Page 43 of Craving Sin

He will be one of the few things I carry with me forever, a third regret that I’ll bear, along with not being who Moira deserved and hurting Cillian.

I can’t really explain what it’s been like getting to know him, talking and laughing and doing ridiculous things like playing board games together—things I haven’t done in a very long time—and every moment I spend with him is a reminder of how much he doesn’t deserve this and how terrible of a man I am for doing it.

“Rian—” he starts, but my cell rings, cutting off whatever Abbott was going to say.

When I pull it from my pocket, Conan’s name is on the screen.

“Come,” I tell Abbott, and he flinches as though he hadn’t expected to be handcuffed again. Clearly, we both need the reminder that despite the games we’ve played and the conversations we’ve shared, he will never be anything more than my prisoner.

I handcuff him to the heater in the dining room without a word before going outside to talk to Conan.

“Hey,” he says when I call him back after I didn’t pick up his call in time.

“Hey. How are things there?”

“As good as can be expected. Things are running smoothly at Paradise. Tiernan, Cillian, Rory, Dean, and Shai came down last night to deal with the new shipment of product that came in.”

“Things went well with them?” I ask, even though I know the answer. If they hadn’t gone well, I would have been called last night, but I don’t have the ability not to ask.

“Cillian is fine…worried about you, actually. He asked about you.”

But he didn’t call. He still doesn’t call, not unless he has to. I don’t expect anything more than what he gives me, but I hope for it. And the truth is, I could call him, too.

“He’ll come around, Rian. Things are better already.”

“We don’t need to talk about it. The brothers?”

“Getting closer. They’re definitely hiding deep.”

“Which means they’re guilty.”

“Or they know that we think they’re guilty. Whether they really are or not, they know they’re going to die.”

I frown at his response. “What do you mean? Do you not think it’s them?”

“I’m not saying that,” Conan replies. “Just stating a fact. How’s your doctor?”

I stiffen at Conan’s words, watching Abbott through the window, while he stands, leaning against the pillar, watching me. “He’s not mine.”

“You should come home, Rian. Kill him and come home. We can protect you. We’re close to finding the brothers. Finan and Flynn are searching every hole the bastards can be in. Anything that could link you back to the doctor has been taken care of. Hell, his father hasn’t even reported him missing. They aren’t close enough for him to even realize he’s gone yet, and it looks like he truly doesn’t care regardless. Take care of that loose end and come home.”

What is the deal with the governor? Abbott said he hates his father, that they’re not close, that his father doesn’t care about him, but that he would make sure Abbott is found safely…so far, nothing. I guess it makes sense. It’s only been about a week. I go longer than that without speaking to Cillian. The difference is, I always know he’s okay. If I didn’t, nothing would stand in the way of me finding my son and bringing him home.

Will he really do the same, or is that Abbott playing us? It’s what I would do if I were him—make us think his father will come down harder on finding him than he truly will. I’m sure Preston Senior would pull no stops if it meant bringing down the O’Shea family. But will any of it have anything to do with Abbott? How can a father not care about this man?

“Rian,” Conan says.

I pull myself out of my thoughts. “I think you’re forgetting who you’re talking to. I’m the one with the say in this family. Not you.”

“I’m not trying to take your role. I’m trying to be your friend,” he says, words hitting their mark with a sharp sting the way they were intended. Conan is my friend. The oldest, truest one I have. “Do you need me to do it?”

My shoulders tense, every inch of my skin going hot. I bite down on my tongue to keep myself from snapping out an angered reply, telling Conan he won’t touch him, that he can’t, that he’s mine, because all that will do is make him even more certain I can’t handle this.

That he’s mine…

Mine to kill is what I mean. There is no other option.

“No. I’m doing it. I just need a couple more days to heal, and then it will be done, and I’ll come home. Everything is fine, Conan, and I’d appreciate it if you remembered that and stop trying to turn this into something it’s not.”