Chapter 13
Damen
I push through the kitchen door shoulder-first and take a lungful of air while my scared bird shakes in my arms, his mind likely still back in the hole, about to die.
“Everybody out,” I shout, glaring at the chef and his assistants.
The main man scowls, ready to protest the violent takeover of his kitchen, but one of the sous chefs squeezes his arm.
Moments later they’re all gone, and I’m surrounded by stainless steel counters with piles of diced meat and vegetables.
There’s space available in the corner dedicated to desserts, so that’s where I carry Killian, seating him between a display fridge full of Christmas-themed cupcakes and a rack with various baking utensils.
“Breathe, baby,” I whisper, cupping his face as I bring our foreheads together.
He latches on to my gaze like it’s a lifeline. “You… you think it’s y-y-your b-b-brother?” he chokes out eventually, but keeps wheezing. My hate for Titus is hotter than the sun, but Killian’s wellbeing is more important than my feelings, so I kiss his cheek and sigh.
“He’s never getting near you again.”
It takes a while longer for Killian to catch his breath and I put my hand on his chest to make sure his heart isn’t rattling anymore.
“Damen… those were real saws. Actual saws. They would have slowly shredded me to pieces.” Two massive tears stream down his cheeks as he looks at me, bewildered.
I can’t believe Titus dared to raise his hand on someone so fragile. Someone who smells of flowers. Someone who’s mine in almost all ways.
One way or another, I’m going to get back at him for this. For now, I focus on my Killian and wipe the dampness from his cheeks. “I know, baby. From now on, I won’t leave your side. Sooner or later, he will have to give up on this.”
He’s trembling, as if afraid to speak what’s on his mind, so I stroke his hair in encouragement. “I don’t think I can do this, Damen.”
I freeze, my hands on his thighs as he looks down with shame painted all over his face.
Fuck.
Titus did this.
I’m going to have his balls.
“I don’t understand,” I say flatly, even though I absolutely do. He’s backtracking, and were we not so far away from civilization, he’d be already working on a way to run from me.
Story of my fucking life. I can never have it all.
But he and I… I thought we could make it.
“I’m not cut out for this. I might be able to take on board what your job is, but I can’t take on freaking saws or whatever else is in store for me.
I know I put on a confident face, but I’m not brave.
I’m a coward.” He rubs away another tear, messing up his eyeliner, and I see what he’s saying.
He’s so gentle under all the spikes and bravado.
Sure, it would be worse if he was afraid of me, but this isn’t optimal for my plans either.
“Killian, look at me,” I say, tilting his head so he can drown in my gaze. I end up falling into his instead. “There will be no more saws. I’ll deal with him. You’re safe with me.”
I expect him to pull away, but he wraps his lovely arms around my neck and pulls me close.
“I already believe you. And that’s why we can’t do this anymore.
I will be your fake husband for the holidays, like I promised, but I can’t do the…
intimacy,” he says, and it’s as if the saws are now headed for my heart.
“If we do, I will attach to you, I know I will. It’s what I do.
And I can’t take that. Your family, all of it, it’s just too…
it’s too much, Damen. I may seem like I’m choosing men like I have a death wish, but I don’t want to die. ”
The selfish part of me wants to argue, to touch him now and show him how futile his decision to withdraw from me is, but there’s such heartbreak in his gaze that I can’t bring myself to turn this into an opportunity for flirting.
I don’t want him to feel manipulated into something he doesn’t want.
I need him to choose me for real. Choose the Damen no one else knows, the gay man who happens to be a member of an old family that made its fortune in organized crime.
He is the only one who’s seen it all, and I want him at my side.
I want to smell flowers every time I bury my face in his neck and buy him whatever clothes he wants.
I want to fuck him on this stainless steel kitchen counter, and then give him a sponge bath in my ensuite.
The way he gave himself to me completely just hours ago is a treasure, and I don’t want to let it go.
Why do all the things I care most for slip out of my grasp?
“You don’t really want to do this.”
More tears fall down his cheeks and I sense his fingers trembling on my shoulders.
I hope he’s not afraid of me. “I don’t want to.
But I have to. It’s the reasonable thing to do.
I don’t belong here. But if I keep sleeping with you, if I kiss you and cuddle you in bed, I’ll delude myself into believing I do. ”
“You do belong with me,” I whisper and cradle both his hands in mine. In this moment, it feels like the most truthful thing I’ve ever said to anyone. The idea that I would let him go after Christmas has been a delusion from the start. From the moment he fell into my lap, he was mine.
Killian looks away as if the cake is much more interesting than my eyes. I want to grab his cheeks, pull him back, and make him face the truth.
“I don’t know. Maybe after this whole thing, we’ll meet in New York, and things will be different.”
They won’t. Because I’ll still be the man with the fucked-up family.
I’ve made up my mind about him, and while this setback is frustrating to no end, I can play a longer game if that’s what he needs.
Yes, I’ll miss fucking him senseless every night, but I’m not an animal.
I’m a man with a sharp mind, and all I need to do is show him that I can respect his choices, all the while seducing him.
As long as he remains my fake husband in public, I can kiss him, woo him, and lure him back where he belongs.
Killian wants me. He’s just got cold feet because of his shitty exes. I’m nothing like them, and once he learns that, he won’t be afraid of my family either.
With a soft exhale, I rest my forehead on his shoulder. “I like you, Killian. I really do. We’re a good fit,” I whisper, moving my hands up and down his shoulders. “But it must be your decision.”
Oh, how I resent even saying that.
But he’s my pretty green-furred kitten, and he needs to come to me on his own. Not that I won’t put in the effort into showing him what an amazing husband I could be.
At least I know he’s not going anywhere, so I have time.
“I get too easily attached. Like a fucking barnacle. This is better,” he whispers.
He’s not a barnacle. He’s a pearl I intend to keep safe and nurture. I won’t ever let him leave my side. Maybe it’s disingenuous of me to pretend he has a choice, but all is fair in love and war. All I promised is that I wouldn’t lie.
Now I only need to make sure he understands we both want the same thing.
“I’m going to miss you.”
He bites his lip and his eyes well up.
It’s just a matter of time, and I’m a patient hunter.