Chapter 21
LOGAN
Killian showers the blood off him, then dries off and sits on the toilet, naked, as I apply antiseptic to his wound. Occasionally, he cuts me a look, I’m sure because he doesn’t think he needs anyone to do this for him. Maybe that’s why I’m enjoying it so much—because he’s suffering.
I’ve been stressed as hell since Wrath called to tell me what happened.
It reminds me that as much as we get under each other’s skin, I don’t want anything bad to happen to him.
He’s not just an ally, but the reason my brothers are safe from the harm the sick fucks in our world wish to inflict on them.
He’s the reason I was able to exact revenge on Sik Vik.
He’s helped us in more ways than I’ve given him credit for, and now it’s time to return the favor.
“I’m surprised Krychek and Jaime let you in my room.”
“Krychek pulled his gun on me, and I told him to shoot because I’m sure that’d make you real happy.”
He snickers, and it makes me smile.
“You’re really something, Log.”
My cheeks warm at the compliment. I don’t know what it is about us, but since we started whatever-the-hell-this-is, it’s like he has a tether attached to me, pulling the strings of my emotions.
I bandage his arm, then inspect it. “Okay. You’re all set.”
The fear that gripped me when I heard he’d been stabbed, and the extreme anxiety I felt on my way over, have dissipated, leaving only distant echoes in my mind.
I start to my feet when Killian tugs at my hand. He grips it, not looking at me, just holding me. “Thank you,” he whispers.
It’s not the way I’m used to him speaking. There’s something quiet, calm about it. It’s…nice.
“No worries.” I pull my hand free, head over to the sink, and wash my hands as he sits in silence, his gaze far off.
I think about the time I spent cleaning myself out earlier. Guess that was all for nothing. I can’t help but chuckle.
“What’s that about?” he asks.
“Oh, nothing,” I say, since he sure as hell doesn’t need to know about that.
As I turn to him, his gaze locks on mine for the first time since I came over.
“It’s not nothing,” he insists, his voice full of suspicion, as if some psychic impulse in him picked up on the truth. But no, that’s impossible.
“It’s just not the way I thought tonight would play out.”
He studies my face, and now I’m the one trying to avoid eye contact.
“Anyway, I guess I should go now.”
“No,” he says. “Clearly, there’s a target on our backs, and that means there’s one on the Wildes too. You’re staying here tonight. I won’t take no for an answer.”
“I’ve already learned that.” And I would object, but he has a point, and I don’t have a death wish.
His phone buzzes on the bathroom vanity, shaking him from his state, and he answers, “Yes? Keep the guys at Hayward through tonight, and get security on Rory and Malaki. I’ll follow up tomorrow morning about what we’ll do after.”
“Yes, sir,” I hear one of his guys reply.
His concern for my family warms my heart, reminds me that despite the tension between us, he is a man I can trust to do right by me and my brothers.
“Good. Thank you,” he says. “Oh, and, Martyr, any word on who’s responsible?”
“Not yet.”
“I want to know who’s behind this, and I want them in one piece. They’re mine.”
This man is as capable of brutal cruelty as I am, something that should elicit fear or at least repulsion, but instead, I find myself excited.
He hangs up before taking a breath, leaning back on the toilet seat. “I’m gonna tear their fucking throats out with my bare hands.”
I don’t doubt he means that literally.
“If Old Terror were here, he’d beat my ass for this slipup, especially when I should have known better.”
I know the story. You can’t be in Fury’s underworld without having heard how his allies betrayed and ambushed him. It’s not surprising that the attack today would remind Killian of that.
“When I heard the gunshots, it took me back to that night, when the Folcrums sieged that warehouse. Bullets flying everywhere. Blood-soaked bodies and concrete.”
Flashes come back to me of the bloody bodies at Hayward. The blood…so much fucking blood.
“I was twenty,” Killian goes on, “my brothers and sister still in their teens, and we had to arm up and protect ourselves, losing three of our brothers, my sister and mother, and, of course, Old Terror. It was like Rage and I were trying to survive Armageddon, watching as we lost the ones we loved.”
The Killian I’ve always known never showed this softer side.
In fact, if you asked most of the guys in the underworld if he even cared that his family died, they wouldn’t believe someone as sadistic as him could have a heart, yet that reputation is the very thing that’s made him appear fearless, made his enemies too fearful to attack.
Until today.
“It sounds horrifying,” I say.
“Not that you don’t have your own horrors,” he adds, and I know he’s referring to both my parents, but mostly Mom.
My mind tries to force me back to that day, seeing streaks of red on the walls and the floor…
I shake my head. No. I won’t go there. I refuse to go back to the day we lost her.
And I have to be here for Killian. I move closer, resting my hand on his shoulder, noticing I’m not treating him like the god he’s known as, but a man who’s hurting. “You couldn’t have been ready for this, and I know for a fact that Old Terror got into plenty of scuffles too.”
“Maybe you’re right, but I don’t think he would’ve seen it that way. He was…very hard on me. Even if I made a human error, it was unacceptable. He said he needed to be hard because it would make me better, and he wasn’t wrong.”
His words resonate. “I’m starting to understand why our dads got along so well.”
He grins. “I’m sorry again for how tonight played out. I had…other plans for you.” His gaze meets mine, and I find myself licking my lips.
“What sort of other plans?”
He angles his head, his brows shifting in a way that tells me what I already know.
“Yeah, it’s too bad,” I say, “because I cleaned out earlier.”
“You what?” His expression transforms from pained to intrigued in an instant.
In a sick way, I revel in the fact that I have power right now, that he’s the vulnerable one. I’d blame him for conjuring the sick thought, but I’d be lying about this evil thing in me.
“Were you planning on messing around again?” he asks, like that’s somehow confusing.
“No,” I lie.
He winces, clearly not believing me, and he shouldn’t because I’m learning I’m a liar, even to myself.
“Then what were you cleaning out for?”
“In case you tried to violate me again.”
He laughs. “Is that what you want? To be violated?”
Yes. Don’t make me beg. But I can’t speak the words.
I notice his cock filling out, and he pushes to his feet. There’s something sadistic in his gaze, like that rage from what he encountered earlier tonight, but now set on me. He moves toward me slowly, and I back up to the glass of the walk-in shower.
Placing his hand on my neck, he cups it firmly as he studies my lips like he’s about to take them.
Given how good they’ve felt on the rest of my body, I can only imagine how they’d feel crushing down against mine, and when he jerks me toward him, I’m all anticipation before he stops short, leaving me in suspense.
“What is this thing between us, Log?” he breathes.
“I’m not sure.”
With his free hand, he grabs my crotch, feeling the erection through the denim. He strokes me, and I arch my back, my ass cheeks flinching at the thought of him taking me, dominating me the way he did after our date.
He moves close, until his lips are near my ear, whispering, “You have no idea how much I want to fuck that ass again, but I’m scared of what I might do in this mood. There’s so much anger, so much hate in me. I just want to fuck your brains out, but I don’t want to hurt you.”
A part of me doesn’t fear getting hurt, but another is scared of what he might do, especially after the day he had.
He steps away, releasing my crotch and neck, taking a measured breath. He starts toward the bedroom, leaving me reeling in the powerful emotions he elicited, the way he stimulated my nerves so effortlessly.
A pulse of anger moves through me as I follow him into the bedroom. “You think I’m so easy to hurt?”
“I never said that,” he assures me, turning back to me.
I wish I could say I didn’t feel hurt by the rejection, but I know better. “Fine. Then I guess this immaculate, tight ass will spend the night all alone.” I’m careful with my wording, locking eyes with him to remind him of what he’d be missing out on.
“You trying to manipulate me into fucking you?”
“Depends. Is it working?”
His gaze narrows.
“You continue to underestimate me, Killian.”
“I don’t underestimate you anymore, Log.”
“Prove it.”
He shows teeth, then grinds them tight, clenching his fists as he tries to contain the powerful force he’s so worried about unleashing on me.
I’m afraid. I’m poking the bear—no, a damned gargoyle—not really knowing the extent of what lies within him, yet between how worked up I am and my desire to soothe him, it’s too much for me. And I feel that whatever may come is worth the price of finding out.
“If you’re scared of hurting me,” I say, “you should let me fuck you.”
I notice his cock’s still growing.
“You like that, don’t you?” I ask.
“I don’t bottom.”
“Who said anything about you bottoming?”
His expression twists up in apparent confusion.
“Lie down,” I order him, and his nostrils flare, like some part of him can’t bear being told what to do. The part Old Terror taught to always maintain control, same as my dad did with me. “I said lie the fuck down.”
“Is wifey trying to prey upon me while I’m weak?”
“Do it,” I demand. It’s my turn to be in charge.
My hands tremble, some part of me fearing that trying to order a Lorde around could only lead to me getting hurt, but he settles on the bed, relaxing his head against a pillow.