Page 19 of Sweet Vengeance
This is wrong. Everything about Cillian, the mini mob, and his family is wrong, but my mouth doesn’t take the order from my brain when I tell myself to make him go.
“Is it okay if he stays?” the younger officer asks.
“Yes.” It’s because I’m tired, because my head hurts and my emotions are all over the place. Once I get out of here, I’ll cut contact with Cillian. Even with Dean if necessary.
They introduce themselves—Rogers and Simmons. They ask me questions, and I answer to the best of my ability. Thinking about it makes my heart beat faster, makes it more difficult to sit still, makes my head pound harder too.
It takes me a moment to realize Cillian has moved closer, that he’s standing right beside me, like a bodyguard.
“I think that’s enough,” he says.
“We have a few more questions.”
“Fuck off with your questions. It’s not as if you’ll figure out who did this to him.” The anger in Cillian’s voice sends a shiver down my spine. I’m not scared of him, I don’t think, but does he really believe they won’t find them? He’s likely correct. I’ve studied law enough to know that, but I’ve never been on this end of it, never been hurt before. Never had someone steal my IDs so I know they know who I am.
“How do we know you didn’t have anything to do with it?” Rogers asks, taking on the role of bad cop.
Cillian laughs humorlessly. “Prove it, if that’s what you think. I wonder how well that will turn out for you.”
“Cillian,” I say, trying to silently ask him what he’s doing. He’ll get himself in trouble for me. Maybe I should want that. Maybe I would in any other situation. There are rules and laws, and they’re made to be followed—though people like Cillian seem to be exempt. Cillian has maybe done to someone else what was done to me tonight. Him and the mini mob are no better than those guys.
I squeeze my eyes shut at the thought, as if it will erase the images in my head.
“You good?” His hand touches my cheek, and I pull away, which makes pain shoot through my head. “Yeah, he’s done. Get the fuck out,” he says to the officers.
“Don’t. I just want to finish.”
Simmons, the fanboy, asks, “Is there anything missing of yours?”
“His IDs,” Cillian answers for me. “They left his money, debit card, and everything else in his wallet but took his school ID and driver’s license.”
The officers make eye contact with Cillian.
“Don’t look at him,” I tell them. “Look at me. I’m the one they’ll be looking for.”
“You’ll be fine. You’ll be with us,” Cillian says.
“What are you talking about? I won’t be with you.”
“Yes, you will,” he argues.
“Is this man bothering you?” Rogers asks me.
Cillian huffs out a laugh.
“No,” I reply. “He’s fine.” I’ll deal with him later when my head isn’t about to explode.
They ask a couple more questions, then give me their cards, telling me to call them if I need anything.
It’s not until they reach the door that I ask, “Do youknow why? What happened?”
“They were stealing the car,” Simmons replies.
“They couldn’t do that without hurting him?”
“Yes,” Rogers says, then gives Cillian a pointed look. “They could’ve. But that’s the thing with criminals—it’s never just about the car or whatever they’re doing; they like to hurt people, and eventually, they all pay the price for it.”
My throat is raw, feels like it’s closing up. He’s talking about Cillian now, about the mini mob. Do they hurt people? They have to. Does Cillian enjoy it as much as the men who attacked us tonight did?
