Slowly.
Muttering curses, I sit up and get to work on the necktie binding my hands. After a few minutes of struggling, the knots loosen, and I get free.
The first thing I do is head straight to the drawer in the dresser in his closet where I saw a cigarette lighter when I was snooping earlier. I return to the bedroom and light his tie on fire.
Watching it burn is right up there with the top five most satisfying moments of my life.
When there’s nothing left but a smoldering scorch mark on the carpet and the acrid scent of burnt silk in the air, I toss the lighter onto the bed, sit cross-legged on the floor in front of the windows, slow my breathing, and meditate for twenty minutes.
And when I say “meditate,” I mean mentally run through all the ways I’d love to see Declan die.
Take a deep breath and remember who the fuck you are.
He’ll never get a rise out of me again. Every time I see him from now on, I’ll be a rock. I’ll be a cat, aloof and disinterested. Armed with sharp teeth and claws.
“Fucker,” I mutter under my breath. “Egotistical, overbearing, bad-tempered jerk.”
Take a deep breath. Remember who you are.
Another twenty minutes of affirmations produces as little positive effect on my mental state as the meditation did. I move on to yoga, but quickly discover that all the Feathered Peacock poses in the world can’t rid me of the brain stain that is Declan O’Donnell.
So be it.
I’ve survived bullies before.
I’ve survived humiliation before.
I’ll survive him.
Hours later, another one of the goon squad arrives, carrying a tray of food. He’s got dark blond hair, hazel eyes, broad shoulders, a cleft chin, and a spiderweb tattoo on one side of his neck.
His hands are the size of anvils. His jawline could cut steel. I instantly nickname him Thor.
I’m beginning to think Declan hires these guys based on their level of hotness. Birds of a feather and all that.
“Where’s Kieran?”
Thor doesn’t spare me a glance as he sets the tray down and picks up the old one. “Don’t bother tryin’ to chat me up, lass. I’ve been told not to talk to you.”
Like Kieran, he pronounces “you” like “ye.” Declan must’ve put something funny in the last food delivery, because I’m starting to think Irish accents are the sexiest of them all.
Or maybe that’s my brain bleed talking.
I don my brightest smile. “Oh, that’s okay. I don’t want to get you in trouble. I just wanted to know your name so I could tell Declan what a good job you did, but I understand you’re under orders. Mum’s the word.”
He straightens and glowers at me.
I make a zipper motion across my lips. “Seriously. No talking, I promise. Except if you could just tell me if Kieran’s okay, that would be great. We’re friends, you know. You and I could be friends, too, if you wanted, but I know that probably goes against your whole badass gangster vibe to befriend a helpless captive and whatnot. Has anyone ever told you that you bear a striking resemblance to Thor, the Norse god of thunder?”
He pauses before saying, “Usually I get Captain America.”
I gasp. “Oh my god, you’re so right! It’s that jaw. Very heroic.”
He looks momentarily pleased, before he remembers he’s not supposed to be talking to me. The glower makes a reappearance.
“Right. Sorry. My bad. If you could just tell Kieran I was asking after him, I’d really appreciate it. I feel so bad about his nose.”
“Don’t. It’s an improvement.” The faint approximation of a smile curves the corners of his mouth. “All the lads thought it was dead sound, lass. Wicked craic.” His smile vanishes. “Don’t tell Declan I said that, if you please.”
“I won’t. You can count on me. If he asks about you, I’ll tell him you were a mute asshole. That should make him happy.”
He lowers his head and examines my face for a moment. Then he nods and turns back to the door. Just as he’s about to leave, he turns back to me.
“The name’s Spider.”
“Your mother named you Spider? I don’t think so. What’s your real name?”
He considers me in silence for a while, then says grudgingly, “Homer. And if you repeat that, I’ll—”
“Homer? Very cool! I wish I were named after an ancient Greek poet, but I’m embarrassed to admit my mom wanted a name that would fit either a boy or a girl and found Sloane on some random baby name website. At least your mother had real inspiration. I think mine was drunk on rosé.”
When I notice how strangely he’s looking at me, I get worried. “Did I say something wrong?”
“Most people from this country think of the cartoon character Homer Simpson when I tell them my name.”
“Oh. Well, I’m not most people, now am I?”
When I grin, he chuckles softly, shaking his head. “I hear you offered to cook Kieran a meal.”
“Yes. But not only him. I offered to cook for all of you. I’m a very good chef, if I do say so myself. It’s too bad you and Kieran aren’t supposed to be talking to me, because you could lobby Declan to let me into the kitchen. It would be good therapy for us both. I’m already getting bored. Imagine how much I’ll annoy him in another few days when I’m really climbing the walls!”
He opens his mouth, remembers he shouldn’t be having this conversation, and shuts it again.
“Oops. That’s my fault. I don’t want to get you in trouble, so you should probably go. When I see Declan next, I’ll pretend to be crying and blame it on you.”
“Decent of you. Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.”
“By the way, what’s that stench?”
“I used Declan’s cigarette lighter to burn one of his ties.”
We gaze at each other in silence for a moment. He says gently, “Why don’t you give me the lighter, lass?”
“Ooh, good idea! You can tell him you took it away from me and I started sobbing. He’ll probably give you a raise.”
I retrieve the lighter from the bed and set it on the tray of empty dishes Homer’s holding. Then I smile at him. “It’s been nice meeting you. You and Kieran are both very sweet. I can’t believe you work for such a douche.”
He suddenly turns dead serious. “It’s my honor to work for him. He’s one of the best men I’ve ever known.”
Another one who’s drunk the Kool-Aid. The doctor said the same thing. “I think we’ll have to agree to disagree. But it was still nice to meet you. Please give Kieran my best.”
Homer can’t decide how to respond, so he leaves without saying anything.
He returns in short order with bags and bags of clothes. He sets the bags inside the door, turns to me, lowers his voice, says, “Kieran says hullo, and we’re working on the cooking thing,” then leaves again.
If only the lord of the manor were as nice as his minions.
I dig through the clothes, delighted to find almost everything I asked for. I contemplate texting Declan a list of things I’d like from Louis Vuitton and Cartier, just to see what he’d do, but decide I’d rather be shot dead than communicate with him. So I dress, eat the food Homer brought, and meditate again.