Chapter 20 Killian
The attic door was unlocked, the key missing. I pushed it open. The smell hit first—gunpowder mixing with the stale air of the attic. I stopped in my tracks.
The scene came into focus. My hand went to my weapon. Caspian, the wife’s brother, was on the floor on his knees. He was bent forward like he was praying, his body trembling. His face was pale, slick with sweat, his eyes fixed on something in front of him with a terror that had no room for pride.
I followed his gaze. Chloe stood in the corner, barefoot, wearing nothing but her bra and panties. Her hair was wild around her face. Her cheek was swelling, a purple bruise blooming across her dark skin. My heart sped up. In her hands was a gun. My gun.
Pointed at Caspian's head.
"Chloe."
She didn't look at me. Her eyes stayed on Caspian, steady and cold, like she was deciding whether to pull the trigger.
"Chloe," I said again, softer this time. I raised my hands slowly, palms out. "It's me. It's Killian."
Nothing. I took a step closer.
"Don't." Her voice was flat. "Don't come any closer."
I stopped. "Okay," I said. "I'm not coming closer. But I need you to look at me."
She didn't move.
"Please."
Something in my voice must have reached her. Her eyes shifted—just slightly—toward me.
"There you are," I said. "Hi."
"Hi," she whispered.
"You want to tell me what's going on?"
"He hit me." Her voice cracked. "He's been touching me for years. He tried to kiss me. So I—" She nodded toward the hole in the wall.
"Okay," I said. "Okay. That's good. Nobody’s dead. You're safe now. You’re in control.”
She blinked. Her hands were shaking now. The gun trembled in her grip. "I'm not," she said. "I'm not in control of anything."
"You're holding the gun."
"That's not the same thing."
I took another step. She didn't tell me to stop. "I want to shoot him so bad it hurts," her voice trembled.
"I know."
I was close enough now. Close enough to see the tears she was fighting. Close enough to see the bruise on her cheek, the split in her lip, the blood dried on her chin.
"I need you to give me the gun, Chloe."
She looked at it, then at me, then at Caspian—still kneeling, still shaking, still too terrified to speak. "He deserves to die," she said.
"Probably."
"So why shouldn't I—"
"Because you're not a killer." I held out my hand. "And because I won't let him hurt anyone ever again. I swear it."
She stared at me for a long moment. Then she lowered the gun. Her arm dropped to her side. The weight of everything that had happened seemed to pull her down—her shoulders sagged, her head bowed, her whole body folding in on itself like a marionette with cut strings.
I took the gun from her fingers. Then I turned and kicked Caspian square in the stomach. He folded, gasping, collapsing onto his side and clutching his gut.
Shouting erupted from the hallway. "Let me in! That's my daughter—" It was Arthur.
“Move,” Ava demanded.
I heard Cartier's voice. "Ma'am, I'm going to need you to step back."
"Get out of my way!" Ava yelled at him.
"Lady, I’ll shoot you in your fucking face if you don’t calm down.” Cartier did not have patience for them. I knew he would handle it.
I turned to Chloe. Her eyes were glassy. Her body swayed. "Chloe?" She didn't answer. Her breathing picked up until I recognized she was hyperventilating. Then she just crumpled.
I caught her before she hit the floor, one arm around her waist, pulling her against my chest. Her head lolled against my shoulder. Her eyes fluttered closed.
"Chloe. Chloe."
Nothing. I felt for a pulse. It was there. "She's breathing," I said to no one.
I lifted her into my arms and carried her out of the attic.
I ran into chaos in the hallway. Ava was screaming, clawing at Cartier's arms. Arthur stood behind her, his face contorted, his fists clenched.
Olivia hovered at the edge of the stairs, her eyes wide, her mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water.
The guests were gone. The dining room was empty. Just the family and the staff, and the staff had the good sense to stay back.
"Put her down," Arthur demanded.
I didn't. I walked past them into the living room. I laid Chloe on the couch, pulled a throw blanket over her body, and turned to face them.
"What the fuck is going on in this house?"
Silence. Ava stopped screaming. Arthur's jaw worked. Olivia looked at the floor.
"Nobody?" I looked at each of them. "Nobody wants to tell me why I just found your daughter—your stepdaughter—your sister in the attic with a gun to her uncle's head? Nobody wants to explain the bruises on her face? The split lip?"
Still nothing. Cartier appeared beside me. He leaned in, his voice low, meant only for me.
"I know everything," he said. "About the power of attorney. Medical guardianship. The mother's will. All of it. I would bet my life that they’re planning something dark and dirty for her. We can’t leave her here.” He whispered for a long minute.
When he finished, I turned to Arthur. Just looking at him pissed me off. I wanted to torture the truth out of him, but my number one priority was getting Chloe out of there.
"I'm taking Chloe with me."
Arthur's face went purple. "Like hell you are! You have no right. This is my house, that is my daughter, and you are committing a felony kidnapping if you remove her!"
"Kidnapping?" I let out a dry laugh. "I’m taking my fiancée to see a real doctor. You can call the police and tell them I’m 'kidnapping' her, but I imagine they’ll be more interested in why she’s covered in bruises and why her uncle is curled in a ball on the floor in her room with a bullet above his head. "
"She's mentally incompetent!" Arthur stepped forward, his voice cracking, desperation written all over his face. "I have the Power of Attorney! You can't just—"
"I either take her and we figure this out the legal way," I said, cutting him off, "or I call the cops right now and let them sort through it all. Everything past and present." I left out the fact that I’d heard him confess to killing Chloe’s mother.
“I wonder how your Power of Attorney holds up then.”
Arthur froze.
"Especially after you invited me here. I have records of every conversation between us.
My grandfather and his attorneys will say I came here for a Landry bride—and I found her.
The only real Landry in this fucking house is the one you locked in the attic.
You tried to play me, Arthur. But you got played. "
Arthur took a step toward me, his face twisted with rage. I raised the gun, pointing it directly at his dark heart. He stopped dead. "You wouldn't shoot me," he stammered, but the tremor in his voice told a different story.
"Wouldn't I? And I’d get away with it."
He looked at my face, and whatever he saw there made him back away.
"Cartier," I said, not looking away from Arthur. "Get our shit. We're leaving."
I carried Chloe to the car. She didn't wake up when I strapped her into the back seat. I slid into the driver's side. Cartier came out about twenty minutes later, a duffel over his shoulder. Nothing else. Just the guns.
"Boss," he said. "I'll follow you."
Halfway down the long, moss-draped driveway, headlights flashed. I could see Mary. I pulled over. Mary hurried to my car and walked to my window. She looked at Chloe in the back seat, then back at me.
"Thank you," she said.
"For what?"
"For getting her out. I've been trying for fourteen years." She reached past me, brushing Chloe's hair back from her face. “My baby,” she whispered. "Listen to what she tells you about them. It's all true. Every word. Tell her to call me if she needs me."
She stepped back, got in her car, and drove away. I sat there for a moment, watching her taillights disappear. Then I put the car in drive and headed for the highway.
Behind me, Chloe slept. Ahead of me, everything was about to change.