Chapter 13 Killian
"We'll be at the plant until late," Arthur said, adjusting his tie. He looked so smug and self-important. "Expansion meetings. You know how it is, Killian."
This was perfect. I didn’t have to find a way to sneak her out with them around.
"Of course," I replied, masking the thought that their absence made my job ten times easier.
Olivia floated down the stairs, looking like a manicured doll in a lavender suit. "And I have a signing at the downtown boutique at noon. My fans have been clamoring for a preview of the new collection." She leaned in, pressing a dry kiss to my cheek. "What would you like for dinner?"
"Anything’s good. I might not be back in time—I have some business of my own to attend to," I said.
I caught her gaze, resisting the urge to wipe her mouth from my skin.
"Cartier is already in the city handling some logistics for me.
I'll be tied up with him for most of the day.
What time should I expect everyone back if I can make it? "
"Six at the earliest. The staff arrives at six on the dot to prepare dinner," Arthur answered as he removed a key from his chain. "You can use this to leave and enter."
The staff wasn't here? They were leaving Chloe alone, with the door locked from the outside. What would she eat? How often did they do this? She had told me Mary only came a couple of days a week. How was she surviving?
This family was rotten. Polished on the outside, decaying underneath. I gritted my teeth as they exited.
I watched them leave. I watched the black SUVs roll down the long, moss-draped driveway until the iron gates clicked shut. It was 8:15 AM. I waited ten minutes, then I moved.
I headed to her. The steps groaned under my weight. At the top, the door was locked, and the key was nowhere to be found. Of course it wasn't.
I pulled out my knife—lock picking was a useful skill the military had taught me never to forget. A few seconds of work, and the lock clicked open.
"They're gone," I said, reaching a hand inside. "Come with me."
She hesitated, her eyes darting to the hallway. "I didn't think you would come. Maybe this isn't a good idea. Killian, if they find out—"
"They won't. I know their schedule. You're spending the day with me. I told you I had something fun for you to do."
I pulled her out of the attic. We walked out of the front door. In the full light of morning, I realized just how small her clothes were. The frilly, childish dress she was wearing was dangerously short, the seams straining against her curves.
I put her in the passenger seat of my SUV and drove.
At first, she just sat there. Quiet. Looking at everything like it might disappear.
Then, she rolled the window down. The wind hit her face, lifting her hair, and she leaned into it—eyes closing, lips parting as if she were breathing for the first time in years.
"I only go out for doctor's appointments," she said softly. "They keep me in the back of the van." My grip tightened on the wheel. "They don't open the windows."
I glanced at her. Her family was making me hate them, fueling the need to save her. "Why is that, Chloe?"
She pulled her head back into the car, turned to me, and chuckled. "Because I'm crazy."
“You said nothing was wrong with you.”
“Semantics. I said I wasn’t what they said I was.” She turned back and held her head out of the window for the next fifteen minutes.
We ended up at a high-end boutique three towns over, somewhere we wouldn't run into her family.
I watched her walk through the aisles, her fingers brushing the fabrics.
She wasn't shy. She didn't throw fits. She spoke to the women and smiled at the men who couldn't stop staring as she passed.
Everything I had been told about her made less sense now.
I bought her a wrap dress the color of midnight and a pair of soft leather flats. When she changed, she emerged from the dressing room looking like the queen she was born to be.
"Better?" I asked.
She looked at herself in the mirror, her hand trembling as she touched the silk. "So much better."
We had lunch at a restaurant on the coast. Over fish tacos and the sound of distant gulls, she talked about random things—nothing heavy.
"I would like to go to places like this if I was free. If I could drive," she said, looking at the keys on the table. "My momma was going to teach me when I turned sixteen. But by then... she was already a ghost."
On the way back, I pulled over onto a deserted stretch of marshland.
I put her in the driver's seat. I sat close, my hand over hers on the wheel, guiding her through the turns.
She was a natural, her mind working through the mechanics with a speed that made Arthur's "incompetent" label look like a joke.
As she reached for the gear shift, her hand brushed the holster at my hip. She froze. "Is that a gun?"
I nodded.
"Is it loaded?" she whispered.
"Always."
She looked at me, her dark eyes suddenly intense. "Will you show me how to use it?"
I let out a short, dry laugh. "Planning on killing someone, little ghost?"
"Maybe a few people," she said. Her face remained perfectly serious for three long seconds—long enough for the hair on my arms to stand up—before she broke into a small, melodic laugh. But the laughter didn't reach her eyes.
"I'm kidding. My father says I'm only a danger to myself. That's why he needed power of attorney. He told the judge I tried to jump off the balcony like my mother did."
The air in the car turned to ice. I reached over, taking her hand and squeezing it until she looked at me. "Just tell me, Chloe."
"Show me how to shoot, and I might."
I contemplated it. What harm could it be? "Alright," I said, my voice low. "But you do exactly what I say. No arguments."
"Yes, Killian."
I put the SUV in park and led her deeper into the marsh, away from the road, where the tall sawgrass and the wind would swallow the noise. I pulled my sidearm from its holster, dropping the magazine and clearing the chamber.
She watched me closely. "First rule: Don't point it at anybody unless you plan to pull the trigger," I told her, stepping up behind her.
I handed her the weapon. It looked massive in her hands, but she didn't flinch at the weight of the steel. I wrapped my arms around her, my chest flush against her back, my hands covering hers to guide her grip.
"Firm grip. High on the backstrap," I murmured, my breath ghosting over her ear. "Don't choke it, but don't let it boss you around. You're the one in charge."
I felt her lean back into me, her body humming with a strange, dark energy. Again, she was a fast learner. I showed her how to align the sights, focusing on a rotting stump twenty yards away.
"Squeeze the trigger. Don't pull it," I whispered. "It should be a surprise when it goes off."
I stepped back, giving her space but staying close enough to catch her if the recoil was too much. Chloe took a breath, her posture shifting from fragile girl to something lethal.
Crack.
The sound echoed through the marsh. The stump splintered. She didn't blink. She didn't even jump. She just reset her stance, her eyes fixed on the target with a cold, terrifying focus.
Crack. Crack.
Two more rounds, both center-mass on the wood. She lowered the gun, her chest heaving slightly, and turned to look at me. There was fire in her eyes.
I narrowed my eyes at her. "How did you learn to shoot so well?"
She blinked. "YouTube. But it's different in real life. Load it again," she said.
"You're a natural, little ghost," I said. I felt a chill that had nothing to do with the humidity. I felt like I was training her for a war that would eventually make me an accessory to murder. But I took the gun back to reload the mag anyway.
We lost track of time. We were late getting back. It was 5:45 PM when we reached the edge of the estate. Panic flared in her eyes as she saw the time.
"They're home," she gasped, spotting the cars in the driveway before I did. I could see servants combing the grounds as if they'd lost something, and I knew—they knew she was missing.
"Go to the lake," I commanded. "Get wet. If they find you outside, make them think you 'escaped' for a swim. I'll handle the rest."
I dropped her off and sped to the guest house to park. I walked toward the main house just as Arthur and Olivia were coming outside. They were frantic.
"She's out!" Ava shrieked, pointing toward the lawn. "The attic door is still locked, the key is still there, but she's not there!"
"Your daughter?"
"My stepdaughter," she sneered, then straightened her face quickly.
Olivia stood frozen for a second, then grabbed my arm. "This is exactly what we told you," she said, her voice tight. "She does this. She wanders. She doesn't understand—"
"I'll help find her," I cut in.
Arthur looked at me, desperate now. "She can't have gotten far."
I headed toward the back of the estate. Toward the lake.
We found her by the water. Exactly where I knew she'd be. She had changed back into her too-small clothes—the new ones were hidden somewhere—and she was wet and shivering. She looked exactly like the "unwell" girl they wanted her to be.
"Oh, Chloe, baby," Olivia said, her voice dripping with fake honey as she reached for her. "You scared us so much. Why would you run away?"
Chloe didn't look at her. She stared at a spot over Olivia's shoulder and began to hum. "Summertime... and the livin' is easy..."
Arthur looked at me, his face a mask of embarrassment. "I'm so sorry you had to see this, Killian. She has these... episodes. She wanders."
Ava hurried up beside him, her voice dropping into something softer, false. "Baby, you can't just run off like that. You scared us."
Still nothing. Chloe just hummed louder and rocked slightly on her feet, her fingers twisting in the fabric of her dress. This performance was Oscar-worthy.
I stepped forward. "She probably got overwhelmed," I said evenly. "Needed air." I looked at Chloe as if she were a slow-witted child. "It's alright, Arthur. She just wanted to see the water, didn't you, Chloe? It's a big, blue lake. Very pretty."
I reached out and patted her head. Infantilizing a woman I knew was perfectly capable made my skin crawl, but I caught the tiny, microscopic glint of a wink in her eyes before she slumped her shoulders.
"Let's get her upstairs," Arthur snapped, the "kind father" mask finally slipping. "Ava, get the sedation ready. She needs to rest."
I watched them lead her back to the house, my teeth gritted. Olivia’s hand was gripping her arm too tightly; Arthur’s face was flushed with a barely contained rage. Chloe didn't look back at me, but her shoulders were relaxed. She was okay with this.
I stood in the humid twilight, my hands shoved deep into my pockets, feeling the weight of the day we'd shared. Feeling like a man who was destined to save the princess from the monsters.