How I ended it because it was wrong. I ended it with Reed. I ended it with Cillian too.
Cill makes a right, then a left. My heart pumps adrenaline throughout my body. I want to believe it’ll turn out okay, but I haven’t felt this scared since Cill was arrested.
A gas station comes up on our right. The lights above the pumps are blinding against the night sky.
The corner of the street is nearly dead this time of night. A tire store on one end is closed although the parking lot is packed with the cars of men who are a block down at the strip joint. On the other side is a gas station and the corner store. It’s a bit run down but that’s the way it is in this city. The lower down the hill, the worse the condition. As you drive up the hill and the blocks go from Twentieth Street up to First Street, the houses are nicer, the parks cleaner.
I think it’s the way all old cities are.
“No fucking way,” says Cill under his breath. His tone alerts me that something’s wrong.
I turn my head and see the parked car. Fuck. No.
Before I can stop him Cill pulls over, the brakes screeching. We’re facing the wrong direction on the road.
“Please,” I cry out, “Cillian, don’t!” It’s like fate set him up. “He’s not worth it,” I say as Cill finally stops nose to nose with the parked car. My heart races.
No, no. Please, Cillian. Tears prick at the corners of my eyes.
He’s angry and right in front of us is an object of his hatred. Duncan Tray. The fucker who tried to take advantage the moment Cill was locked away and then again when his father passed.
I know the cherry red muscle car is his and as I glance from it to Cill’s expression, my chest tightens with a knowing dread.
He’s always been a problem for the MC. My father used to tell me to keep a lookout for him. There was a rumor in the club that he gave the police some of the information they used to arrest Cill. I’m certain Cill heard it too.
If nothing else, the guy’s a creep and belongs behind bars for that in and of itself.
“Wait. Cill, stop.”
He shoulders open the driver’s door, leaving the keys in the ignition which sound off in a beep, beep, beep as Cill steps out into the street.
I take in the gas station but I don’t see Duncan Tray anywhere.
“Cill, please stop,” I beg him, managing to get out even though my body’s numb.
He doesn’t even hesitate as he opens the trunk and I beg him not to.
“I know you’re upset. But please, Cill, don’t do this.”
His shoulders radiate angered power as he palms the tire iron.
“Cill, please …” I trail off as he closes the trunk with a thud. My vision spins and blurs with the fear of cops being called.
On the first swing, he shatters the driver’s side window of the other car.
It shatters and the glass sprays.
“Get in the car, Kat,” is all Cillian says before he swings for the back window. His rage has taken over his body.
Cill smashes one of the side mirrors, then the other. He’s raining dents down on the body of the car. One foot stomps down on the front bumper and it collapses into the street. The windshield is next. It takes the most effort.
Holy fucking shit.
My pulse is out of control and I can’t breathe.
The cops are going to come. They’re going to arrest Cill, and he won’t get another chance. He’s on probation.
“Cill, you have to stop.” I raise my voice to be heard over the sound of metal on metal. “Cill. Cillian. The cops are going to come.”
He breaks through the rest of the windshield, sending shattered glass flying onto the front seat. I run to his side before he can take another swing. He puts his fist through the broken glass instead. It cuts him. “Stop,” I beg him, screaming so loud the words feel as if they’re ripped up my throat. “You have to stop.”
Cill blinks down at me, his eyes flashing. “No.”
“Yes. They’re going to arrest you.”
I take a big step back, then another. I can’t breathe.
“I can’t lose you!” I tell him and my body trembles. Glancing across the street, eyes watch us. Fuck. I force my body to move. I can’t let them call the cops.
“Where the hell are you going?” He narrows his eyes. I turn around and check the street for traffic, then run across.
Cill follows me across, dropping the lug wrench with a loud clang. His face is red with anger but he’s not destroying the car anymore. Not that it matters. The damage is already done.
Just as I get to the glass door, Cill puts his hand on the door and tries to keep it shut. “You’re not going in there, Hellcat.” Rage still has its grip on him, making him a fucking lunatic.