a piece of paper and pencil across the desk. “Draw it.”
“Draw what?”
“The layout of their compound.”
“For real?”
He folds his arms and leans back in the plush leather chair. “This conversation ends now if you don’t.”
I stare at him for a moment, but then I draw. And with every scrape of charcoal, the guilt of my deceit becomes heavier. I draw the main building and the outbuildings. I try to remember the layout of rooms. The kitchen, where Gwen and Tessa laughed as they sipped on coolers and made potato salad. The hallway of rooms. Spark’s, where he and I had our intense sexual encounter. His neighbors: Niro, whose headboard slammed against the wall that night for so long Spark got up and hammered on it, and Saint, from whom I heard the lonely notes of a hymn from a guitar.
I add cameras, the pool table, King’s office.
