Page 108 of Three Irish Kings
I can’t wait.
I frown when Cillian isn’t on the couch, but he’s probably making coffee or something. It doesn’t matter, anyway. Cillian isn’t who I’m here to see.
I hurry to Isla’s room, and the door is unlocked. I guess Cillian trusts her now, too.
That might be a problem later, honestly.
Cillian has feelings for Isla. He hasn’t admitted it to me or Liam yet, but it’s written all over his usually stoic face when he looks at her. His eyes go all soft, and it makes my throat feel tight.
He can’t have her. She’s mine. I saw her first. Iclaimedher first.
That might be a stupid, caveman way to think, but I can’t help it. I’m crazy about her, and I can’t wait to tell her.
I open the door and step inside, a greeting dying in my throat when I take in the scene before me.
Cillian and Isla are lying on the bed, naked, Cillian’s arms around her.
She’s practically on top of him, her leg swung around his hip… just like she does with me.
Jealousy and hurt nearly gut me, my stomach hurting so bad I put a hand on it.
She can’t have chosen him. I know she loves me. I’ve felt it in the way her body melts against mine.
And yet, here Cillian is, taking what is mine.
I want to scream. I want to grab Cillian and pull him out of bed, let him fall on his ass while I pummel him. And yes, Cillian would beat me in a physical fight; despite my hand-to-hand combat skills, he’s trained his whole life to be the muscle for Ronan, but for her, I’m willing to pay any price.
And I’m no slack when it comes to defending myself. Even more so when it comes to Isla. She is my everything, and I refuseto let her be used any longer. She is no pet, and it’s time both Cillian and Liam learn that.
She. Is. Mine.
But if I go at it with him, Isla will be upset.
Fuck me!
Even though I’m fucked up about this, I can’t do it. I’d slit my own throat before I’d hurt her.
So instead, I just slam my fist against the doorjamb, my knuckles splitting open. The wood doesn’t even splinter, and the physical pain does nothing to alleviate the agony I’m living right now.
Isla stirs, but I can’t look at her right now, can’t look at the way Cillian whines and clutches at her as if he doesn’t want her to go.
I turn tail and speed-walk into the kitchen, breathing hard, bracing myself on the sink, looking down at the blood trickling down my fingers from my split knuckles.
I don’t know how long I stand there.
My knuckles sting and my heart hurts and I can’t think.
She’s not Maggie Sullivan, but she’s still sleeping with my best friend. And maybe my other best friend. I don’t know what she and Liam get up to when he’s watching her, and I don’t want to know.
I squeeze my eyes shut, but I’m still haunted by the image of Cillian and Isla cuddling up, dead to the world, like they were meant to be together.
My chest feels tight.
Does she want him more than she wants me?
Isla’s yawn makes me look toward the door, and then I look away again immediately, her puffy eyes and sex-tousled hair making my chest hurt worse.
She’s dressed, at least, wearing a pair of high-waisted shorts I bought her and a tank top.
