Chapter 5: What’s Cian up to?

Darragh, Rory, and Cian had taken the upper seats with a clear view of the commotion below. Cian was stepping over a row of seats and climbing up to their level, his face dark and visibly agitated.

Of the three, Cian was known to have the worst temper, notorious for his violent outbursts. Seeing him approach, Sinéad shrank back and shifted aside.

Darragh wiped his face and turned to Eoin. "Can you take a beating?"

Eoin stayed seated, though his eyelid twitched involuntarily.

Darragh looked him up and down. Cian’s companion was tall but not muscular, scholarly and refined, with only a thin layer of muscle beneath his clothes and a slender waist. A punch to the gut might well make him vomit. With Cian’s unstable temper, if he didn’t rein in his strength, it could easily end badly.

Darragh frowned. "Right, I’ll vouch for you."

As Cian drew near, Darragh stood up, threw an arm over his friend’s shoulder, patted him twice, and steered him a little way off, smiling as he asked, "Why aren’t you racing? Is your car acting up?"

Cian shook his head. "No problem."

He thought about lying and saying the car had broken down, but race cars had maintenance logs that were easy to check. If Darragh and Rory caught him in a lie, they’d suspect something was off.

Darragh was puzzled. "So why did you come down?"

Cian pulled the arm off his shoulder. "Nothing much. Racing’s just lost its appeal."

"Racing’s lost its appeal?" Darragh echoed.

Cian glanced meaningfully at Eoin. "What’s the point of leaving someone like that sitting here while I race?"

Seeing that Cian had no intention of starting a fight, Darragh lowered his arm and chuckled. "So what does interest you?"

"Hand over the keys to your limited edition MV Agusta," Cian said.

The original Cian had ridden motorbikes too, though not often. Darragh took the keys from his pocket and handed them over. "What do you need them for?"

"Taking someone for a spin," Cian replied.

"Out of my way," Cian said, pushing Darragh aside and striding forward to stop on the step below Eoin. He looked up and smiled. "Mr. Brennan, ever been on a bike?"

He twirled the keys in his palm and held out his hand to Eoin. "Come for a ride. Racing isn’t that interesting."

Eoin lowered his gaze and stared at the outstretched hand.

The rain had stopped and a bit of sun had appeared in the west, casting golden rays from behind and outlining Cian’s handsome features. His face glowed in the reddish light, and his smile was surprisingly genuine.

He was like a secondary school lad in the back row, not paying attention but not causing trouble either. He wasn’t exactly obedient, but he seemed sincere.

Strangely, when people in Dublin talked about the young Fitzgerald, they mostly mentioned his violent temper and the ways he tormented people. Eoin had never seen this side of him.

Cian urged him. "Hurry up, it’s in the contract."

It was indeed part of the agreement, set out in black and white: during outings, he must follow Party A’s arrangements, with no room for refusal.

Eoin lowered his gaze and placed his hand in Cian’s palm.

The air after the rain was cold, and Eoin’s body temperature was low too, his fingers icy. Cian’s palm, by contrast, was scorching, and Eoin’s fingertips twitched uncomfortably.

Cian casually suppressed the small struggle. He closed his hand, put in a bit of force, and pulled Eoin to his feet. Then, gripping his wrist, he hurried down, stepping over the seats and drawing Eoin out of the stands, leaving Darragh staring in surprise.

Sinéad watched them disappear and whispered, "What’s Cian up to?"

Darragh withdrew his gaze and muttered, "Has the young Fitzgerald turned over a new leaf? It’s like the sun rising in the west. Totally unexpected."

Darragh’s motorcycle was parked at the entrance to the racetrack, its deep red body bold and eye catching. Cian wasn’t much of a racer but was decent with motorbikes. He hopped on, turned the key, got a feel for it, and quickly worked out how to ride.

Eoin stood beside the bike, visibly uneasy. He had clearly never ridden one before and stood frozen, not knowing where to put his hands or feet. Cian, like a man giving orders, set the helmet on his head. "Hop on."

He spoke with the air of a wealthy young master, looking down without a trace of politeness. Yet Cian was tall, in a simple white T shirt and loose trousers, his outfit relaxed and effortlessly cool. Sitting confidently on the bike with a few strands of hair casually pushed back, he had a youthful charm that wasn’t off putting.

Eoin stepped onto the footrest and climbed on hesitantly, sitting at the very back of the seat with his hands on the rear rail, keeping his distance from Cian.

Cian said, "You’ll fall off sitting like that. Move closer."

Eoin inched forward, slow as a snail.

Cian instructed, "Further forward. Ah, forget it, just grab my waist."

The scene called for physical contact over a certain length of time. Since they hadn’t spent enough time together in the car, Cian meant to make up for it now.

Eoin froze, unmoving.

Cian chuckled. "What, is Mr. Brennan not cooperating?"

Without another word he started the engine. The key turned, the twin cylinder engine roared to life, and the three exhaust pipes sang together. The bike snarled like a wild beast, vibrating fiercely. Startled, Eoin instinctively clung to Cian.

Through the thin T shirt, the warmth of Cian’s waist came radiating through. His palm pressed against Cian’s stomach, and he could just make out the outline of muscle.

Cian chuckled again.

Eoin flinched at the laughter as if burned. He pulled his hand back, keeping his arms around Cian but leaving a small gap, supporting himself only lightly.

Cian gave a kindly reminder. "Mr. Brennan, you’d better hold on tight."

Eoin said nothing.

He looked away. "No."

The next second the engine’s roar rose. Cian gripped the handlebars, shifted smoothly through the gears, and the MV Agusta shot forward like an arrow.

Eoin: "!!!"

The wind howled in his ears and the trees on either side of the road blurred into green brown streaks. The enormous acceleration pulled him backwards. Eoin, who had never known a motorbike could go so fast, reacted by flinging his arms wide and wrapping them tightly around Cian.

His arms circled Cian’s waist and his chest pressed against Cian’s back. As the bike surged ahead, Eoin even pressed his face against Cian, clinging to him like a limpet.

Cian laughed again. "Mr. Brennan is very enthusiastic."

The system required both physical contact and verbal teasing. With the contact achieved, the teasing couldn’t be left out.

Eoin wanted to retort, but the bike was flying down the road, now and then taking sharp bends and drifts. He shut his eyes, lashes trembling, heart racing, unable to say a word, holding on to Cian like a lifeline.

Cian cried out, "Ow! Ow! Mr. Brennan, you’re very strong. Are you pinching me now?"

Eoin opened his eyes and realised he was gripping too hard, his fingers digging into the young master’s waist. It was more of a pinch than a hug now, and the position was far too intimate. He quickly loosened his hold. "I didn’t mean to."

Cian asked, "What? I didn’t hear you. Say it again."

The speed was too great, with the wind rushing all around. Pressed by Cian’s questioning, Eoin raised his voice. "Sorry! I didn’t mean to!"

Cian chuckled and teased, "Good student, scared already at this speed? We’re only getting started."

Eoin was stunned.

He wasn’t in pain. He was faking it?

Before he could react, he heard Cian say, "Hold on, I’m speeding up."

The words were barely out before the wind roared louder. In that moment Eoin could hear nothing but the roar of the bike.

Everything spun.

He squeezed his eyes tightly shut.

In his panic he clung to Cian on instinct. It wasn’t until they had gone several kilometres that he finally got used to the vibration of the bike.

They were on a country road, with rolling green hills on both sides, vivid after the summer rain. The air carried the scent of grass and wet earth, and the lingering raindrops fell on them, a little cold.

Eoin ran cold and hadn’t worn a jacket. Cian was his only warmth. Even though he now dared to open his eyes, he still held on tight.

Cian let him cling. Eoin had never ridden a motorbike before, so the speed was too much for him and it was natural that he was scared. But for Cian it was nothing special.

The MV Agusta was one of the top motorcycle brands, excellent in both stability and speed, among the best in the business. And this wasn’t the city but a road built beside the racetrack, smooth and nearly empty. For several kilometres there wasn’t a soul in sight. They could have gone even faster. While riding, he found time to tease Eoin. "Mr. Brennan, aren’t you going to ask where I’m taking you? What if I sell you off or lock you in a dark room?"

Eoin said nothing.

He’d signed a deal with Cian. Even if he wasn’t locked up, it wouldn’t be much better. He closed his eyes and mocked himself, but still asked, "Where are you taking me?"

Cian said, "Nowhere. Just cruising around."

He only wanted to escape the race. Where they went didn’t matter.

Cian kept track of the time and wandered about for roughly half an hour, reckoned the race was mostly over, then turned around and rode back.

When he braked to a stop outside the venue, a few cars at the front were just crossing the finish line.

Cian glanced over from a distance. Rory’s car wasn’t among them.

He stepped onto the spectator stand and walked over to Darragh. "Where’s Rory?"

Darragh pointed. "Among the last few cars. He’s not in good form today. Actually, none of the cars ran well today. Pity you didn’t take part, or your result would definitely have been good."

Please, no, Cian thought. If he’d really taken part, it wouldn’t have been a question of a good result but of how many tables of banquets it would take to clean up the mess.

Eoin sat in the back row, with one seat between him and Sinéad. Sinéad watched his expression carefully and asked, "Did Cian do something to you?"

Eoin’s face was pale and looked far from well.

Eoin said, "No, it’s just low blood sugar."

He hadn’t eaten lunch.

Sinéad exclaimed, "Oh, have you anything to eat?"

Eoin shook his head. "No."

He felt his pocket and found it empty. He had bought a chocolate bar earlier, but now it was gone. He guessed it must have fallen out during the ride.