Jhene
TWENTY-TWO
It’s funny how quickly warmth can drain out of a room.
I know from the moment I step out of the bathroom that something’s off.
Only twenty minutes ago, the apartment had an air of contentment. Killian and I were both exhausted from our long day, but we felt more bonded than we’ve ever been.
Walking out of the bathroom, we’ve never felt more distant. The air mirrors this, the warmth gone for a frigid coldness that takes my breath away.
It makes my skin prickle and stomach clench and me wish I could travel back in time to thirty minutes ago.
Killian’s by the window with his back to me, peering out at the street below. From the three-quarter angle, his jaw’s clenched, obviously holding tension. His eyes match, a hardness about them that’s intimidating.
My gaze drops a few inches lower to see what’s in his hand.
It’s my burner phone. The one I’ve been hiding for weeks. From the moment Killian and I met.
I stop in my tracks, so immediately panicked I can’t process it. I can’t fathom how he’d possibly—it must’ve slipped out of my pocket.
My jeans are on the floor next to the laundry basket. I must’ve missed when I tossed them and the phone must’ve slid out.
How did I not think to hide the stupid phone in the first place?!
I’ve been so good about keeping it secret!
No. No, no, no!
…how could this happen? How can I even fix this?
“Killian,” I croak into the studio’s loud silence. “I… I can explain.”
He doesn’t turn around or even move at all. He continues glaring out the window, offering no indication he’s heard me in the first place.
When he speaks, his tone is low and clipped. It’s the one he’s used with people he detests. Any and all affection has been stripped from it.
That alone makes the panic spread.
“You better have a good fucking explanation,” he interjects promptly.
He whips around to face me, his deep blue eyes blazing from fury.
Filled with disgust and judgment. He holds the burner phone up.
“Because I can’t think of a single reason to explain why you’ve been in contact with Fedorov from the day I took you in. ”
I feel sick. Dizzy. Damn near on the verge of passing out.
“Why…” I croak again. My throat’s gone dry. “Why did you go through my phone? You had no right to—”
“Don’t put this shit on me! Don’t you fucking turn this into a thing about snooping through your phone! That’s irrelevant when you’re the one who’s been keeping a giant fucking secret this whole damn time.”
I open my mouth to respond, though it’s halfhearted.
No sound comes out. Not a single justification or counter argument.
…because he’s right.
I have no leg to stand on considering the circumstance. The things that I’ve done.
Deep shame fills me up and forces my gaze to the floor. I can’t bear to look him in the eye, realizing he’s looking at me the way he is because I’ve betrayed him.
“I didn’t even know you had a phone,” he spits. His voice thickens, a vague Irish brogue coming out. “But turns out you do. You’ve been using it to ply the Bratva with intel on the clan.”
Tears prick my eyes as I vehemently shake my head and step toward him. “It’s not like that. You don’t understand—”
“You’re right. I don’t understand!” he shouts over me. “I don’t understand how I could take you in. Protect you. Put my life on the line for you. Put everybody’s fucking life on the line for you. And the whole time, you’ve been a traitor.”
I flinch at the accusation as if struck.
It’s an ugly accusation. A hideous, ugly word that feels like the mob version of the Scarlet Letter.
But most of all, it hurts so much because I have no real defense. How can I even try to offer one when I’ve been betraying him this whole time?
I always said I would do whatever it takes to get Eva back. I thought that was true… until now.
“Is that what you’ve been doing?” Killian demands, advancing on me. “Sent to seduce me, huh? Sent to fucking worm your way into my life ’til I fell for you and you gave us all up for the Bratva? That what you’ve been up to this entire time?”
“Please,” I manage pathetically, my voice small and cracking. “Please… you have to understand. I had no choice, Killian. Fedorov made me. He threatened—”
“YOU ALWAYS HAVE A CHOICE!” he bellows. “There’s always a choice in the end, and you chose to do what he told you to time and time again. Even after you knew the clan had your back. Even after everything I did for you.”
“He was going to kill Eva!” I blurt out. “I had to give him what he wants. She’s all I have left. She’s my baby sister. If I didn’t do it, he would’ve—”
“Spare me the fucking excuses. They no longer work. Not after the call log and texts I’ve seen.
But you know what? The more I think about it, the more I should’ve seen it from the fucking start.
You happen to show up working at an Irish pub that’s known Callahan territory?
You just happen to keep putting yourself in situations where I’m forced to rescue you? ”
“It was Fedorov. He thought if—”
“The night you were taken at Barclays. The Raguzins just let you go. They could’ve kept you and killed Seamus at the same time, but instead they fled and let us save you. The Russians never flee. That was all part of the plan, wasn’t it? You serving as some fucking distraction?
“They’ve been one step ahead of us this entire time, and it’s because you’ve been feeding them information all along. That’s why the night we attacked the Vodka Room, neither Fedorov or Rurik were there. You told me Rurik is there every night but Sunday.
“But then he happens to be gone the one night we strike? How about that afternoon I caught you sneaking out of the studio? You said you were going for a walk. What were you really doing? Heading off to provide some intel?”
“Killian, please—” I grab his arm, desperate to make him listen, but he wrenches it away so violently I trip on my own shaky legs and drop to the floor.
It’s a hard fall, landing on my knees, but the cool, smooth hardwood barely registers. I can’t even bring myself to get up right away as another sob racks its way out of me.
I’m not even fighting the tears anymore as they slip free and my glasses slide down my nose.
“I didn’t know what they were going to do,” I murmur. “They never told me the details. You have to believe me. I wasn’t important enough to know what they would do and when. I didn’t know they’d torch the Banshee. I had no idea they were going to beat up Teagan.
“They only ever asked for information, and yes, I… I gave it to them, but I didn’t give them everything.
I was trying to hold back. I was trying to protect you, Killian.
I was, I swear. That’s why Fedorov’s been so angry with me.
Because he’s convinced that I… that our relationship was becoming too real—”
“I don’t want to hear another fucking word!” he snarls cruelly. “Who knows what’s the truth and what’s a lie coming from you? You’ve lost all credibility. Nothing you say means anything anymore.”
I peer up at him through blurry eyes and tear-stained glasses, and I feel the moment my heart snaps into two.
Though I’ve known all along everything’s been my fault, a part of me had become delusional enough to believe things could work out. That even though I was guilty and never deserved the care he’s given me, somehow things would magically be okay in the end.
It’s just another reminder why I’ve never let myself believe those kinds of things.
I’ve always been a pessimist for a reason. Nothing hurts more than having your hopes crushed.
“I’m done with you,” he goes on, regarding me coldly. “I want nothing to do with you, Jhene.”
“Oh…” I murmur, lashes heavy with tears. “Okay…”
What else is there to say? How much clearer can he make it?
He knows what I really am, and he’s disgusted.
I pull myself to my feet and start gathering my things. There isn’t much—a few changes of clothes, the puzzle books Killian bought me, the fuzzy bird keychain still sitting on the bed where I left it. I leave the fuzzy bird. It doesn’t feel right to take it.
Killian doesn’t try to stop me. He stands where he is with his arms crossed, watching me pack as if I’m an enemy in his territory. His expression is sharp and judging, illustrating how he’s turned off the feelings he developed for me.
At the front door, he calls out to me.
“Wait.”
For one stupid, desperate second, I glance over with a small glimmer of hope. Maybe he’s changed his mind and he’s willing to listen—
“Here. Take this with you.”
He crosses the room and shoves the burner phone into my hand, closing my fingers around it when I try to resist.
“So you can contact your boss,” he says. “He’d want the latest update.”
Then he turns his back on me, and I know it’s over for good.
The warm night air hits me like a slap when I step outside. I don’t even know where I’m going. I don’t have anywhere to go.
The shelters aren’t an option, and I don’t want to waste what little money I do have on a motel. There’s no one in the city I can call because the only people who truly give a damn about me are the same people I just betrayed.
My only option is to keep walking.
My feet carry me down the dark street on autopilot, one step after another, while my mind replays everything that happened minutes ago.
I can see the cold fury in Killian’s eyes and hear the disgust in his voice. Visualize the stupid burner phone as he clenched it in his hand.
I did this. All of it.
Every terrible thing that’s happened is because of choices I made, and I don’t get to pretend otherwise. I had every chance to come clean and tell him what Fedorov had put me up to, yet I chose again and again not to.
I convinced myself I was doing what I was doing for Eva, and it was my only option.
How stupid could I be? Why didn’t I trust that Killian and the others would find a way to help us? Why did I listen to Fedorov, proving the hold he has on me is as strong as ever?
It’s a mindfuck because I can’t even explain.
I have no rational answer other than… I was afraid.
Fedorov is no man to be trifled with. He’s a monster to the bone, and after living in his custody for almost ten years, the mere thought of him makes me dizzy.
The same man who pretended to be kind then took everything from me. He’s hurt me so many times—and I couldn’t bear the thought he was doing the same to Eva.
So I helped him. I did what he told me I had to do, like so many years when I was his pet.
“You’re still his pet,” I whisper hoarsely to myself, the shame so deep it’s a pang in my stomach. “You stupid idiot. What did you do, Jhene? How could you?”
I mop away the tears with my hands, barely pausing to pull my glasses off.
It doesn’t help much. The tears keep coming, spilling out like a faucet I can’t turn off.
I’m not even a crier, but for once, I can’t help myself. I can’t shut down the emotions Killian’s awakened inside me any easier than I can stop breathing.
Everything I was afraid of has come true. I knew from the beginning that Killian and I could never really be together—not with the secrets I was keeping—but I let myself hope anyway. I let myself believe maybe I could have something good for once in my miserable life.
Stupid. So fucking stupid.
And the worst part? I still don’t have Eva. All of this, from the lies and betrayal and destruction of the only real relationship I’ve ever had, and I still don’t have my sister back.
Eva’s still trapped somewhere in Fedorov’s clutches. I’m no closer to saving her than I was the day I walked into the Banshee for a job.
Now I’ve lost everything and I have nothing to show for it. I’ve hurt Killian in a way he never deserved, and I’ll never forgive myself.
The burner phone buzzes in my hand. Fedorov’s number flashes on the screen. My stomach roils at the sight of it.
I could answer and tell him what happened. Beg for mercy and promise to do better.
Instead, I shove the phone in my pocket and keep walking.
I make it another half block before the feeling hits me—the prickling awareness at the back of my neck that I’m being watched.
Slowing down, I glance around the dark street with my heart hammering faster.
The Deathless steps out of the shadows, choosing now to reveal himself. His dark hair falls past his shoulders, and his military-grade half mask covers the lower portion of his face. His eyes are dark and dead, devoid of anything resembling human emotion.
…if he’s here, it’s nothing good. It means trouble; it means death.
“Come,” he says, his voice emotionless. “You have an appointment with the sovietnik. He is not pleased.”
I turn and take a final look down the street, toward the building where Killian’s studio is. The window that belongs to his apartment is still lit, a golden square of warmth.
Then, as I watch, the light goes out. The window turns into another black square like the many others.
If that’s not a sign, I don’t know what is.
It’s over, and this is my life. It’s always been my life, even when I let myself believe I could someday be free.
The truth is, I belong to the Bratva. I’m Fedorov’s to do with as he wishes, and that’s never changing.
I give a small nod and then follow The Deathless into the dark.