Chapter 15
KILLIAN
Trying to make conversation with Logan is like rubbing two venomous snakes together to start a fire. He’s made it clear he doesn’t like me, and I’ve made it clear I don’t care.
What I care about is that he still has those apps on his damn phone, and it’s hard to concentrate on talking to him when I’m obsessed with the idea of him chatting up some hot girl so he can meet up with her later. Then he’ll have to find out how serious I am about my threat.
My throat tightens, making conversation that much harder.
“I’m not good with small talk,” I say. “In our line of work, there’s not a lot of chitchat, so I’m struggling with what to discuss.”
“How about I make a list of things you can’t talk about and then maybe that will help?”
“I’m intrigued.”
“Nothing about how you own me. Or what you want to do to me or my, in your words, ‘cunt.’”
I smile at the thought of what a pretty little cunt it must be. “Bet it’s a little pink slit,” I mutter, and he shoots me another look.
“So nothing like that. And nothing about what I do or don’t do in my sex life or have or have not done.”
He’s definitely hitting all the big ones I’m obsessed with at the moment.
“So what does that leave us with?” I ask, and the way he quirks a brow, it’s like he’s trying to work out if I’m serious.
“Books, hobbies, interests… You don’t even know what movies I like. If this were an actual date, that’s what we’d be discussing.”
“This is an actual date.”
He angles his head, then leans against the leather backing of the booth. “Sure, whatever.”
He’s not wrong, though. If I’m going to be with him for the rest of my life, then I should discuss things like hobbies and interests with him.
“Well, let’s see,” I begin. “You’re good at tennis, pickleball. You enjoy jogging, and you’re a good shot at the range.”
His gaze locks with mine. He looks thrown.
“Isn’t this what you wanted to discuss?” I ask.
“Did you hire someone to probe my private life?”
“Of course I did. Did you think I would just marry someone I knew nothing about?”
“You could’ve asked me about these things.”
“I’ve saved us time.”
He huffs, his lips curling upward, as though he’s found some dark amusement in all this. “You really are something, Killian. You’re basically making it impossible for me to do anything other than despise you.”
Why does it feel so good to hear him say that? Maybe because it means I’m getting to him, like I do with all my enemies. That I’m on his mind more than he likes. I like being on his mind.
“Maybe now you have a better understanding of why I can focus on the things that interest me more, like your cunt,” I say, enjoying bringing back a subject I know he has no interest in. “But please, tell me how you enjoy the shooting range.”
He seems to consider this, maybe to decide how to respond. “I’d prefer to talk about tennis. My brother Malaki is better, and reminds me of it every time we play.”
I’ve only met Malaki a few times, and it doesn’t surprise me. From what I know, he’s good at a lot of things. A natural talent.
“Since you’ve already gotten to know me without my consent,” Logan says, “while I didn’t have someone stalk you, maybe you can tell me more about you.”
“I don’t have time for hobbies,” I spit out.
He sighs, like my answer exhausted him, so I try to do better.
“Gardening. It’s what Old Terror used to enjoy, and I took it up after he passed because someone needed to tend to his plants.”
“Gardening? Well, that’s unexpected.”
“Why?”
“That requires a delicate touch, which you don’t seem to have.”
“I can be very delicate,” I insist, and his gaze shifts to my lips. “Why are you looking there? Because when my lips touched your skin, you thought them delicate?”
“I didn’t say that,” he objects.
“You didn’t have to. It’s all over your face, and I’m damn good at reading people, so don’t lie to me.”
He seems annoyed with my observation, staring me down until he finally says, “If you say so.”
“I suppose there’s only one way for you to find out for sure.”
There’s a flash of worry in his gaze, and he takes a sip of his wine, I figure to make it more difficult for me to read him.
“What about movies?” I ask.
“That didn’t come up in your investigation?” His words carry his resentment for my prying.
“Would you have preferred I lie to you and pretend I didn’t know anything?”
He considers this before saying, “Anything other than action movies. I could use less action in my life, not more. What about you?”
“Horror,” I confess, and his expression twists up.
“Isn’t life scary enough?”
“It’s so scary that I need to see something even worse.”
“Fair enough,” he says with a shrug.
“There, we covered everything else,” I joke, earning a smile that wavers, as though it snuck up and surprised him too.
“So you do have a sense of humor,” he says, “which you’ve been hiding until tonight?”
“I don’t know what you mean. Most of what’s happened has been pretty amusing.”
“Maybe for you.”
The waiter returns to take our orders, and Logan goes first. “Steak and mashed potatoes for me.”
“Anything on those potatoes?” the waiter asks.
I thought we already went over this. “He’ll have a side salad instead of potatoes,” I interject.
Logan flashes me a look that could kill, or in his case, maybe brutally torment before killing. “I’ll have the potatoes, thank you very much.”
I address the waiter. “If you know what’s good for you, you’ll give him a salad. Maybe some vinaigrette on the side.”
The waiter’s wide-eyed gaze assures me he does indeed know what’s good for him, so I proceed with my order. “And I’ll have the lamb rib with scallops and a salad as well.”
He grabs our menus before heading off, and Logan is fuming, jaw clenched, fists tight.
“And here I thought we were hitting it off,” I say.
His face is bright red, the way it might look if someone were choking the life out of him.
“You were starting to become tolerable,” he fights out through his teeth, “until you corrected my order.”
“You should eat healthier.”
“It’s my choice however I decide to eat, and if you think I’m going to marry you and never eat mashed potatoes again, you’re dead wrong.”
My chest constricts, rage bubbling up. “You know, when someone talks to me like this, they can lose their tongue.”
“When someone tries to control me, they can lose their life.”
Angry as I am with his disobedience, I can’t deny the other sensations it stirs, like when we were rolling around on his bathroom floor.
Regardless, my attempt at making him eat healthier effectively kills the conversation.
It might be better to wait until my temper settles to continue talking with him anyway, and before I know it, our food has arrived, giving us time to spend eating rather than pissing each other off.
I study the way he cuts his meat and ignores his salad entirely, as though holding a personal grudge against me. Old Terror always said marriage was about compromise, but doesn’t Logan care that I was thinking about his health?
I won’t concede. I refuse, not just because I’m right, but out of my own damn pride.
Once I’ve decided on something, I don’t waver.
I don’t question my decisions. Old Terror also said that if you’re indecisive, you wind up dead.
I’ve seen that enough times to know it’s true.
Once you’ve decided to kill, you must do it, without hesitation, which…
is maybe a little dramatic when it involves mashed potatoes.
The silence becomes louder, and when the waiter returns to refill our glasses, I tell him, “Could you bring us some mashed potatoes?” practically choking on the words, and Logan looks at me in surprise.
What the hell am I doing?
I loosen the buttons on the collar of my shirt, trying not to draw too much attention to my discomfort.
My concession doesn’t magically make things right, but when his mashed potatoes arrive, Logan digs in, and as I watch him dip his steak in them, I’m annoyed, but also pleased he’s enjoying them. Savoring them like he savored my cock.
I can admit when I’m wrong, and I stifle the part of me that wants to hold him down and force-feed him the fucking salad.
When we finish the meal, Logan pulls out his wallet. “We’ll split it.”
“I’ve already handled that. He has my card.”
Logan glares at me, then starts to get up. “I guess I’ll head out, then.”
“That works. Just have your guys drive you back to my place.”
“What?” he asks, and there’s that fear in his expression again. I shouldn’t enjoy seeing it as much as I do, but I can’t help it. It’s the monster in me.
“Have your guys drive you to Rothguard. Unless you’d like to drive with me.”
His gaze lowers, like a man who understands what he must do, no matter how much he doesn’t want to.
I’m waiting for him to ask why we’re meeting there or what I’m planning to do to him, but he doesn’t.
Maybe because he’s surrendered to this fate.
And the evil in me is thrilled it’s working. That I’m wearing him down.
“Good job, Logan. Clearly, you know what’s good for you.”
My cock stiffens as I revel in my power over him. Soon, Logan Wilde will be mine.
We head to the cars, and fifteen minutes later we’re at Rothguard.
“Take good care of his security,” I tell Jaime and Krychek. “If I hear about any scuffles, someone’s losing a thumb, got it?”
The seriousness of their nods assures me they’ve understood.
Logan follows me through the house to my office, his head hanging low, like a dead man on his way to the electric chair. Surely because he knows exactly what I want from him.