Chapter 31
LOGAN
After Killian filled me up, we found the nurse he’d ordered to leave so we could finish.
She informed us Mom’s stable, but they suggested I return another day, which isn’t happening.
I said what I needed to, and she messed with my head so badly that I needed Killian to fuck the hell out of me just to ease the discomfort of the warring thoughts that have been invading my mind ever since.
Now we’re in the car, en route to Rothguard.
Even before seeing Mom, my mind was chaos, past and present thrashing about in a turbulent storm. Now it’s as though a tornado has converged with another, adding to the mess as it tears through everything in its path.
I’m not sure it was wise to share with Killian what my dear mother told me, especially without knowing if it was her fabrication.
But even as cunning as she is, she would have to be a real master of deception to have put on such an extravagant performance today.
Not that I can put anything past her after what she did to us as kids.
Still, I thought today would be about fulfilling my obligation as her son, not questioning everything I’d once known about my father.
Killian must sense the sharp increase in my anxiety because he rests his hand on my thigh, the way he did in the waiting area before I saw Mom. Feels like his hand is where it belongs as he strokes his thumb across the fabric of my pants.
Our gazes meet, and I detect sympathy, like when he was fucking me to end my agony.
I’ve had a lot of feelings about Killian Lorde: I’ve hated him.
I’ve feared him. I’ve lusted for him. The lust is still there, minus the fear and hate, but there’s something else too—despite his many character flaws, I actually like the bastard.
Behind all his abrasiveness and desperate need for power and submission is a man who can show compassion and care, like he did when he insisted I slow down.
At the time, I despised him for making me take my time, but my ass certainly appreciates it now.
Yes, I’m realizing Killian’s capable of much more than I give him credit for. He may be a psychopath, but even if it’s just that he wants to protect his possession, it’s good enough for me.
Yet I know the one thing he isn’t capable of…
But the fact that he can’t ever love me shouldn’t bother me, especially now.
I don’t care to think on it, though, so I compartmentalize it, stick it away with all those dark memories I keep tucked far back. It’s the only way to live with them.
“I’m sorry for being so needy back there,” I say, breaking the silence.
“I like when you’re needy, so that’s not an issue.” He cracks a smile.
He’s smiling, after everything I told him?
But his response helps relax me—at least as much as I can, given the circumstances.
“I know you’re close to your brother,” I say, “but I’d prefer to keep this between us for the time being. I need time to sit with this and sort through my thoughts.”
It’s a lot to ask of him, so I’m relieved when he says, “Of course. Do you think she’ll tell Wrath?”
“I wouldn’t put anything past her. I guess I’ll have to play that by ear.” I muse on some excuses I could make to Wrath to buy myself time.
“And how are you feeling about the wedding?” he asks.
It’s strange that, of everything that’s weighing on me, the one thing that has been the source of so much strife the past few weeks—my arranged marriage—doesn’t faze me.
“What about it?” I ask.
“Knowing that our fathers might have deceived us. Has that changed your feelings about your obligations?”
I detect concern in his tone, like it would hurt him if I changed my mind, which throws me.
“The opposite,” I say. “I don’t want to believe it, but even if Dad wasn’t as loyal to this family as I’d once believed, that’s not the kind of man I am.
And even if this was all some sick way that he and Old Terror could be together beyond the grave, I’ve already had that battle in my soul, and I know this ensures my family’s safety.
That’s what matters to me.” As soon as I get the words out, I realize this isn’t only my decision to make, and maybe he asked because of his own fears. “Are you questioning…?”
A jolt of worry courses through me as I consider the implications of Killian refusing, but he quickly says, “Not at all. I already told you, this isn’t about duty for me anymore.”
“That’s right,” I acknowledge, recalling our many fucked-up conversations. “It’s about clipping and training your falcon.”
He gives another stroke of his thumb against my thigh, and despite my uneasiness with his intentions, it’s soothing.
“At least I’ll live in a pretty cage,” I say, my tone laced with bitterness.
“You still think I’m a monster for saying that, don’t you?”
“I thought that when you said it,” I confess. “But maybe a real monster would have thought it and pretended otherwise. Maybe this is just part and parcel of your psychopathy. Your need to control and own everything, even me.”
I should feel violated, like I did the first time he brought it up, yet something about the proposition comforts me, and for once, it isn’t coupled with the shame I might normally feel around it.
Because it might not even matter what Dad wanted for me.
Killian caresses my cheek with his knuckles, then his fingertips. My skin prickles where he touches, like he’s trained my body to respond to him like this.
“I know it might not be any consolation,” he says, “but I’ll do my best to prove I’m a worthy captor.”
Our gazes lock, the fucked-up words feeling so right. Like I’ve been waiting my entire life to be captured by him.
He moves close, offering me a kiss, as though sealing a promise. I kiss him back, releasing for an instant the weight of all the pain and obligations today has brought up.
Killian is my fate. That’s all that matters.
And for the first time, I allow myself to admit it’s all I want.
*
Over the next few days, Killian and I keep busy with wedding arrangements. Mom’s desperate desire to stop our union has only made us that much more committed to it, and along with our business engagements, we manage the planning stages, from cake to groomsmen’s suits to invitations.
Especially because of the recent issue with the Cronkites, out of an abundance of caution, security will be tight, and we’re doing our best to keep the guest list under fifty people, which requires skill in assuaging bruised egos of friends and extended family—though they understand why it’s important to ensure everyone’s safety, especially with the recent hit, and the danger of having our families all together in one place.
What will soon be one unified family.
On Saturday morning—our wedding day—I wake in Killian’s arms. His hold is tight, like he’s trying to choke the life from me, yet I keep perfectly still.
I don’t want him to move because it’s the most comfortable hold, as it always is when he grips me just like this.
I may be unwilling to tell Killian I submit to him, but my body continues to betray me, since I feel safe in his hold.
As he stirs, he nuzzles against my cheek, giving me a tender kiss, and I love knowing his body accepts that I’m in bed with him even before he’s fully awake.
He growls. “Can’t we stay in bed until it’s time?”
We’re already married technically—we did that yesterday at the courthouse. The wedding is to make it official for our families because for Wildes and Lordes, this means more than any sheet of paper, which should say plenty, given how seriously Kill’s taken Old Terror and Ian Wilde’s agreement.
“We have too much to do,” I insist.
“No. Our brothers can take care of it all.”
“I don’t know about Rage, but I’m not even sure who’s gonna make my brothers get dressed for it.”
He groans, knowing I’m right. “Well, I want it to be clear I was totally against getting out of this bed.”
I laugh. “Noted.”
He finally forces his eyes open, setting his sights on me, a subtle smile playing across his lips. I rest my hand against his cheek, gazing into those gorgeous dark eyes. Eyes that are easy for me to get lost in.
“What are you thinking?” I ask.
“Wondering if when we get to the I dos, you’re gonna wind up saying I don’t,” he teases.
“Seems like something I’d say,” I admit. “And I figure you’ll like it too. Force me to marry you and then drag me off to claim me again.” Maybe that’s more of a personal fantasy than anything else.
“Oh, I’m definitely looking forward to claiming you tonight after our wedding.”
He slides his hand to my ass, gripping firmly before nuzzling his face against mine. He kisses my cheek, then down my neck, nibbling at my flesh. My body’s alive with sensation.
“Killian, no. We have to get up.”
“When has no ever stopped me?” he asks with a growl that sends a shiver down my spine, but he pulls away, even though I wish he’d resist more.
We only have time for a quick jerk-off session in the shower before we’re off.
There’s plenty to keep us busy, between setting up the ballroom for the event, coordinating with the vendors, making last-minute changes to plans, before the tailor meets my brothers and me in the study, where we try on our suits to see if we need any adjustments.
“I look hot as fuck,” Wrath says, glancing himself over in the floor-length mirror. He spins toward me and displays the suit.
Malaki and Rory glance at one another, like they’re telepathically communicating about Wrath’s arrogance. It’s such a playful exchange, the sort we would have had when we were kids, and it twists the knife into the guilt that’s plagued me since my discussion with Mom.
I informed Wrath she now knows about the wedding and told him he needed to leave her alone because she isn’t well, but I didn’t reveal that what I shared with her is the reason why.
That will take us through the weekend and give me time to wrap my mind around everything we discussed.
Or, I guess, everything she inflicted upon me.
Tell them before she has a chance to.
I keep urging myself to do that whenever I’m around them, but I want them to live with the image they have of our father. Hold on to it as long as they can before it’s stripped from them like it was from me.
If it’s a lie Mom manufactured, what does it even matter?
Yet, if it was a lie, wouldn’t I have already told them by now because of how ridiculous it was?
Whatever the truth is, one thing I know is that I hate Mom even more than I did before my visit. Despise her for tearing that perfect image of Dad from me.
Still, it has served as a powerful reminder why this wedding is so important. Why I will never back down from my responsibility. Dad may have let us all down, but I won’t because I choose to be a better man.
“You couldn’t have picked a different color for the ties?” Malaki asks. “Burgundy looks like blood, which feels a little too on brand for the Wildes.”
“Kill insisted. He also has a better eye for things like this, so I trusted his taste.”
“Already an obedient wife, are you?” Wrath teases.
It feels less jarring hearing that word than it did when Killian first used it, but I still say, “Shut up.”
“Hey, I’m not complaining as long as we can start having pool parties at Rothguard.”
The thought of Wrath and Masters publicly shaming us with their debauchery tenses me up. “That’s not happening.”
“We’ll see about that,” Wrath says in a way that assures me it’s gonna be a struggle to get him to be on his best behavior.
Masters gives him a playful shove, and they glance at each other, similarly to the way Malaki and Rory did, reminding me that, though I love my brothers and they’ve always been here for me, I don’t have that same connection to any of them.
In some ways, I’ve always stood apart, just as I am with this secret I now keep.
“Okay,” Malaki says, returning his attention to me. “Time for you to suit up too.”
“You’re right. I’ve been so busy, I almost forgot.” Maybe because a part of me still can’t believe this is really happening.
“He’s right,” Wrath adds. “We deserve to know how the bride-to-be is gonna look.”
“Fuck off,” I say.
The tailor offers me a box with my tux, and I change into it at the floor-length mirror. When I’ve gotten my pants and shirt on, Wrath helps me with the buttons, Rory holds my jacket, Malaki fidgets with my cuff links, and Masters supervises.
Seeing the ridiculous sight in the mirror, I’m tempted to tell them I’m perfectly capable of getting ready on my own, but I stop myself, appreciating my brothers.
Who’ve survived so much pain with me. Who were there through Mom’s fall and Dad’s disease.
It’s important for them to be here with me like this on my special day.
What a stupid thing to think. It’s not like a real wedding.
And as I have the thought, a wave of disappointment pulses through me.
Stop it. You’re being stupid. You have obligations, and love has nothing to do with those.