Chapter Sixteen
Brynn
Killian takes his shower while I snuggle Toast a bit before bed.
I set her bed up in the living room instead of in Killian’s room. She’s used to sleeping with me, but Killian doesn’t seem like a cat person, so I’m not sure about putting her in his bedroom.
“It’s just for a few nights,” I tell her. “We’ll be home before you know it.”
She doesn’t understand me anyway, but I feel a twinge of guilt because I don’t know if that’s true. I don’t know how long we’ll be staying here, or how long it will feasibly be until it’s safe to go home.
I don’t even know what Killian’s plan is—or if he has one. There were so many guys involved last night, it’s hard to imagine dealing with all of them quickly. I don’t even know what dealing with them entails.
My mind drifts back to last night’s talk of body counts and Killian’s quip that he’s not a virgin if that’s what I mean, but it’s hard to actually imagine the implications. I’ve seen him fight off guys last night so I know he’s capable of violence, but to take it beyond that…
My mind can’t get there.
Maybe it just doesn’t want to.
But even if the darkest possibility were true and Killian has taken a life before, there’s a major difference between taking one life and taking out a solid percentage of a fraternity. Even if he would do that morally, there’s no way he could get away with it. There’s no way for that not to be noticeable.
I suppose he’ll probably have to talk to the guys, or “send a message” in some way to let them know not to mess with me again.
I don’t know, maybe I’ve watched too many movies. I don’t know how secret societies operate.
I think I should have done this my way and gone to the police. Then there would be a record of what happened, and the guys would know what they’re risking if they don’t leave me alone.
Though I suppose if Killian is right and they have enough connections, maybe they wouldn’t care about that.
I’m tired of tangling with the elite. They shouldn’t have different rules just because they have more money.
Movement behind me pulls me out of my thoughts. Since I’m mildly paranoid right now, I turn quickly to investigate the sound.
Killian is standing in the open doorway to his bedroom. A gray towel is draped low on his hips and his chest is bare. He’s leaning in the doorway with his arms crossed, and I’m distracted enough by the sight of him that Toast gets offended and climbs off my lap.
“Hi,” I say.
Killian smirks. “Hi,” he returns, a touch mockingly. “You ready for bed?”
I nod, reaching over to give Toast one final pet before I get off the couch and join Killian in his room.
I’m nervous in a different way about tonight. Last night when I went to bed with him, it was after an orgasm, so I was feeling pretty good. It also wasn’t planned so far in advance. It wasn’t supposed to be the first night of many. He was a literal stranger, and now only a day later, I’m practically living with the guy.
Killian turns off the living room light and closes the door. I’m surprised since he didn’t close it last night, but he probably doesn’t want Toast to wander in during the night.
At least with the door closed, I won’t be convinced there’s a serial killer lurking in the shadows.
His bedroom is completely dark, and my eyes haven’t adjusted yet. I can’t see him, but I hear him toss his towel across the room and my mind snaps to the box of condoms he just bought at the gas station.
Given my reluctance to cross that road with anyone up to this point, I’m a little unsure, but as someone who also values being prepared, I tell myself his restock may have little to do with expectations of sex from me specifically.
Strangely, that doesn’t make me feel better.
I hear Killian climb on the bed, so I take small steps toward it until I can put a hand on the mattress to feel where I am. I’m sleeping in panties and one of his T-shirts again. I have my own pajamas in my suitcase, but before he took a shower, he tossed me one of his shirts and told me if I’m committed to sleeping in clothes to wear that.
I’m a good listener.
I also like wearing his shirts. They smell like him.
The whole bed smells like him, and as I get comfortable on my side, I sigh with pleasure over the fact. I remember last night after all the excitement when he snuggled me, and I wonder—
I don’t wonder for long. As soon as I get comfortable, Killian slides a strong arm under my body and pulls me to his side of the bed.
“Get over here, you.”
I smile as his face disappears in the crook of my neck. “It’s late,” I say mildly. “We need to sleep.”
“We will,” he murmurs against my neck. He leaves a soft, lingering kiss there that sends a current of awareness through my entire body, but instead of stoking any fires, he eases back. “I just wanted you close.”
My heart contracts hearing that, and I smile up at him. On impulse, I lean in and give him a quick kiss on the jaw, too. “I think I like you, Killian Walsh.”
My eyes have adjusted to the dark enough for me to make out the smirk on his handsome face. “I think I like you, too.”
___
It feels like more than a weekend has passed since I last set foot on this campus.
When I left Thursday, I wasn’t guarded and paranoid. Dread didn’t quicken my steps every time I rounded a corner or another student passed me too abruptly.
It’s a busy Monday morning, so it’s happening a lot. My hypervigilance is slowing me down as my energy is split between making my way to cellular biology and molecular medicine and taking inventory of every single person I see, then cross referencing them with that stupid basement and making sure none of them match.
I nearly spill my coffee as the tall, rude pre-med guy who sits in the row in front of me brushes past me.
“Jesus, the sidewalk is wide enough to give people space,” I mutter.
He’s long gone and doesn’t hear me.
I sigh, speeding up to follow him since I know we’re going to the same place. The sunny side of my brain think it’s safer to follow him since if someone did try to ambush me on my way to class, I could scream for help and surely he would hear me.
The less sunny side points out that even if he did, he probably wouldn’t help.
Most people wouldn’t help.
But Killian did.
Thinking about him brings a smile to my face and momentarily distracts me from the chaos of Monday morning. I did not study enough for this class—which was especially stupid since I have a test on Wednesday—and I skipped my brush-up review that I usually do over breakfast.
Killian brought me to school today, and he stopped on the way to get us breakfast and coffee. The only studying that happened was me studying the way his mouth looked when he took a sip of that coffee.
Boys are distracting.
When I finally make it to class, I settle in and get my books and notes ready, then, since I have a little time to spare, I decide to check on my iPhone. I brought my iPad with me in case I needed it for class, plus I usually head to the library to study after class since I live in a shared apartment with thin walls on a noisy street. They’re very strict in the Woodworth Library about being quiet, so it’s a nice place to study.
But Killian has a class after mine, so we won’t be leaving school at the same time, and given everything that has been going on, I feel more comfortable going to his place than sitting in a crowded library. Especially as paranoid as I felt just walking to class, there’s no way I would be able to concentrate with people coming in and out of the library.
It’s a matter of habit to check for my phone at this point. I don’t expect to see a change, so when the app loads and my phone is located, my heart stalls.
It has moved.
Now my phone is on campus.
Wide-eyed, I drop the iPad and grab my burner phone. I take a picture of the screen and send it to Killian.
“Whoever has my phone is on campus right now!”
Should I ping it? It would make a godawful noise and draw attention, but what if he’s not in class yet?
Hmm.
I check the time and decide to wait.
If I’m going to press that button, I want to make sure the bastard is embarrassed. I want him flustered. I want every student in class staring at him, his instructor’s annoyance trained on him. I want to disrupt his class and make him flee until the sound stops.
And then I might just press it again.
My sense of restraint warns me that might be a good way to get my phone thrown in the trash, so maybe I won’t keep pressing the button, but I’m going to do it once. Let him know I know where he is, too.
The mere idea makes me feel a sense of control over my life I haven’t felt since I stepped foot in that basement. I feel calmer even though he doesn’t text me back. Maybe his class has already started.
Mine starts a moment later, but it’s hard to focus on what my professor is saying when all I can think about is pressing that button. I don’t want to do it too soon just in case the Rho Kappa’s instructor isn’t as prompt. I know I won’t actually see his reaction unless he’s in this class—which I consider unlikely—but even if I’m just imagining it, I want to make sure I pick the right time.
I wait until 10:34, then I can’t wait any longer. I press the button.
A grin claims my face and doesn’t leave for a while. I keep an eye on the time, knowing the sound won’t stop for two whole minutes.
I smile until 10:36, and the smile comes back on and off all through class when the thought of it passes through my mind.
I feel a lot better when I’m leaving class. I press the button again right before I leave the building, just in case we’ll be walking through the same courtyard. Let that annoying, loud-ass noise be an alarm that danger is coming so I don’t have to keep such careful watch.
Since Killian and I are leaving at different times today and I don’t have my car, he told me to wait by the coffee cart in the courtyard for his friend Ryan and he’d give me a ride home. That area is very visible, so I feel safe.
There’s a table I can sit at while I wait, but since this Ryan guy is doing me a favor, I decide to buy him a coffee. I open my phone to text Killian and ask if he knows what he would want, only to realize I never checked my messages again after I messaged him about my phone.
We were on the same page, though. He wrote back, “Wait until class has started and then ping it.”
I grin down at my phone, remembering those glorious two minutes. “I did. Pinged it again when I was leaving the building so I’d know if he’s close.”
“Good girl.”
His reply is casual and off-handed, but it does something to my stomach. Biting my bottom lip, I type back, “Any chance you know Ryan’s coffee order? I thought I’d grab him one to say thank you.”
“No, but I’ve seen him drink it black. I don’t think he’s picky.”
“Perfect. Thank you,” I text back, then I tuck my phone away since I’m next in line.
I order two coffees and take a seat at the picnic table. I check my iPad again to see where my phone is, but unsurprisingly, it has gone offline.
I probably pushed it with the second ping, but the idea that I was tormenting one of my tormentors right back made it a feel-good button. It’s only because I have any self-control at all that I was able to keep from pressing it every two minutes during class.
I take the burner out and shoot a quick text to Killian updating him about my phone.
“That’s fine,” he texts back. “I’ve already put out feelers. We’ll find someone who was in that 10:30 class with him, and as soon as we do, we’ll know which one of them has your phone.”
“What does Ryan look like, by the way? I should probably see a picture so I’ll know it’s him.”
Killian must be walking to class—or maybe finding a picture of his friend—because he doesn’t respond right away. I close the message and instinctively take a look around, but I don’t see any glaringly menacing men in the vicinity. Since we’re between classes, there’s a lot of movement in the courtyard. Lots of students making their way to their 12 o’clock class, some probably hustling since they have to come from the other side of campus.
That will be me tomorrow rushing from my humanities class in one building to physics in another.
“This for me? How thoughtful.”
My gaze snaps to the hand of the man grabbing the extra coffee I bought off the picnic table, but without having met Ryan, I know it isn’t him.
It can’t be, because I’ve heard that voice before.
My brain already knows, but I turn my head to look up at him for verification anyway.
And sure enough, the man taking a sip of the hot coffee isn’t Ryan.
It’s Aiden.