Chapter 42 | Kate
FORTY-TWO | KATE
Ikilled someone.
He shot me.
I murdered a man.
He was going to kill me.
He’s dead now.
But you aren’t.
Those thoughts and excuses have been running through my head on a constant loop. A record player stuck in a cycle.
Yet every time my gut starts to churn, carrying that twinge of guilt, I remind myself that if it hadn’t been Xander’s life that drained onto the floor of the carousel in a pool of blood, it would’ve been mine.
Some people don’t deserve second chances.
I realize that now, as I rewrap the bandage on my thigh protecting the bullet wound that Imogen stitched the night I thought I was going to die.
I shouldn’t have missed the first time my blade penetrated his abdomen.
But I was still holding onto that sliver of innocence I thought I had left until I realized he stole it from me a long time ago.
I’d say I’m not that same girl who let herself be a slave to a blade and a violent man, but I am. I’m just stronger now. Know how to fight for the life I deserve, even if it means taking someone else’s who was hell-bent on stealing mine.
It’s been two weeks since our date. The night when running for my life turned into fighting to keep the breath in my lungs and the heartbeat in my chest thriving.
The night Preston held me to his chest, speaking beautiful words that made me feel more alive than the adrenaline and panic that was coursing through my veins.
Words he’s said to me every day for the last two weeks without fail.
Preston’s been here, taking care of me, as a part of myself scabs over to turn into another scar that I’ll carry around.
Metaphorically and physically.
It’s a reminder that sometimes the only thing that can save us is ourselves. A part of me wishes I could have learned that sooner. But I wouldn’t have found myself here. Wouldn’t have sought shelter in a cute small town and found a job at an amusement park.
I’ve realized that Lachlan Harbor and I share something in common, because pretty things that seem harmless on the outside can be just as dangerous.
I killed someone.
But I’ve never felt more power and strength.
I murdered someone.
But I’ve never felt this kind of peace.
Xander’s dead now.
And I can finally live.
Life around the estate feels somewhat normal now. Maybe that’s because I slay my demon, but Preston has yet to conquer his. But I’ll be by his side when he does.
He’s still pulled into countless meetings, works most of the day, and has just returned from a short trip to New York with Carter and Arden, where they delivered a shipment that arrived at the harbor last week.
He hated leaving me, but at the end of the day, he still has an empire to run. Knowing what happened in Virginia, I was a nervous wreck the entire time he was gone, especially since Imogen had put me on leave from the medical center.
Preston told me I don’t need to work, but I like being a part of it and working with Imogen and the team.
Keeps me busy. It has helped me find that other part of myself that I lost. Now I get to help protect the place I thought I’d never escape from.
I found a home here—a family, though I’m craving to see my own.
In time, once I’ve healed completely. They don’t need to see me limping around and find out I was shot.
Preston surprised me last week by saying that he plans for us to head to Ireland next month to see the estate.
But the surprise didn’t stop there. He managed to get my dad's contact information and has arranged for my family to join us for a few weeks. I’m not sure what story we plan to tell them about where Preston gets his money, or how we’ll address their questions about the guards with guns, but we’ll work that out when we come to it.
The important part is that he knew how important seeing them was to me after running for so long—that a part of me has a hole without them to fill it.
Preston understands that more than anyone.
I cried so hard in appreciation and gripped him so tightly that I thought I would suffocate him.
Just because I had to wait three weeks to see my family didn’t mean I couldn’t call. It was a phone call filled with tears and “Oh my God, you’re okay!” When they asked about Xander, I went quiet. Heartbeats passed between us, somehow louder than words.
Still, I said, “He won’t be a problem anymore.”
Then my father’s voice calmed the twinge of guilt and shame that was stirring, making me feel lighter. “All that matters is that you’re safe now.”
My family’s voices have added a new sense of contentment, keeping me grateful to live life on my own terms now, rather than submit to it.
I can’t say the same for Preston and Arden, though.
They’re still in a war.
Playing a game they don’t understand while they wait to finally make their move.
I found Arden in the garden one evening last week, sitting in the same spot we met.
He apologized for using Preston against me, and I felt every word, seeing it in the glaze of his eyes.
Then, something inside me cracked for the man, and I asked about her.
Lynn, Preston's mother, was apparently as beautiful as her soul was, and Tayla, his daughter, took after her, whereas Preston is like him. He told me stories through the tears clogging his throat, telling me that they plan to end it—get their revenge—at Luciano’s fiftieth birthday celebration in April.
As for the mole, they’re still lurking out there somewhere. The last few shipments have been untouched. Haven’t been missing product like the few others before.
One would think they’ve given up, but we know that’s far from the truth. They're just in the shadows, waiting for orders.
Preston and Arden’s revenge plan is set in stone to take down the leader of the Calco Cartel, but that’s still seven months from now.
I tighten the straps of my garters, giving myself a once-over in the dim light of the en suite bathroom mirror.
Moonlight is starting to peek through the window, spilling across the floor like silver paint.
There still may be faint bruises on my neck and a healing bullet wound in my thigh, but I’ve never admired myself as much as I am now.
The baby-pink strapless lingerie from our first date and that night at the park has been stripped of bloodstains thanks to Gretta.
I never got to show it to him since it was under my dress, and it finally feels like the right time.
I miss the heat of his touch. Don’t get me wrong, he keeps me tucked into his side every night and peppers me with kisses when his tongue isn’t in my mouth, but that’s the extent of our physical contact.
Last week, I kept trying to push it further since his hot, nearly naked body is pressed against mine every night, but he just growls my name.
A warning because he knows I’m still physically healing.
But I’m out of the weeds with my concussion and only have these damn stitches still in my leg.
But I can’t take it anymore.
Is wearing this a form of manipulation? Probably.
Something tells me once he sees me in this, he’ll lose his control. I’m his one weakness, and I’m learning not to take it for granted now.
I do one last check, taking in the way the stockings crawl up my long legs and how the silk-and-mesh body of the fabric hugs my curves. There’s an ugly bandage around my thigh, but I don’t care. Because I know he won't. He finds the beauty in my scars, like I see the beauty in his.
Running my fingers through my long, curled hair, I blow out a breath and exit the bathroom. The soft light of the bedside lamp cascades across the hard planes of his tattooed chest, which my fingertips yearn to trace and memorize more.
Every line. Every vein. Every stroke of ink.
Preston’s bourbon eyes lift from the laptop on his lap, his eyes expanding when they land on me stalking toward him.
I ignore the slight limp in my leg as a blush creeps up his chest and floods into his cheeks.
He lifts a hand to his bearded jaw, taking me in and taking his time like he always does.
“Fuck,” he exhales, the one word covering me from head to toe in goosebumps. “You’re really testing my control here, darling.”
My tone is sweet. “Then let it go.” I toss my hair over my shoulder, stopping in front of the bed.
His hand drifts further up his face as he rubs his eyes. When he drops his arm, I see the cracked web in his resolve. He’s hanging on by a thread, and I want him to shatter. “I don’t want to hurt you. Your leg is still healing.”
My fingertips drift over my collarbones and down my stomach, tauntingly. “I don’t care. I want you. I want to feel everything.” I place a knee on the bed, crawling to him slowly. “That’s why I’m wearing the same lingerie that was under my dress that got ruined the night of our date.”
He curses under his breath, placing the laptop on the bedside table, hungrily observing the way I carefully crawl on top of him.
Luckily, he’s propped on top of the comforter, so I have a view of how badly he wants me.
His massive cock is straining against his boxers.
A low thrum circulates in my belly, drifting to my clit as I settle on top of him.
“Goddamn, Kate. You’re stunning, looking all ready for me.”
I bit my lip, nodding as my hands fondle my breasts in the strapless top that gives them enough lift to drive him mad. “Are you going to break for me now and fuck me the way I want you to?”
“Holy fuck. That dirty mouth is begging for my cock, too, isn’t it?”
Another nod. “Mhmm.”
He sits up, wrapping his arms around me to tenderly pull my center flush against his erection and his warm, hard chest. There’s way too much fabric between us as his lips slam against mine. His tongue demands entrance, and I part them for him to let his flavor invade my senses and drive me wild.
My pulse is hammering as he gently picks me up, flipping me onto my back so he’s on top. Keeping my eyes on him, I slowly part my legs, letting him see the mess I’m already making of my lace panties.
His fingers press into my center, rubbing circles on my clit. I whimper, pleasure wracking through me. Our gazes hold firm, his fingers pulling me closer to an edge I want to fall over with him.
His husky voice floods through my ears, making me wetter. “Fucking hell, you are soaked for me. We’re about to see just how much this tight cunt missed me.”
My heart drops into my stomach, a bomb making the wings take flight when he shoves my panties to the side, making me shiver.
Our desperation for each other is evident when he doesn’t waste time taking my lingerie off.
He reaches into his boxers, pulling out his rock-hard cock.
Preparing himself, he pumps it from base to tip a few times.
His thumb swipes over the bead of precum on his tip before he aligns himself with my entrance.
Catching me off guard, he takes that thumb, pressing it between my lips at the exact moment he slips every inch of himself inside of me like it’s where he belongs.
He does.
He was meant to consume me.
I moan around his finger and swirl my tongue around, clenching around his cock when he tosses his head back and groans, rocking into me.
He removes his finger from my mouth to push down the fabric containing my breasts and releases them.
His expert fingers twist my nipples, releasing tingling flurries that dance across my skin and pool in my belly as my pleasure builds. My pussy tightens around him.
“You're such a greedy little whore for my cock, darling.”
“Oh, Preston,” I breathe.
“When I saw those soaked panties, I knew you’d make a mess on my cock.”
“You feel like—”
His thumb finds my clit, making me cry out. “Like what, mo ghrá?”
Heat floods my neck. My chest. My cheeks and all the way down to where my pussy is being filled. “Like you were made for me,” the admission is effortless.
Preston thrusts in and out, his focus falling to where we’re connected. “Shittt,” he hisses in an exhale. “I was. As you were for me.”
My hands reach out, gliding along his abdomen as his hips slam into me. I’m breathless as I ask, “Preston.”
“Hmm?”
“What does mo ghrá mean?”
“It means, my love, baby.”
Oh shit. My breath is shallower now, the oxygen feeling weak as I draw in air. My orgasm is swirling, his words carrying me closer to euphoria. Stars are starting to dance in my vision. Little white lights vibrating, making me shake below him from the pleasure.
Draping his massive body over mine like a security blanket, his clammy skin plasters to mine. His thrusts are controlled, his dick now going so deep that he’s hitting that sensitive spot over and over again.
My question is a whimper. “But you said that to me when you caught me in the garden.”
His mouth falls to my shoulder, his teeth gently nipping at the skin there as he pounds into me.
He soothes it with his tongue, his words lathering over my skin.
“I know. I’ve loved you since you stabbed me with your knife.
You told me to ruin you, but that was the moment you completely ruined me.
” A desperate sound escapes my throat. His lips lift against my skin.
“Fuck, your pussy is squeezing me so tight. You like hearing me admit that, baby?”
“Preston, I’m going to come.” My arms knit over the hard planes of muscle in his back.
“Come on my cock, mo ghrá. Let go for me so I can fill this tight cunt and make a mess out of you like you’ve made of me.”
The stars burst. Bright white light floods behind my eyelids as I orgasm at the same time he does. I feel like I’m floating. Warmth coats my walls, the sensation of him filling me, making me want never to come down from the heavens.
But I always will, because here is where he is, and I was almost torn from Preston once.
I have blood on my hands now, too.
And I’d cover them again if it means I can always come home.