Page 57 of Twilight of Embers
The rumbling purr of an engine grew louder, and a sleek, black sports car rounded the curve of the house. The vehicle looked more like it belonged on a racetrack than on regular roads. But here it was.
Cáel released his hold on me and moved to the car, opening the door. He dropped the backpack inside.
I frowned. “That’s not mine.” My backpack was the gray one with the mangled zipper.
Cáel shook his head. “Knox got you a new one. The zipper was busted on yours.”
My mouth pressed into a firm line. “It still worked.”
He crossed to me, his lips brushing featherlight across my temple. “Let us take care of you.”
My body came alive at the barest touch. Nerve-endings zinged, and my skin tingled.
Guilt swamped me. Just two days ago, I’d been in Knox’s lap, kissing him. I shouldn’t be feeling this way about someone he considered a brother. I shouldn’t be feeling this way about any of the men in this house if I was smart.
I swallowed hard as Cáel moved out of the way. Crossing to the vehicle, I lowered myself inside. I’d been right about it being meant for the racetrack. The interior looked more like a spaceship than a car.
Cáel shut the door behind me, and I couldn’t help my slight jump.
Cillian’s lips twitched, and I glared at him.
“What is this thing, anyway?” I clipped.
The engine revved as if in response. “This thing is one of the best cars on the planet. The Hennessey Venom F5.”
Venom sounded like an appropriate car for Cillian. Because if there was one thing that was obvious about this man, it was that he was lethal.
My gaze tracked over him as he drove us toward the property’s exit. My focus landed on his hands. There were no tattoos there like on Cáel’s hands, but there were patterns of a sort.
Scars littered his knuckles and the backs of his hands. Some looked deep and wide, but others were thin, as if the flesh had simply split open and then miraculously healed.
“You’re staring, Little Flame.”
I jolted at his deep voice, my gaze snapping back to the road as we passed through the ornate gates. “What happened to your hands?”
From the corner of my eye, I could see his fingers tighten on the wheel.
“Was on my own young. Had to find a way to make money.”
I frowned. “A way that left scars?”
Cillian turned onto the road that led into town. “I was always a good fighter. You have to be if you’re living on the streets. I just let myself earn money for it.”
My stomach bottomed out. “Underground fights?”
There’d been a boy who’d come through my foster home who’d gotten involved in one of those. It was brutal, and there were usually organized crime entities involved. One time, he’d been hurt so badly that he’d ended up in the hospital.
Cillian gave the slightest lift of his chin in acknowledgment. “Wasn’t that bad.”
It was a lie. His body told me as much.
“I’m sorry you had to do that,” I whispered.
“Such a tender heart, my Little Flame.”
My gaze flicked to Cillian as he slowed at a light. Our eyes locked, and I was frozen there. I swore I could feel his heartbeat pulsing against my own.
He let out a low growl, jerking his gaze away from me and taking his foot off the brake.
