Chapter 13 Keira
KEIRA
It's here. The Killaney Trust's Annual Fundraiser. Arguably one of the biggest social events of the season in Boston. Where old money mixes with new influence, and every vulture in between will be circling the venue tonight.
And I'm ready. Or at least, I keep telling myself that.
My pulse is steady, half excitement, half nerves. This is the crown jewel of our family's public face, the night where we parade respectability while running the city's underworld behind closed doors.
And tonight, I'm on point, alone.
Normally this is a big family affair. Callum and Declan flanking me like pillars, Mom smiling for photos, Dad making rounds with his gravitas that fills every corner of a room. But tonight, none of them will be here.
Callum made the call. Still too dangerous to have all the Killaneys in one place, he said. Not with the Morrígans circling.
Declan wasn't happy. He fought him hard on it. Even offered to take my place, which made me want to punch him in his stupidly protective face. But Callum stood firm.
I was always meant to be the one to do this. It's my world. The fundraisers, the smiles, the silk-gloved networking.
And tonight, some top people from Shadowharbor are attending, along with some of their top donors. I've arranged one-on-ones under the guise of donor recognition to meet with them.
My job is to ask careful questions without tipping them off.
So yeah. No pressure or anything.
Either way, tonight, I'll make my moves and make my family proud.
Callum also told me that in lieu of them being there, Octavian will be closer tonight and more intense with guarding me.
At first, I didn't know how that could be possible. The man is already everywhere. In doorways, by windows, lurking like some kind of huge Romanian gargoyle with impeccable posture.
But tonight he's not lurking from the sides, staring at me like a creeper.
He'll be by my side the entire night, as my date.
I told Callum that would look ridiculous. A six-foot-six man and a five-foot-four girl. But he just looked at me like he knew I was just trying to find something to complain about. He was right.
Even thinking about him at my side all night now stirs something stupid in me that's warm and electric.
Suddenly, my phone rings, yanking me out of my spiraling thoughts.
Calli's face fills my screen, her eyes bright, smiling at me like she has since we were little.
"Hey, gorgeous," she says, her voice loud through the FaceTime screen. "You look amazing! That dress is giving sexy assassin-princess vibes."
I laugh. "Thanks. I needed that," I say, propping the phone against my vanity mirror.
"I wish I was going with you. I mean, I get why not, but still."
"Next year. We'll go together and drink champagne behind the stage like we do every year."
"Deal." She grins. "So you better not be overthinking any of this."
"I'm not overthinking anything," I lie, as I finish fastening my earrings.
"Liar. I can see it on your face. You've got that look."
"What look?"
"The 'I'm in over my head even though I've been doing this for ten years' look."
I roll my eyes. "You're one to talk."
She laughs. "Fair enough. But seriously, Keira, you're going to be okay tonight. You're going to do great. Nothing will happen. Plus, Octavian will be there."
I swallow hard, adjusting the neckline of my dress.
"Yeah, well, he's always around," I say.
"Ares says he's good," Calli continues. "And Enzo was here the other day, and I asked him too. He said he'd trust Octavian with his own family. That's got to mean something."
Her words settle over me. I suppose she has a point.
"I mean, even you say he's always by you," she adds. "Maybe tonight, let him be?"
"Let him be?" I ask, frowning at my reflection. "It'd be nice if I even had a choice."
"Well, maybe this is for your own good. Even you said the other day he's not mean to you and kind of cute for the stalker-in-the-shadows type."
Heat flares in my chest. I glance toward the door, half worried he can somehow hear us through walls and floors.
"Yeah, but—" I stop myself.
"But what?"
"Still."
Calli laughs. "Okay. Love you. Have fun. Text me everything tomorrow. Especially if you raise more than last year."
"I will. Love you too."
We hang up, and I stare at my phone for a moment longer than necessary, thinking.
Then I shake it off, slip into my heels, turn to the mirror, fix one last flyaway curl, and head downstairs.
Octavian is waiting by the door.
He's dressed in a charcoal suit that looks like it was tailored specifically to contain all that muscle underneath.
The fabric stretches across his shoulders, creases at his biceps, clings to his chest in a way that makes it impossible not to notice he's probably chiseled to damn perfection beneath it.
His tattoos peek out from his collar and cuffs, dark ink against his tan skin, and somehow they don't look out of place. They make him look sharper, more refined.
I'd make that jab at him about looking like a bouncer when we first met, but he looks anything but.
He looks up from his phone at me as I approach, his dark eyes sweeping over me once, quickly, like he's trying not to stare, which he's pretty good at.
"For a bodyguard, you're on your phone a lot," I say.
"It's just some business," he says and puts his phone away.
I'm not sure if I beleive him, but I move on telling myself I don't care.
"Well?" I ask, twirling once. "How do I look?"
He studies me for a moment. It's brief but intense, like I can feel his eyes scanning me.
"Okay. You ready?"
My jaw drops. "Really?" My voice comes out sharp. "No 'Hey, Keira, you look nice, pretty maybe, in your dress'? Just okay?"
I put my hands on my hips for a moment and then toss my hands up in the air.
"You know what," I continue, "I don't even know why I asked you."
I storm past him toward the door, but I catch the faintest curve of a smile on his lips.
Bastard.
I walk out to the car and wait for him to open my door to the backseat, but he passes me and goes around to the passenger side.
"If I'm going to be acting as your date for this event," he says, opening the door, "then you sit next to me."
I hesitate for a second. Sure, it makes sense, and it's not like I haven't ridden in the passenger seat once or twice. It's lonely in the back anyhow.
I walk around and slide in. He closes the door gently, and I watch him walk around, adjusting his jacket.
As he does, the headlights reflect off his gun, and it's a reminder of how things are going to be tonight.
My chest gets a little tight as I really think about everything.
Honestly, I've been so focused on the planning, Shadowharbor intel, my dad, everything, I haven't really taken into account the reasons he's here, the reason my brothers or Calli aren't coming.
I shake my head as Octavian gets in. I have no other choice, and a small part of me is grateful he's at least going to be with me.
The drive to the event is quiet. Silence, as usual, from him. I smooth my hands over my dress, then play with the clasp on my clutch. Then smooth my hands again. I'm nervous and a little fidgety. I check my lipstick in the mirror, do anything to keep the jitters at bay.
We stop at a red light, and I glance over at him and catch him looking at me.
Not just a glance. A look. The same unreadable expression he gave me the other day in the library doorway when he caught me crying after Callum's news, and I couldn't hold myself together anymore.
"What?" I ask.
"You're worried about tonight."
"What makes you say that?"
His eyes glance back to the road as the light turns green. "You're rigid. Your hands won't stop moving. Your face is too tense."
He pauses.
"And you asked what I thought."
Heat crawls up my neck. "Well, aren't you just Mr. Observer. Always watching people, huh? You take notes on everyone, or just women you want to irritate?"
"Just you," he says, glancing at me again. "I just take notes on you."
He looks back at the road.
My breath catches, and instead of my normal feelings, it's a low heat that washes over me.
I force a scoff. "Well, in your little notebook of me, write down that if I ever decide to ask you what you think about my appearance, say something more than 'okay.' Actually, better yet, put that in your notebook of life. You'll do much better with women."
His smile widens. "You don't think I do well with women?"
My eyes drop to his full lips before I can stop myself.
Dammit.
I look away, out the window. "Well, I don't know. Do you just stare at them from across the room before you approach? Say things like 'I'm only here to keep you alive'?" I drop my voice into a ridiculous deep impression to match his.
He laughs.
Holy shit, he laughs.
The sound is low and rich and completely unexpected, and it makes me feel somewhat happy, surprisingly.
"What?" I ask, turning back to him, starting to laugh despite myself.
He keeps laughing, shaking his head slightly.
"Octavian, what!" I tap his arm, and the contact sends a spark up my fingers. "I'm not used to you not being serious, so is it funny, or is this like when serial killers break and kill their first victim?"
He slows his laugh, looking at me with something that almost looks like amusement. "I've never had anyone try and imitate me before. Poorly, but—" He pauses. "Do you think I sound like that?"
We share a look, the kind that lingers too long, and I can't help the smile plastered over my face.
I don't know what to say, so I roll my eyes, shake my head, and I have to physically force myself to turn back to the window.
But the smile stays and so do the thoughts of him laughing at my joke.
We arrive at the historic Boston venue, a grand old building with marble columns and sweeping staircases lit by golden chandeliers.
Cameras flash as guests arrive. Press clustered at the base of the stairs. Donors in tuxedos and gowns ascending like royalty.
A valet comes to open my door, but Octavian won't allow it. He steps in between them and does the honor, helping me out.
As we walk up the stairs leading inside, he sticks out his arm.
I look up at him for a moment.
My mind tells me to keep him at a distance.
But my body moves without thinking.
I slide my arm through his, and we walk in together.
And goddamn it, it feels good.