Look, all I did was point out that the ruckus from next-door distracted me from my pancakes and I think a gentleman would make that right! But nooooooo. Your brother is in a *particularly* foul mood today!
A tinny melody buzzed at the edge of his consciousness.
An alarm. No. A phone. His phone
He jerked, reaching for it in the dark to shut it off before it woke the whole house. He was stiff, sore, and upon opening his eyes, realized abruptly that he was not in Liam’s flat. He shifted again, noting the handcuffs that bound his arms behind the chair he was sitting on.
Liam stood in front of him, unnaturally still. No one else was in the room with them and for a moment Killian felt relief. Then he met Liam’s eyes. Distant and unfocused, it was as though Killian was not even there, or perhaps as though he could not pull his focus from a spot on the blank wall to his left.
“If you don’t let me answer they’re just going to keep calling,” Killian commented.
For a moment Liam didn’t move. Then stiffly, he bent to unlock his right arm.
“Don’t be clever,” a voice that wasn’t quite Liam’s warned him before the cuff clattered to the ground.
The person on the other end of the call managed to garner very little of his attention, babbling something about breakfast and being a gentleman.
He could ask for help.
And put his brother’s life in the hands of an occasionally trigger happy SWAT team.
A familiar weight at his hip informed him he was still armed and his eyebrows furrowed. Whoever was making the decisions here was either extraordinarily stupid, or didn’t give a damn if Liam survived.
“Your brother is in a particularly foul mood today.”
“I daresay he is. But I’m a bit tied up at the moment. Let me call you back.”
If this course of action met with his neighbors’ approval was unclear. But if the flash of anger in Liam’s eyes was any indication, it did not meet with his.