Chapter Twenty-Two #2
“Don’t go anywhere, Lyra.” Killian’s tone isn’t as harsh as it usually is when he gives orders; instead, the words come out more like a plea. That makes me pause halfway to the door. “Just… sit with me. Please. It’s been a long few days, and an even longer night.”
“I’ll only sit with you if you tell me everything.” I turn around, facing him. “I mean everything, Killian. You’ve kept me in the dark long enough. I give you my word that I'm not going to run or betray you… if you start letting me in.”
“And if I don’t?” His tone is half-amused, half-serious.
“Then I’ll never stop trying.”
He nods. Slowly trudges over to the bathtub, and half-sinks, half-falls in. Water splashes over the edges, and my heart leaps. My fingers itch with the urge to help him or at least clean it up.
“Very well,” he finally says.
I nearly stumble back. That was alarmingly easy. Maybe he’s still feeling lightheaded from the night he’s had.
I’m not above taking advantage of his incapacitated state. God knows he’s done worse before. I’ll never forget when he drugged me with an aphrodisiac that turned me into an entirely different person.
Or maybe it just brought out what was already there…
I grab a towel, drop it on the floor before the bathtub, and take a seat. Killian looks exhausted, with dark circles under his eyes and an unusually pale, slightly waxy complexion. Even so, he’s still one of the most beautiful men I’ve ever seen.
Why does such beauty have to hide such evil?
Is it evil? Or ruthless ambition?
Killian reaches for the body wash on the far edge of the tub, gasps, and freezes.
Guilt twines its way around my heart, squeezing tight.
I can’t just sit by while he struggles, no matter that he doesn’t deserve my help.
It’s not in my nature to see pain and do nothing about it; that’s one of the chief things that distinguishes me from Killian.
“Lie back,” I mutter, awkwardly. “I’ll do it.”
I fetch a towel and washcloth from the cupboard under the sink. The towel goes behind his head; the washcloth, I dip in the bathwater.
“Talk,” I tell him as I lather it up with soap
He arches an eyebrow. “I’ll get you back for your tone once I’m feeling better.”
“Talk,” I emphasize. “Prove to me you’re at least capable of keeping your word.”
Killian sighs. “Alright.” As I start running the cloth over his chest, mindful to avoid the edges of the bandage, he does start to speak.
“I suppose this story takes us all the way back to grad school,” he says, a note of wonder in his tone, as if he hasn’t taken the time to reflect on this.
“I was in a prestigious school and had a knack for making prestigious friends, despite very slow beginnings. I think that’s when members of The Eyes first earmarked me as someone to keep tabs on. ”
“How old were you?” I glance at his face.
“Twenty-five” he leans into my touch. “Don’t stop,” he says softly.
I hadn’t realized my hand froze mid-stroke, I continue on, motioning for him to lean forward so I can get his back.
“They didn’t do anything back then, but the dean was a low-ranking member, and he took note of me.”
“What determines low-rank versus high-rank?” I ask. “Time?”
“Sometimes. But especially powerful individuals that The Eyes want to recruit can earn a seat at the table very quickly, and become senior members in a matter of years.”
“Got it.” I help him lean back, inhale a deep breath, and start washing below the water, carefully trying to avoid his cock. If I touch him there, I’m certain he’ll take that as an invitation to fuck me, and he’s supposed to be resting.
“Fast forward a few years. I launch Helixon Biopharma, and it rapidly rises to success. The fundamentals of the company are rooted in sticking it to the rich and greedy, which helps it play well in the media, which in turn accelerates growth far beyond what I imagined.”
I let my eyes linger on his face. “The hypocrisy is stunning.”
“I suppose it is.” He smiles sardonically. “But, in a way, I did mean to make the world a better place—in my own way. I meant to stick it to the rich. And, in doing so successfully, I became just like them.”
At least he’s self-aware.
“Go on,” I encourage, tossing aside the washcloth and reaching for the shampoo.
“I was always ruthlessly ambitious,” Killian confesses. “But I didn’t ever quite intend to become so corrupt. Though, now that I’ve seen both sides of the spectrum—rich and poor—and lived both ways, I’d choose rich and corrupt every time.”
“I don’t think you would’ve had assassins sent after you had you remained poor.”
“Perhaps not, but I would’ve faced other life-threatening disadvantages.” A dark smile curves his lips. “Do you know I had the same disease that killed my grandfather? ATTR Amyloidosis.”
I freeze, gazing at him wide-eyed. Oh my god, is Killian ill? He doesn’t look it or act it, but—
“I had it cured years ago, utilizing medical technology created by Helixon scientists and doctors,” he goes on, and I nearly fall sideways with relief. I can evaluate how fucked up my reaction is later.
I fail to mask my shock. “I didn’t. That must be…” I shake my head. “A mindfuck.”
“And another way to stick it to the people who fucked him over. The Silas Cornell’s of the world, specifically.”
I swallow hard and start rinsing the shampoo out of his hair. “What disease?” I ask softly.