Chapter 11
CHAPTER
ELEVEN
Xavier
I t’s fucking full-on pandemonium. I don’t know who’s freaking the most, Emmie or Iris or Freya, who suddenly appears in the door.
The bowl falls and shatters on the floor into a million glass pieces.
Really? I sign to Killian, who was close enough to catch it, but instead is sipping his drink like nothing happened.
He shrugs.
Fucker.
Emmie starts to cry in big, ugly sobs, and I take her, pulling her up into my arms.
It’s okay, owlet. It’s okay. I sign to her.
“Papa!” she cries. “Papa, I ruined her pretty dress. I’m bad.”
Big blue eyes turn on me, hope shining in the depths that Papa will put it right.
She’s four. I know exactly what she wants.
You’re not bad . That’s part one of what she wants. I kiss her and her thin little arms as they wind around my neck and squeeze.
And Papa will get you more ice cream.
Yep, that’s part two.
She pulls back a little. “Choklit?”
Chocolate, vanilla, and caramel. I touch her forehead with mine. And honeycomb.
“Humblycone?” She gasps as if she’s seeing the sun coming out after rain. “You are the bestest, Papa.”
Iris is trying to clean the dress with a handful of napkins that Flora’s handed over, but the material is soft and the kind of expensive that ruins easily.
Emmie’s lip trembles again. “Icy’s pretty dress.”
“Hey, Emmie, don’t cry.” Iris offers her a sweet smile. “I’m sorry my dress got in the way of your ice cream. You’re a good friend for wanting to share,” Iris says with the familiarity of a sibling trying to stop a tear tsunami in a little one. “Honestly, I think the ice cream improves it.”
She must have brothers or sisters.
Who is she? What’s her history? Her family name?
I could have looked her up, poked about.
I didn’t. I very much deliberately didn’t.
Knowing more doesn’t help. It just creates wants that can’t be fulfilled.
Shouldn’t be fulfilled.
“I’m sure it’ll wash out,” Freya says.
Iris sighs then throws her shoulders back and puts on a smile. “I’m sure it will.”
I sign to Killian. There’s that thing today, like the beginning of every Season. With the Monarch. I’m betting she was supposed to go.
“So?”
So?
“So.”
Ass, Kil. You can be an ass. Now I turn to Freya and sign a little more slowly to her. Do you have something she can wear?
She frowns, and I sign it again, then she nods.
“Come on,” Freya mutters to Iris. “Emmie can stay with Killian and Xavier. They’ll clean up the mess, and I’ll give you something dry to wear.”
“Okay.” Together, they walk upstairs to our personal living space.
When they’re out of sight, I rub my eyes. I’ve been hanging around Killian too long.
I send him a long, loaded look, and he grins.
“What?” Killian asks, “I was nice.”
Your version of nice, I sign, is questionable.
“What is ‘questionable,’ Papa?” Emmie attempts to sign back but stumbles when copying the one word.
We made sure to teach her sign language when she started talking. She’s still a little clumsy, but better than most adults I know.
“You’re pretty damn chatty for a mute,” Killian says with a harsh laugh.
And you’re a fucking hypocrite.
“Language!” Gasping, he lunges forward and claps his hands over Emmie’s eyes.
She lets out a shrieking giggle and says, “Daddy!”
I just side-eye him as he takes her from me and sets her down, spinning her on a barstool.
You gave me shit for dancing with Iris when you’re up here… I glance at Emmie, who is too busy going round and round to track my hands. Still, I censor myself. …getting close with her. And her neck, for that matter.
I wasn’t going to mark her. I was just having some…fun. Killian signs back.
Emmie woozily rocks as the stool comes to a stop and then screams, “More!”
Hypocrite, I repeat and glance at Emmie spinning. And you’re creating a monster with her, you know.
“Emmie, did you hear that? Paper called you a monster.” He pauses the stool again.
“The prettiest monster in the world!” She laughs. “Spin, Daddy, spin!”
I collect my drink, sweep up some bar towels, and throw them into the dirty laundry hamper under the counter.
Killian stops spinning Emmie before she gets sick. I grab a broom and dustpan and begin to sweep up the glass shards. I’m going to have to get Emmie more or she’ll never forgive me.
The bar’s front door bursts open, and Killian automatically helps Emmie off the stool.
“Heya, Emmie?” Killian says, smile soft. Five young, rich Alphas tumble and weave in. It’s clear they’ve already been drinking, and I can smell their attitudes from here. So can Kil. He shoos Emmie toward the stairs. “Run up to Freya for a moment, okay? Go help Icy pick out something to wear.”
Her face lights up. “Okay, Daddy.” She’s off in the next second, stomping up the steps with Delores in hand.
Leave it, Killian, I sign to him.
“We’re closed,” he says ignoring me. The five guys, all dressed in expensive suits, glance around.
Grinning, one pulls out a wad of cash. “No, you’re not. Money talks, and I have a lot to say.”
Killian. I can see the silent snarl curling his upper lip.
The group walks up to the bar and takes their seats.
“Five of your top shelf drinks,” the one with the cash says. “Do you have O’Malley Fire Whiskey?”
“We aren’t open,” Killian says again, this time through clenched teeth. “So go.”
“Not talking to you, buddy,” the guy says, and then turns to me. “I’m talking to the oaf?—”
He doesn’t finish that. Killian twists his arm and slams him, face first against the bar, his pocketknife already in his hand. It’s hovering dangerously close to the man’s jugular.
“I said—” he leans in close to the asshole’s ear—“we’re closed.”
I step up to the others, pulling my shoulders back to show off my height, and stare them down. They stumble off their stools and head for the door.
Put the fucking knife down, Killian, and let the kid up. I say.
“This little punk disrespected you.”
And he’s sorry. You’re the one that wants to sell to these kinds of people. Beating up or killing one of them is not going to get us the in we need. So let him the fuck up.
Time seems to stand still as he debates it in his head.
Finally, he sighs. “Lucky for you, I’m in a good mood today.” Metal clicks, and I assume he’s put the knife away. “So I’ll tell you what, come back Saturday, and you can buy your drinks then. First round is on the house.” Then he adds, softly, “Now go.”
The second he lets him go, the Alpha rushes out the door, with his friends following close behind him. Killian walks over and locks the door.
“God, I hate rich fuckers,” he says and scrubs a hand over his face. “They think they automatically own the room and everyone should bow down to them. And why? Because they have money?”
I sign at him. That’s exactly why. But we have enough going on with the Nightshades and now this new expansion. We don’t need the Council knocking on our door.
“They were assholes.”
Kids.
“Rich asshole kids.”
I sigh.
He’s not wrong, but we’ve got an important meeting coming up, and I don’t think Kil wants to fuck that up any more than I do.
Killian’s more the true believer, but I’m in it for Emmie. For what’s right, too, but for Emmie.
Suddenly, a powdery, floral scent tickles the inside of my nose. Killian must smell it too because we turn to the stairs at the same time.
Iris stands there, arms crossed. She’s wearing a pair of old leather pants from Freya and a band T-shirt. I don’t know who the band is, but it doesn’t matter. Her hair is down now, falling in waves to her shoulders. It’s a simple change, but it makes a world of difference. She looks…
“Hot,” Killian says with a low whistle.
More like herself , I sign.
He signs back. And hot.
“How long have you been standing there?” he asks her, but it’s clear from the scowl on her face that it was long enough.
“Is that what you think?” she asks with venom in her tone. “That everyone from the Upper Side is just rich, entitled assholes you can push around and exploit for their money?”
Killian’s mouth opens, but I’m already signing, Don’t answer that to him.
“Do you think we’re all idiots?”
This time, Killian strolls forward, meeting her toe-to-toe. “If the shoe fits, Cinderella.”
She sniffs. “You’re just jealous.”
He scoffs. “Of inexperienced, pompous brats like you? I don’t think so.”
With that, she narrows her eyes and strides around Killian to march right up to me. She grabs a fistful of my shirt and uses it to tug me down to her height and kiss me.
I’m so stunned, I can’t move. I can’t breathe. Her lips are soft, warm, and she smells even better in my arms, which I wrap around her and pull her in even closer. I know she did this move to tick off Killian, but when her lips part, I see my chance and slide my tongue inside.
The kisses immediately transform into something primal. Something hot and wild. She tastes better than she smells, and I’m not even sure how that’s possible.
I take over the kiss, exploring her mouth, and her soft mewl of need is something I’ll definitely be jacking off to later.
When she finally pulls free, she stares up at me, eyes dilated and a bit off-kilter.
“I’ve got to go,” she says and blinks to regain herself. “I’m late.”
Then she rushes to the door and races off into the late afternoon.
Killian turns the lock again once she’s gone and leans against the wood. “Wipe the smug look off your face. She only did that to piss me off.”
Or maybe she likes me.
“Good thing we won’t see her again,” he mutters.
No, he’s right. We probably won’t.