Page 46 of Malevolent Hearts
“Why are you so calm?” I mutter to myself, half expecting her to lash out, to shatter the stillness with fury. But she doesn’t, and the quiet is oppressive, heavy with things unsaid, with the weight of our shared history and the chasm it created. “Fuck’s sake. Say something. Please.” My plea hangs in the air, desperate and raw. I’m reaching for her, not with my hands, but with every shattered piece of my soul, begging for an answer, for any sign that this isn’t just another ghost coming to haunt my broken shores.
Exhaustion seeps into my bones, a tide too forceful to fight. I slump down beside her on the bed and lower my face into my hands. “Beibhinn,” I mutter against my skin, a sacred prayer or perhaps a curse. Silence is my only answer, and it gnaws at me, sharper than any blade.
She shifts then, the mattress protesting under her weight, and I feel the absence of her warmth like a winter’s chill. I force my heavy head up, my gaze lifting to meet hers in the half-light. She stands before me, a figure carved from night itself, edges softened by darkness. Our eyes lock, and it’s as if I’m seeing her through a haze of mist—familiar yet ethereal. There’s a hollowness in her gaze, those once-blues now muted, as if someone had reached in and turned down the very essence of her. A shiver runs through me, not from cold but from the recognition of change.
Sure, my senses are dulled, but they yearn to map every nuance of her—the softness of her skin, the heat of her presence, an allure that’s never waned, even as everything else between us has shattered. Her hands find mine, fingers tracing the lines of my life, my fate, as though she could rewrite our story with a single touch. The contact feels foreign across my flesh. It’s muted by the wedge between us.
Before I can beg her to let me bridge the gap between us, she takes me by surprise. Her lips brush against mine, a kiss that’s a ghost of what we’ve shared before. It’s tainted, tinged with a sorrow that tastes like regret. It’s then I admit to myself what I knew the night I left her standing in her father’s office—we’re fractured. We’re two halves of a whole that no longer fits together, the jagged edges too sharp, too raw. And still, here she is, here I am, and in this sliver of time, we are nothing but the sum of our broken pieces.
When her nimble fingers work the button of my suit pants, I recoil slightly. I could blame it on the whiskey’s toll on my coordination, but I know better. This isn’t what she needs or wants. She hates me, and rightly so. I should stop her.
“What are you doing, Beibhinn?” My voice emerges hoarse, a tangled mix of desire and confusion.
“Taking what I want and not apologising for it.” Her words slice through the haze, sharp and unyielding. There’s an edge to her tone, a feral grace in her movement that’s never touched us before. It’s like she’s shed some invisible shackle and there’s a raw power in her defiance. She’s not the girl who’d throw accusations with the force of a tempest. This Beibhinn is something else—something I can’t quite put my finger on.
I should stop this, stop her. But I don’t. My heart hammers against my ribs, a thunderous echo of the waves outside. Her hands continue their exploration, bold and sure, charting a course under the waistband of my trousers. There’s a hunger in her touch, a need that speaks to the void within me, whispering promises of oblivion and ecstasy entwined. The air between us crackles with a tension that’s both familiar yet entirely new. It’s a dance we’ve never performed, steps we’ve never rehearsed, yet I submit to the rhythm of this darker melody. Suddenly, she teases my pants lower, and frees my cock from the confines of my boxers.
“Beibhinn,” I rasp. But she silences me by wrapping her lips around the tip, deep and consuming, drinking me in like my pre-come is the only thing that can quench the thirst in the desolate plains of her soul. Her fingers trail fire along my skin, a contrast to the cool breeze wafting through the open window. The world outside fades; there’s nothing but the sound of the sea and the storm raging within us. “B,” I breathe again, a thread of sanity I’m not ready to relinquish, but she is relentless in her pursuit.
At this moment, we’re not enemies, not lovers. We’re just two souls cast adrift, finding harbour in each other amidst the storm. And though the dawn may bring regret and highlight every scar we’ve inflicted upon each other, right now, there’s only this—my cock in her mouth, the heat of her skin, and the undeniable truth that, for all our fractures, in the dark, we still fit together.
“Are you sure?” It’s a feeble attempt at logic, a lifeline to the part of me still clinging to the cliff’s edge. But she’s the tide pulling me into the depths, and I am drowning in her, willingly.
And then, there’s only sensation—the silk of her hair cascading over my thighs, the warmth of her breath as she exhales against my dick. Each touch is a spark that ignites the kindling of desire, a flame that consumes all reason. We move together, a symphony of sighs and murmurs. Her name becomes a litany on my lips, an incantation that binds her to me in the most primal way. It’s then I realise this is not the end, nor is it a beginning. It is the eye of the storm, a moment of profound stillness amidst the turmoil of our lives.
“Beibhinn,” I whisper one last time, not as a question or a revelation, but as an acknowledgment of the power she wields over me. Whatever we have unleashed here cannot be contained or controlled. It is wild and untamed, like the Irish sea that rages against the cliffs below. And for a fleeting heartbeat, I wonder if love can truly bloom in the soil watered by hate.
But that is a question for the daylight. For now, in the sanctuary of shadows, her mouth wrapped around me, I close my eyes and let the darkness cradle us both.
Twenty-Six
Beibhinn
The Present
Deep in earth my love is lying
And I must weep alone.
?Edgar Allan Poe
I slam my brother’s Mustang into park next to Lucas’s car, and my knuckles blanch because my grip on the steering wheel is so tight. My heart is a jackhammer in my chest, pounding against my ribs, but I ignore it as I step out into the brisk coastal air. I’ve had three hours to stew in my anger, and I’ve reached a boiling point.
“Beibhinn.” Lucas’s drawl greets me, and my name sounds like a joke on his tongue as he leans back against the hood of his sleek black car. “I’ve been expecting you.” He holds up Cadden’s phone, where Cadden’s Snap Map is displayed, my avatar glaringly present in this desolate location. His thumb swipes over the screen with a smugness that makes my blood bubble. “And honestly, I couldn’t have timed your arrival better if I tried.”
My pulse throbs in my ears, a drumbeat of betrayal; this lighthouse, once a beacon of solitude, now feels like the epicentre of my demise.
“Lucas,” I spit his name out like venom, my hands curling into fists at my sides. The sea crashes against the cliffs below, thunder to match the chaos unfurling within me.
The scent of tobacco slithers into my nostrils as Lucas exhales a lazy plume of smoke, the sea air doing nothing to cleanse the taint. His posture is one of irritating ease—leaning against the bonnet of his gleaming car like he hasn’t a care in the world. “Nice to see you too, Beibhinn. Pleasure as always.” The words curl off his tongue, wrapped in that infuriating facade that’s become his signature. It’s a thin veneer over the serpent beneath, but I’m not fooled—not by his smile, nor by the deceptive calm in his green eyes.
“Cut the shite, Luc.” My words are clipped, a dagger thrown with precision. He just stands there, a wry smile dancing on his lips, cigarette smoke curling around him. Every line of his body speaks of arrogance, from the way his arms fold across his chest to the casual tilt of his head that casts shadows over his too-sure features as he flaunts the electronic Judas. “You’ve been tracking me?” The words tumble out, laced with disbelief and tinged with an edge sharper than the rocks around us. What the hell have I just walked into? “Where the fuck is he?” The demand is a raw scrape against the silence, my voice gravel and gunpowder, ready to ignite. I need to know where Cadden is, to confront the chaos he’s sewn into the fabric of my life, thread by bloody thread.
Lucas’s smirk doesn’t waver, and for a moment, all I can think of is shattering it with my fist. I stand there, hands clenched, every nerve ending screaming for action, for something to break the stranglehold of helplessness that claws at my insides. I’m waiting to erupt, and the air around us is charged with enough electricity to fuel me when I do.
“Sorry, princess, but your boy is a little preoccupied.” That wink—it’s like oil on fire, and it ignites something feral within me.
“Occupied?” I repeat, the question a hiss between my teeth. The idea that Cadden might be tangled in someone else’s embrace so soon after the world we knew crumbled into dust—a world where my brother was still alive, before Cadden built the bomb that snatched him away—is unfathomable. Lucas is playing a game, but I’m not here to be a pawn on his chessboard. The taste of bile rises in my throat as the implication of his words sink their venomous teeth into my already raw nerves.