10. Collar
Chapter ten
Collar
(Kiah)
I n only a few weeks, the first guests will start arriving at the inn. Where has the time gone? Fuck.
Usually, I start getting everything ready for the festive season way earlier. But my unexpected visitor-slash-prisoner has kept me otherwise occupied, the list of chores piling up.
My seasonal staff don't arrive for another three weeks. I usually take care of the initial set-up of the inn myself.
There is something almost therapeutic about putting everything in its right place. The routine of it all—dusting off decorations, hanging lights, arranging rooms—usually gives me a purpose after the stormy months.
But this year, I've been a bit distracted .
I haven't even started planning the annual Christmas party yet. It's usually quite a do; everyone on the island comes. It’s one of those things I inherited when I bought the inn.
The first year, I tried to cancel the event, but people showed up anyway, and I had to scramble for food.
Over the years, I’ve accepted the Christmas party as inevitable, even looking forward to it—or perhaps only looking forward to it being over. The setup is always more enjoyable than actually dealing with the guests.
If you told me ten years ago that I’d be happy to run an inn tucked away on a tiny island, I would’ve laughed at you.
But a lot can change in a decade.
Where once I moved in shadows and violence, now I fuss over fresh linens and breakfast menus.
This place has become my sanctuary.
I’m not sure I could ever leave.
The isolation is...comforting. Miles of ocean between me and my past, yet I'm not entirely cut off from the world. Guests come and go, never staying long enough to see beneath my carefully crafted exterior.
It's connection without the risk of intimacy—perfect for someone like me who's been burned too many times. On good days, I can almost forget the blood on my hands, the scars on my body. (Almost.)
There's a certain irony in me, of all people, creating a home for others. I never had one growing up, bouncing from one foster family to another. Even as a soldier, home was wherever they sent me.
But now I get to build my own home, or at least try to.
I won't lie, there are days when the tranquility of this place suffocates me. When the sound of waves lapping at the shore sounds too much like blood rushing in my ears.
But what’s the alternative?
I can never go back.
No, the only option is to get back on track and prepare the inn in time for the guests so I can continue living the life I had planned.
Easier said than done when you’ve got a 28-year-old naked mafia prince tied to your bed.
Why is he still here?
What the fuck am I even doing?
I should get rid of him—I know I should.
Yet…
I don’t want to.
There’s something so addictive about that desperate look on Nico’s face when those blue eyes go from cold to needy. It changes him; humanizes him.
Is it ethical? Fuck no.
Is it normal? Also no.
Does it make me want it less? I hate to admit it, but no.
That’s why damn near impossible to figure out what to do next.
I am reluctant to accept Nico’s offer for help—as much as I could use the extra muscle to catch up.
What stops him from just tying me up again? Given half a chance, I’m sure he’ll correct his first mistake of letting me live.
But, at the same time, I’m also getting tired of swapping out the waterproof bedsheets and cleaning up his shit (literally). I can’t keep him tied to that bed indefinitely.
Option C is ratting him out and letting him face the music. If he killed the Don, there is no way they’ll let him live.
I don’t know if he did it, but he sure as hell seems capable. It would explain why he’s hiding out here.
But that option puts me at risk. Dealing with one mafia asshole is one thing. Dealing with a whole lot of mafia assholes is another. I didn’t work this hard to build myself a new life, a new identity, to just blow it all up because I can’t handle a little brat.
None of these options are ideal, no matter how many times I repeat them in my head.
It takes four days of listening to Nico’s bitching and whining before I come up with Option D as I’m enjoying my sunrise coffee on the porch, the air already thick with an oppressive heat that will only get hotter, stickier.
Chucking the last of my now-cold coffee back in a single gulp, I head to the inn’s storeroom.
In the left corner, there’s a false wall only I know about, safe from any workers who might let their curiosity get the better of them.
I place my finger on the hidden scanner, unlocking the secret closet space where I keep what little I’ve decided to horde from my years as a private military contractor in the years that followed my Special Forces reign.
I was the fucking best mercenary money could buy. For nearly a decade I lived like I was unstoppable, a god. It was way more fun doing private contracts than following orders from the government; I was in my element.
When I gave it all up, I couldn’t resist keeping a few items. You never know when enemies could come knocking again.
Sure, after five years of peace, I’d grown complacent. But I never got rid of the box. Just in case.
The particular item I’m looking for today is a one-of-a-kind beauty I designed myself, my pride and joy.
It’s a bit unorthodox, sure, but it’s proved itself helpful many times before.
Nico’s eyes widen with suspicion when I return with my new gadget.
I’m sure the calculating bastard is trying to figure out what this contraption is, but he’ll realize soon enough.
The explosive collar feels heavier in my hands than I remember. I designed it for situations exactly like this—when a simple threat isn't enough, and I need absolute control.
The collar itself is a sleek band of reinforced metal—deceptively thin yet impossibly strong. Inside it, a series of intricate circuits and small explosive charges are carefully embedded, designed to deliver a deadly message with the push of a button.
A close-range device, it’s of no threat to anyone other than the wearer. But to make sure everything is as it should be, I double-check all the wires again—just in case. Everything is as it should be.
Walking slowly, I approach my uninvited guest cautiously, every muscle in my body tense as those blue eyes track my moves.
“What is that?” Nico asks, eyes narrowing as he pulls against the restraints that show little sign of giving in.
"Hold still," I command, my voice cold and steady, not bothering to answer his question.
There is no room for error.
No room for hesitation.
With swift, practiced movements, I secure the collar around his neck. It clicks into place with a finality that even he can't ignore.
Nico’s pulse thrums beneath my fingers as I adjust the fit, ensuring the device sits snugly against his skin.
When I press it, the small LED indicator on the side blinks to life, a sinister red light that mirrors the one on my detonator remote.
Smiling, I step back, holding up the remote for him to see. It’s a small, nondescript device resembling a typical car key fob, but the power it wields is far from ordinary. A single red button sits at the center, encircled by a safety switch that needs to be flipped up before activation.
“Fancy tech for an innkeeper,” Nico remarks with a tightlipped smirk.
“You have no idea, little boy. You don’t want to fuck with me.” My voice is low and dripping with animosity; there is nothing empty about my threat.
“I guess this explains how you got me in this position.” He laughs inappropriately, a sound that echoes through the room like unwelcome thunder.
“You think this is funny?”
Nico continues laughing, undermining my authority, even now with a literal bomb strapped to his throat. “A little. Of all the people who could’ve taken over this inn…”
I don’t entertain his what-ifs. I’m not letting him distract me.
Tugging the metal loop at the front of the collar towards me with force, I bring his eyes level with mine as I deliver my final warning. “You try anything—anything at all—and I press this button. No second chances."
He stops laughing as he glares at me, eyes unreadable.
“Does that mean you’re going to untie me finally?” Nico says in a cool tone, his eyes never once leaving the button as I add it to the chain around my neck.
“I’ve decided it’s time you start to earn your keep around here.”
He sneers. “Do you accept cash?”
“No,” I say simply, walking to the kitchen.
“Isn’t this the part where you untie me?” Nico calls after me.
I pour another cup of coffee and wave him off dismissively. “Maybe tomorrow.”
Am I having second thoughts? One hundred percent.
But fuck it, what’s he going to do?
That boy is way out of his league, even for a mobster. I used to literally hunt men like him for a living—men way scarier than him.
I thought joining the Special Forces would satisfy my need for power, for control, but the bureaucracy was bullshit. Even after they promoted me to the Green Berets, I only lasted a few years before the dark side of private contracting lured me in. They had fewer rules, better pay, and way more exciting targets.
Those were the good years; before it all caught up with me like it inevitably would. I was ready to retire, to get out.
Not a day goes by that I don’t regret how it ended.
But I will not let my guard down again like I did back then.
I won’t make the same mistake.
This is just for now, until I figure out what to do with this psycho. A temporary measure, if you will.
But deep down, I know I’m lying to myself.
There is something that draws me to this man. All these years later, something is finally giving me that rush of excitement again; that rush that used to be my reason for living. Before….
No, focus Kiah.
I push the thought out of my head and take my coffee outside to let the waves calm me as they always do.
But there’s no calm for me today.
The ocean is as chaotic as my thoughts.
I know I haven’t solved my problem, merely kicked the can down the road. In three weeks, I’ll have staff around, and then what? How do I explain the murderous man with the explosive collar?
I take a sip of my coffee, counting my breaths.
One problem at a time.