Page 48 of Demon

“They would.”

“Who?”

I felt my own teeth biting my lip. Hard. The hint of something metallic dripping into my mouth. For a moment, I decided not to say anything. But then I felt fingers on my face, on the lumpy skin on my right cheekbone.

“You mean the people who gave you that scar, don’t you Ciara?” Demon pushed. “Tell me who they were. Tell me how you got it.”

The back of my throat swelled, the threat of tears, the threat of breaking down, the threat of telling someone what had happened. I hadn’t told the police. And I didn’t tell the doctor stitching my face back together.

“Please,” Demon whispered, his voice heavy and vulnerable now. “Please tell me.”

“I…I pissed off the wrong people.” I stopped, gathering my thoughts, deciding if I would go on. But Demon pushed no harder. He just waited, his eyes on mine, his fingers still on my chin. “At the time, I worked in a strip joint. In Kilkenny. The O’Malley’s, a notorious Irish family, had just sold it to the Polish. The O’Malleys were rumoured to be gangsters, mafia. There’s been families all over Ireland for years. Always fighting. The O’Malleys paid well and when they sold the club to the Polish, they paid even better. But it was a shithole.

“One night, this group of men walk in. They looked normal, like regular punters, but one asks questions. He offered me money. A lot of money.”

Demon’s jaw tensed and I recognised the look in his eyes. Disappointment.

“Not for that,” I added. “He just wanted me to lure this guy into the back of the club. That was all I had to do. Two years of my salary just to get the man alone. I should have known better. Shit, I did know better. But with nearly thirty grand in my pocket, I figured I could start again. Finally, make a life for myself. So, I told this guy, O’Sullivan I think he was called…”

Something changed on Demon’s face suddenly, his expression darkening.

“Cian O’Sullivan?”

“Yes. How did you…”

“We did him a favour a year or so ago.”

My stomach dropped. Fuck.

Chapter Twenty Two

Demon

Ciara looked like she had seen a ghost. The colour drained from her face. The look of abstract fear replacing it. And anger rose from the pit of my stomach like a kraken unleashed. What the fuck had Cian done to her? But licking her lips, she continued, and I did everything I could not to let that anger explode inside of me.

“I told him I wouldn’t help him murder someone. He promised me he wouldn’t kill him. So, I said yes. I took O’Sullivan’s money, and I lured the Polish guy to the back of the building. I didn’t know what happed to him at the time. As soon as we were alone, O’Sullivan and his men followed. They took him off somewhere. But I could hear his screams as I left. I never looked back. I just took the money and got out of there. I never knew what they did to him. I thought they were killing him.

“That was until he found me nine months ago. I don’t know how he found me. I was in London. I’d had a few drinks after work. Nothing major, but enough to dampen my senses and miss the night bus. So, I walked home. I had my earphones in, listening to a podcast. And then suddenly someone grabbed me, pulling me into an alleyway. It all happened so fast.”

Ciara paused, struggling with the thoughts in her head. And inside mine the anger was boiling hot. I didn’t know what she was going to tell me. I didn’t want to hear what was coming next.

“There were four of them. At first, I thought they were trying to mug me. Or worse.”

Her voice wavered at that point; her eyes filled with fear.

“But then I recognised him. Marek Novak. And I knew then he recognised me. He held up his right hand. It was hideous. He, he…”

“He was missing fingers?”

Ciara nodded. “How did you know that?” she asked.

“Cian likes to chop body parts off. His favourite thing to do is take someone’s fingers. Followed by their hands and their… well, I’m sure you get it.”

She nodded. “He had nothing left on his right hand. There was a hand. Just no fingers. Or a thumb. What was left was all gnarled. He said it was all down to me. And that he was going to make me pay.”

I swallowed, not knowing whether I could listen to this. But I’d coaxed this much out of her. And now I had to listen to the rest. No matter how hard that was going to be.

“Two of his men got hold of my arms, pinning them behind my back, holding me still. Then he took out this knife. It was fucking huge. Not like a flick knife. Like a hunting knife. He cut my shirt open first, and I could hear them all muttering and humming. And then he cut my bra off. I thought he was going to… you know. That might have been the plan later.”