Cillian (The Sullivan Scoundrels Book 1), page 5
“Just leave me alone!” I screamed, edging away from the door, as the fear of him knocking it off its hinges gave me little to no peace. I wish I had chosen a smaller room. This was probably the room he intended for us to explore marital relations in. Taking a deep breath, I reminded myself that I had just had to survive the night. Maybe if I gave it a few hours, he'd be too exhausted to do anything. Or at least calm enough to where I wouldn't have to fight him.
My body was in panic mode, and I was ashamed to admit my fear of him hadn’t subsided. The one relief to being stuck in here was that there was a bathroom attached to the room, with a toilet, a bathtub and a fancy sink. At least I'd have somewhere to wash my undergarments and a place to wash up. I’d been premature in my actions though, as my suitcase wasn’t with me.
There was a good chance it was upstairs because our driver had been instructed to bring it. I just had to wonder what I’d gotten myself into.
After taking the time to wash up, I'd learned there’d been preparation for my stay here. A night gown, some intimates I could change into gave me a little dignity, but I would need something out of my suitcase so to ensure my hair didn't clump up throughout the night.
It was quiet out there, but maybe with some luck, he wouldn’t be waiting by the door ready to pounce when my guard was down. Asking myself if the maintenance of my hair was worth encountering him, I reminded myself that I didn’t have a perm. That was particularly hard in the forties, as not every on trend Black hair product or tool was good for my hair. Since I didn’t relax it, I had to take extra good care of it.
Knowing I’d have to encounter Cillian sooner or later, I hoped that the quiet was an indication that he’d calmed down a bit. Instant regret coursed through every nerve of my body, as from the moment I opened the door, large pale hands successfully reached for my neck, as he physically forced me on the bed.
“Don’t you ever lock me out of my own bedroom again? Do you hear me? I said do you fucking hear me?” he screamed, as I could do nothing but fight back tears and agree to it.
When he let go, I gasped for air, noticing too late that he had taken his shirt off and was in the middle of unbuckling his pants. “What are you getting undressed for?” I asked in a panic.
“I’m about to fuck the shit out of me wife,” his tone annoyed and suggested that I had little choice in the matter.
“I can't,” I cried, as I crawled up into a ball at the edge of the bed.
“You better be shitting me. Because ain't no way my brothers married me off to someone I can't fuck.”
“They told me I wouldn't have to.” Suddenly having next to no strength or energy.
“What the fuck do you think being married is? A fucking flat mate arrangement?” he yelled back, more frustrated with me than ever.
“If it had been anyone else,” I winced, my tears welled as I watched his face contort in confusion. “They didn't tell me it was going to be you. Otherwise, I would have just run away.”
“What in the blazes are you talking about? You didn't think it was going to be me? Ya’ crazy woman.”
“I'd rather be crazy than a fucking killer. I can't even look at you without remembering all the blood you had on your face,” I screamed, as his face courted recognition, forcing him to stand as everything was starting to dawn on him.
“It was fucking you. You were the one who recanted.” He pointed accusingly.
“They told me if I did it, they would help my father. But they didn't tell me that I would be marrying you,” I cried out, terrified knowing my only refuge was the bathroom. Without hesitation, he gave chase once again, the only thing saving me was that I slammed his fingers through the door, forcing him to swear out loud and recoil.
“Three fucking years,” he screamed banging on the door panel. “Three motherfucking years. That's how much of my life you took from me.” As silence echoed for a moment and could I swear I heard him crying on the other side.
“I missed my brother coming back from the army. I became an uncle in fucking prison. I didn't even know it until just today.” His voice slightly muffled by the pitch in his voice breaking.
“I couldn't even go to my father's bloody fucking funeral. All because of fucking you.” By now, I couldn’t ignore that he was crying. I didn't even know a man like him was even capable of tears.
“I came back and it's like the whole fucking world changed around me,” he said with a slammed fist against the door a final time before telling me to go fuck myself.
The door slammed inside the room. There was no way to know if he had locked himself in or locked himself out. But what I did know is there was no way I was going to leave this bathroom. I should have just waited him out until the morning but right now I would have no choice.
Five
Queenie
My body ached in so many places. You weren't meant to sleep in a bathtub. If you can even call that a sleep. I should have at least brought a pillow with me. At least then my neck wouldn't have been in such a big knot.
Cillian was a man, so he must have had a job. Surely no one who could afford a penthouse stayed home all day. Yet I had no way of knowing considering my prison had no windows to confirm.
Surely with the lack of sound in the suite meant he’d left for the day. Maybe it would allow an unplanned getaway on my part. But where would I go? A women couldn’t even open a bank account without the permission of a man.
It was like men wanted to keep us tethered to them until they passed us off to someone else. Papa’s only means of parenting had been to prepare me to be someone’s wife. But that didn’t prepare me for hiding from the devil in a penthouse.
My first real obstacle would be to open the bathroom door. If the bedroom was empty, maybe I had a fighting chance that he’d left for the day. Slowly but surely, the bathroom door slightly creaked, but not loud enough to ring any alarm. Relief rushed through me to find a fully made bed with no one in it.
Being able to walk freely in the bedroom, I pushed a curtain open to confirm the hustle and bustle of city folk. Everyone was either on their way to work or finding an errand to run. For now, I probably had nothing to worry about.
Making the mistake of getting too comfortable, I carelessly flung open the bedroom door only to find the nightmare made of human flesh, sitting on an armchair, cleaning up the barrel of his pistol on the coffee table nearby.
His gaze slowly caught mine, paralyzing me to my spot as his deep yet cold expressive eyes gathered me with a not yet known regard. “Assume that I left?” He asked, not sure whether he wanted silence or an actual answer.
I didn’t think giving one would make my anxiety flare so much. “The bed was made, so I only assumed a housekeeper made it—”
“I spent three years in a federal prison and you think I can't make my own fucking bed?”
“I'm sorry.” I said under my breath, eyes pressed so tight together, I didn’t want to open them in fear he would be right in front of me. It didn't take long before I could feel a looming presence lightly pushing me up against a wall. All I could do to not pee on myself was to keep them closed and recite Psalm 34:4-5.
“I sought the Lord, and he answered me,” as even as I tried to recite it, I held back tears at what was about to happen to me. “He delivered me from all my fears. Those who look to him are radiant; their faces are never covered with shame.”
The heat of his breath I could feel so close to my face, that I may not even have the privilege of reciting the words of comfort in more than just my head, depending on how he planned to deal with me.
“You think I’m gonna hit you?” he asked, but all I had the strength for was to recite my words, even if I had to whisper them. “Or you just think I’m gonna rip all your clothes off and take the thing you’re supposed to give me as a wife?”
Praying that it would be quick, he places his hands on both sides of my face and challenged me. “Open your fucking eyes.”
Blinking through tears, when my blurred vision centered, I was coerced to make eye contact with tense blank eyes. “Where were you?”
“What? I don’t think I understand.”
“You know what I’m talking about,” his Irish brogue suddenly low and steady. He must have meant where I witnessed his crime. Blinking out the residual tears, I found the strength to reply.
“I was looking through a basement apartment. Got a job cleaning for a white lady so I could afford a new dress for graduation. At first, I thought the first shot was my imagination. When I went to look, that’s when I saw you.” He didn’t need to be reminded that he emptied his gun with the remaining shots.
He took a deep breath, holding in how he really wanted to react, as he lightly snatched his hands away to sit back down. “Sit.” He demanded and I wasn't sure if it was optional until he eyed the chair that I was closest to.
“I've been contemplating all morning, what I plan to do with you. It was probably a good thing I had the night to become rational. If you had told me on the way here that you’re the sole person responsible for my conviction, I would’ve been stuck between throwing you over the balcony, or wringing that pretty little neck of yours, just so I could watch the light go out in your eyes. Having time to reflect, I know I can’t kill you. Not without destroying everything my brothers built in my absence.”
Cillian arched his back deeper into the armchair, stretching his long legs to display his fancy ankle boots. “So, I'm just gonna subject you to a story instead. After this, we’re done. We can go on never speaking to each other.”
He relaxed in his position, as his arms elongated across the armrests. “Once, there was a God-fearing priest unconditionally loved by his community. He had the type of devotion that ensured families having hard times never went hungry. Even set up fundraisers for tuitions for those of us going places. Honestly, on the outside he seemed to be able to do no wrong. But the eyes of God are always watching. And none of that good even means anything when you can’t keep your hands off little boys.”
Something about that statement demanded my attention. I thought that I had known where the story was going, but Cillian…he was making me feel something. I wasn’t sure what, but I didn’t want to.
“Ashamed to say it, but most the times I’d look away. Say it’s none of my business. A few altar boys in our time learn the hard way how ugly the world can be sometimes. But I couldn’t look away when it’s brought onto my doorsteps. A cousin of mine got raped when she was twelve. Nobody believed her, side from me and a few others. But to give her some sort of life back, the son she had from it is was being raised as her brother. He don’t know she’s his mother, so when he came to her, blood in his knickers…” His balled fists hinting the stress of it in real time, so a part of me was glad he understood that I didn’t need a full explanation.
“Anyway, she came to me because she knew I wouldn't blame her for what happened to him. I said I was just going to talk to him. I nearly did. Just talk. But then that sorry tosser threatened to out my cousin. Ruin her reputation more than the fucking rape had. So, I just snapped,” he snarled, holding in anger, as he violently rubbed at his forehead.
“I know when you look at me, you see nothing but evil. Maybe I ain’t no saint all the time. But there’s a difference between that kind of wickedness and mine. At least I can turn mine off. A person attracted to kids ain’t never gonna be able to turn that off. And then they find another person to be interested in and forget all about you.”
For some reason, that made him forget his thought for a second, like there was something more there that he didn’t want to share. “Anyway, that type of shit stays with you. Even as you get older. But they just get to keep hurting people. So yeah, I fucking lost it. Did I enjoy it? Yes the fuck I did. And if you want to know if I would go back and repeat my mistake if given a chance, you better fucking believe I would. But not just because I fancy killing people.”
He came to a stand, pinching my chin in his hand to look him in the eye again. “More than anything, family is most important to me. It could be a sister. An uncle. A wife I can’t stand—hell it could even be a cousin three times fucking removed. Long as they got Sullivan at the end of their name, I’m gonna protect them. I hope your question about what would drive a man like me to kill a man of God, cold blood, on an open street. Protecting family. Three years. For protecting family,” he ended in a low hitch.
Tucking his pistol in the back of his belt, he strutted over to the chair he once sat and grabbed his suit jacket from the couch’s arm. “I’ve got business to take care of. If you need anything, Seamus and Finn are at the door. I can’t predict how long things will go, but don’t wait up for me. Just because we’re stuck together don’t mean we gotta be around each other.” His last words before he disappeared from the penthouse and into the lobby.
Before shutting the door, I did get that confirming image that two well-dressed thugs were indeed manning the door. Probably trying to prevent me from having a way out.
Now that Cillian was gone, I became more conscious of the lack of breaths I took in his presence. He’d been calm, but so far unpredictable. But I could admit some of my fear dissipated hearing his side of story, assuming it was true. I still didn't think any man deserved to die in a manner fit for a rabid animal. Yet after knowing, all I could think about was his cousin. What that information would do to her reputation if her secret had ever gotten out. What would have happened to me if my secret ever got out.
Woman never outran the things people said about us. Once you were considered fast, that's all you were seen as. Honestly, women contributed to this narrative almost as much men did.
Did he really care about what happened to his cousin enough to protect her son? I’d probably never know for sure. Every man in my life did so little to protect me. When you were a Black woman, you were on your own. Forced to take abuse from white men, Black men, any man really.
Having to look Cillian in the eye, I was ashamed to admit it was the first time I saw a person. Mentally preparing myself for a black eye or any other cruel way a husband kept his wife in line, to my surprise he did neither.
My mama always said it took more than a man not beating you to be a good one. And I was still sure Cillian wasn’t a good man. But maybe he wasn't a bad one either.
Relieved I wouldn’t have to hold my breath or anticipate running into Cillian for as long as business hours would allow, I decided high time to get proper rest. The only question was, what was I going to do when he came back?
Six
Cillian
Settling into the family business was the only thing keeping me from going mental. I dreaded every second I spent at home. And I feared what I’d do to her if I had to spend another minute in her company. I was worse off here than when I was on the inside, at least there, I could crush someone’s face in with little consequences.
Running one of the clubs was what I was handling before I went in, but the boys had invested in a movie theater, so during the day, I found myself indulging in a picture before checking into the pub. Juggling more than one business wasn't what I'd call it easy. The numbers, the paperwork, the payroll and the people were always a shit ton to remember. But the point was to clean the money from the real work being done. The upside was that it kept me out the house and busy. Most of all, away from my witch of a wife back home.
As I entered the club, all my brothers were at the bar, a drink in each hand, and a cigar in the other.
“How's the first day back at work on the outside? You keeping up, Cilly?” Bellamy asked, as I gestured to the bar maid to pour me a long one, and found a seat between Paddy and Tadhg.
“Honestly, this is the only thing keeping my head on straight. After the night I’ve had, I’d rather stay busy at work.” Paddy laughed, lowering his cigar butt in a metal ashtray.
“What's wrong, baby brother? Married life not as easy as you made it out to be?” With a wave of my hand I shooed him away, drowning myself in whiskey.
“Fuck off.” An arrogant smile lit up his face, as he passed Bellamy what looked like a tenner. It was clear they were placing bets on me.
“That bad, huh?” I slammed the glass against the table, anger streaking my cheeks red.
“Why didn't anyone tell me the woman you arranged me to marry, was the fucking key bloody witness in my murder case?” It came out like a shout, all their gazes floating between each other, wearing shock on their expressions that I knew the truth.
“She told you?” Paddy asked.
“Fuck yes, she told me! But why didn't any of you? You're supposed to be my brothers. You're supposed to be looking out for me. And you leave out that the woman you got me fucking married to, is one who put me away. We can't even look at each other. How the fuck are we supposed to stay married long enough to work out your fucking business arrangements?” Tadhg laid his hand on my shoulder, something that should have been an act of comfort, but felt more like a violation.
“We were going to tell you when you got more settled in. Truth is, we didn't feel like it mattered that she was the witness. When the offer came our way to get you a second chance, suddenly everything moved quickly. All due to her recanting. It was like a miracle got thrown in our laps and from what we were told, she was a nice girl. We figured, she would just want to do the right thing to help her family.”
“Yeah, Cill. I was the one who didn't even want to tell you knowing how damn impulsive you can be. But the boys had me two against one. Don't tell me some petite bloody church girl has you pissing your pants the first night free. Maybe the bucket has got you a little rusty on how to put your wife in check.”
And like that, something inside of me shattered. Paddy was always toeing the line going too far with his sharp tongue and dumb mouth. Putting my gun to his head I released the safety, I was so angry I could fuckin kill him, even if it was just to shut him up.
“I spent three bloody years in prison. Yesterday was the first time since then I’ve had a decent meal and I come out to a wife who’s a snitch and afraid of me. And to top it off, here you all are, taunting me. I'm not just angry. I want to hurt someone and with you being the closest, I’m real fuckin tempted to blow your head clean off.”
