Page 40 of Ricochet
Complete and utter destruction. A hurricane destroying everything in its path. Where Tristan was the coolheaded one, Cillian was the complete opposite. That thirst for blood was always there in his eyes. I often caught myself imagining what our lives would have looked like if this wasn’t the path they had laid out for us. It wasn’t like we ever had a choice, but imagining things that would never be possible sometimes helped me to get through the day. When your life was planned out even before your birth, there was almost nothing you could do to avoid it. I was born to lead Nightingale Outfit, and Cillian was born to be a killer.
When you have something beneath your skin, constantly pulling and pushing, calling and maiming, you eventually stop fighting. It takes over, creating something else.
Something different.
Something you never wanted to be.
Cillian never wanted to be this. My brother loved life, he loved people, but the same people he loved, were the people who destroyed him. There was a time when those dark orbs sparkled with happiness, instead of the infinite depth of darkness living inside of him. We all had our demons, but sometimes, for some of us, those demons won. His hands were twitching, almost reaching for the knife I knew he carried with him. I had no doubt that when the first opportunity presented itself to him, she would end up dead.
Unease washed over me, and I scowled, confused at my own feelings. I wanted her gone. I wanted to see her suffering, but the other part of me, the part that still loved her no matter what, that part wanted to protect her. That part wanted to take her far away from here, where I wasn’t me, and she wasn’t the object of our pain. But that part could also go fuck itself, because she wasn’t getting any part of me. I wasn’t going to lose my brothers over someone like her.
I already lost too much.
In the middle of a blizzard, with the cold hitting my cheeks, I recognized the figure walking toward us. I mean, it was rather hard not to, with the way he was built. Alejandro has been working for us for the last six years, and I could still remember the first time I saw him. The man resembled mini Hulk, minus the constant rage.
The constant rage part of the personality belonged to Cillian.
I snickered at the sight in front of me. Ophelia looked like a little child, draped over his shoulder, hitting him in the stomach with her legs. I couldn’t see her face, but I could see her red panties covering her ass. And what an ass it was.
She was far skinnier than before, but the muscles on her legs were still visible. The result of hours and hours of grueling training all of us had to take. But those legs weren’t just pleasant to look at. I knew firsthand that those were made to kill.
Jesus fuck, snap out of it.
I shook my head, trying to steer my thoughts in another direction. Hate, revenge, pain… I wondered if she still liked pain, and my cock hardened at the picture forming in my mind. Her, spread out on my bed, tied to the bedpost, completely at my mercy. Blood seeping from the wounds on her legs, on her chest, arms and stomach. Tristan stared at me, and I hated that knowing look on his face. He knew what I was thinking about. He always did when it came to her. He knew what I felt for her even before I did.
“What?” I snapped, rearranging myself, hating my body’s reaction to her. He shrugged, smirking at me, and without another word focused his attention to her and Alejandro.
“Let me down!” she yelled at Alejandro. “Tell me, fucker, do you know what balls look like when you cut them off and skin them?” When he kept quiet, she continued, “Because I do. And trust me, I’ll enjoy seeing your little Ping-Pong balls skinned. I heard that the omelet from those is pretty tasty. Have you tried it?”
Alejandro started smilingat her remarks until his eyes met mine and all the traces of his amusement were gone. I knew she would do it, given the chance. Her weapons of choice were always knives. Sharp, pointy little fuckers, and she knew how to use them.
“Gentlemen.” Alejandro nodded at us, stopping a few feet away from our spot.
“Oh, is it the three assholes?” She tried pushing herself upward, but his arm tightened against her body, pushing her down. “Shit man, they can see my ass like this. Not that it isn’t a lovely ass, but still.”
She was a walking bipolar disaster. Just a couple of minutes ago, she’d been trying to run away, barely muttering a word, and now… All of a sudden, she couldn’t shut up.
“Is Kieran here? Oh babe, if you’re here, I hope you’re enjoying the view, because this is the only time you’ll be seeing my ass.”
And just like that, the urge to take her over my knee, and see the red handprint on her ass arose inside of me. She had no idea what kind of a fucking carnival she was about to be part of. We had killer clowns, psycho maniacs and me.
“Should I restrain her, boss?” Alejandro asked, and only then did I notice the red streak traveling down his face. So, she still had her claws. Here I thought that this whole ordeal would be pure boredom.
“No, just lock her in her room.”
“But it’s my time to play,” Cillian whined, his lips forming into a pout. “I still didn’t get to cut her.”
“Kill,” I rubbed the spot between my eyes, “just, please… Not today, okay? You’ll get your chance.”
“Boss?” Alejandro asked again.
“Just to her room, Alejandro. I’ll deal with her later.”
He started walking away, when that little hellfire spoke again.
“Because the only way Kieran knows how to keep a woman is to either kill her or lock her up.”
Alejandro continued walking toward the house while I stood there, unmoving, staring at her. That wild chestnut-colored hair seemed like it had a mind of its own, spilling all over the place. Her eyes met mine, but there was nothing there—just a bored, blank expression staring back at me.
