Page 30 of A Trap So Flawless

He turns abruptly away from me before I can fully analyze the rasping softness that just entered his voice.

“Come on,” he says more sternly now as he heads up a narrow set of stairs with a beautifully carved balustrade.

We pass multiple bedrooms as we ascend beyond the second floor and onto the third. The fourth and final floor has one massive primary bedroom with an attached bathroom. It looks pristine in here, the blue and green quilt perfectly smooth atop the bed, nothing on the bedside tables.

Either Darragh’s got a cleaning lady lined up, or he hasn’t actually been sleeping here. The bed is smaller than expected for a room so grand – probably a queen at most – but it has these four exquisite wooden posts, one at each corner of the bed, nearly touching the ceiling and giving it an imposing, almost fairytale quality. A sage and cream-coloured rug lends warmth to the smooth hardwood, and there are big, dark green armchairs by a fireplace. A glass door leads onto a tiny-but-charming balcony that overlooks the garden, and another door at the other end, nearer the bed, leads into the bathroom.

“It’s nice,” I say mildly, turning around in the space. “Doesn’t look like you’ve been sleeping here, though.”

He gives a brutal bark of a laugh.

“I haven’t been sleeping at all.”

I don’t want to feel such concern for him, but I do. I press my lips together and run my fingers gently along the stitching of the bed’s quilt, trying to distract myself from the desire to touch him with something close to tenderness. He doesn’t deserve it.

And neither do I.

But even so, even with my fingers focused on the quilt, my mouth moves of its own accord.

“How are you? How have… How have things been?”

He doesn’t answer for a moment. I risk a glance at him and find him studying me with something that almost looks like wariness. Like he’s not used to anyone asking how he’s doing, and having me of all people ask the question now has got alarm bells going off in his head.

“You just told me you were tired,” he reminds me at length. “You really want to ask me how my week has been right now?”

I shrug, because apparently, I do.

“Well, I sliced up the greasy bastard who killed my grandda,” he says, a violent, joyless grin contorting his face. “Does that count?”

“He was murdered? Your grandfather?”

I didn’t know that. I only knew his grandfather had died…

“Of course he was murdered,” Darragh scoffs. “Nothing but violence could have cut Callum Gowan down. He probably would have lived for fucking ever if Jim Shaw hadn’t caved the back of his head in then pushed him into The Liffey.”

I know just what he means. I always felt the same way about my own papà. That nothing could really touch him unless…

Unless it was a bullet sunk straight into his chest.

My hands are wet. I can feel the blood on them.

“I’m gonna puke,” I announce feebly.

“In the toilet, if you can manage it, pet,” Darragh drawls even as I sprint for the bathroom. “I haven’t given anyone else the key to come and clean the place yet.”

I do manage, thank you very fucking much. I fall heavily to my knees in front of the toilet, wincing at the pain. As I bend over the bowl, my hair tie chooses that exact moment to give out, and all my hair comes tumbling down around my sweaty face. Feebly, I try to hold the nausea back just long enough to scrape my hair out of the way.

But suddenly, there’s no hair to scrape. My fingers brush rough knuckles instead. Darragh fists the thick strands, holding it all neatly at the back of my head.

Is this some small act of mercy? I wasn’t sure he was capable of such a thing. He certainly didn’t have mercy for me outside earlier.

Ride my hand.

Vomit comes rushing up my throat. I let it out, sweating, gripping the cool seat of the toilet as my stomach knots and empties over and over.

When I’m finished, I spit weakly into the toilet. Before I rise, I become briefly aware of Darragh’s other hand between my shoulder blades, like he’s been rubbing my back but I was too busy puking my guts up to notice.

But almost as soon as I feel his hand there, it falls away. Darragh reaches past me to close the toilet’s lid and flush. I rise on shaking legs and feel the swish of my hair against my neck as he lets go.

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