“I don’t know what to say to that,” I admit.
“You don’t have to say a thing,” he says with a shrug. “I’m just pointing out a few personal observations.”
I fall silent, letting that sink in for a moment. I can feel my fear rise to my throat.
I want to be able to talk to someone, and I realize I have no one to talk to. My family is dead. My cousin betrayed me. I have no real friends.
But Cillian is sitting here in front of me, and there’s a part of me that trusts him.
There’s also a part of me that desperately craves reassurance.
And he knows Artem better than anyone else.
“I’m happy, too,” I start. “Artem means a lot to me. Our family means a lot to me. But… sometimes I don’t know whether I can trust Artem or not.”
I force the words out. Once I say them, it feels as though I’m holding my breath.
Immediately, I start second guessing myself.
Should I have shared that with Cillian?
Should I be talking to Artem instead?
“What makes you think you can’t?” Cillian asks.
“I came across something a few days ago,” I admit. “I saw a… a body. Down in the ravine.”
“It could have been a hiker who’d fallen off the trail—”
“It wasn’t,” I say immediately. “We would know. There are announcements made when hikers suffer accidents, let alone die. And there were no search parties, either. This wasn’t a hiker, Cillian.”
“Did you tell Artem about it?” Cillian asks, worry tainting his brow.
“No,” I admit. “But only because I’m fairly sure that Artem already knows.”
He puts the pieces together quickly. “You think Artem was the one who killed him.”
“Who else?” I ask, desperate for him to tell me that I’m insane for even suggesting such a thing.
But of course, he wouldn’t say that to me. Artem has killed before, in front of me.
He wasn’t about to stop simply because I’d come into his life.
“A few days before I came across the body, Artem came home covered in blood,” I explain, my voice shaky. “He told me that it was deer blood. A stag that got away. There was no body to bring home to show me.”
“Esme…”
“Why wouldn’t be tell me?” I demand. “Why would he lie?”
“If he did lie, it was probably to protect you,” Cillian says immediately.
I had been expecting that response, but it still disappoints me for reasons I cannot fully understand.
“We promised to always be honest with each other.”
Cillian gives me a look that clearly tells me how idealistic a notion that is. “Honesty is important in any relationship,” he agrees. “But it’s not always realistic.”
I sigh. “Apparently not.”
“I’m just saying, you should talk to Artem,” Cillian says. “Ask him straight out.”
“And what if he lies to me again?”
“And what if he tells you the truth?” he counters. “What if he has already told you the truth?”
I roll my eyes. “Come on! A stag that got away? But not before covering him in blood first? What did he do, wrestle with the damn thing?”
Cillian leans forward and puts his hand on mine. The gesture is unexpected but surprisingly, it doesn’t feel totally foreign.
“Esme, I know you’re going through a lot right now,” he says. “But Artem is, too. He’s just not so good with baring his soul, ya know? You’ve got to drag shit out of him. The way he used to cope with his anger and pain was to drink. And he’s obviously not doing that anymore. Which tells me one very important thing.”
“Which is what?” I ask.
“You are important to him,” Cillian concludes. “Maybe the most important thing.”
“I doubt I trump the Bratva,” I say bitterly.
“Oh, I wouldn’t be surprised if you did.”
I stare at Cillian’s face, at his too-blue eyes and I marvel at the fact that hardened men who have lived their lives in a constant state of power play can still exhibit so much empathy and kindness.
Something about that realization makes me want to ask a question that I probably shouldn’t be asking at all.
“Do you think I can trust him?”
Cillian smiles. “I trust Artem,” he says. “I trust him with my life. And I think you should, too. Especially because he loves you way more than he loves me. Though I’ll never cop to that in front of him.”
I smile just as we hear the sound of heavy footsteps on gravel.
I look up at the doorway and try to straighten out my expression into something neutral.
A second later, Artem walks through the door with his rifle hanging over one arm.
“Everything’s quiet out there,” he says. “We’re good.”
“Did you do a thorough job?” Cillian asks sternly.
“Fuck you,” Artem replies.
Cillian looks to me and gives me a wink. “See?” he whispers. “Dude loves the fuck out of me. Don’t get jealous.”
I suppress my laughter. “I’ll try not to be,” I say as I stand. “I’ll get you some linen so you can make up the couch. It’s not the prettiest one out there, but it’s really comfy.”
“Don’t worry, I’m not fussy,” Cillian replies.
Artem scoffs.
Cillian flips him off and the two trade barbs while I get the linen for Cillian.
Having him here has already improved Artem’s mood. I actually do feel a twinge of jealousy at that.
I feel immediately ashamed of myself and tamp it down under a smile.
“Goodnight, boys,” I say before heading into the bedroom.
I know they’ll want some time to talk in private.
But I’m lying in bed for only half an hour before Artem joins me in bed. He assumes I’m sleeping at first, so he pulls me against his body and kisses my neck softly.
“I’m awake,” I say gently.
“Did we keep you up?” he asks.
“No, I couldn’t hear you from in here,” I tell him. “Not that I was trying to.”
He chuckles and kisses me again. “You two had a nice chat while I was out?”
I try and figure out if there’s subtext to his question, but if
