Chapter 27 Kieran
Kieran
“It was my design to befriend the spirit of revenge.” Edgar Allan Poe
The club is empty now.
The last of the patrons has trickled out into the freezing night, their laughter echoing off the brick walls of the alley before fading into silence.
The air is still tinged with the heavy scent of whiskey and perfume, but the music has long stopped, leaving only the low hum of the refrigeration behind the bar.
Vincent has gone upstairs to count inventory.
Gabe’s cleaning glasses, earbuds in, humming something faint.
Deirdre lingers near the end of the bar, chatting with Claire as they tally tips. Every now and then, she glances over her shoulder at me, her lips quirking like she knows I’m watching her—and she’s right.
I can’t stop.
Vincent catches my eye as he descends the stairs and jerks his chin toward the private hallway. I follow without a word, slipping into his office as he shuts the door behind us.
He drops into his leather chair, leaning back with that infuriatingly calm expression he wears when he knows I’m already on edge.
“You’ve been quiet tonight since earlier,” he says. “That’s rarely a good thing.”
I lower myself into the opposite chair, rubbing at the knot building behind my temple. “Sheridan called a meeting with me on Wednesday.”
Vincent’s brow arches. “And?”
“And as you know, he’s forcing me to help host the charity masquerade gala,” I grit out. “Apparently, he thinks tethering me to a ballroom full of donors and university officials will keep me too busy to misbehave.”
Vincent gives a slow, sardonic smile. “He’s not wrong. You do have a reputation.”
“He knows,” I say, my tone dropping colder. “He doesn’t have proof, of course, but he suspects, and he’s running with it. Every word out of his mouth was lined with innuendo. And then he dared to mention her by name. Said I ‘seem to enjoy her company’ more than is appropriate for a professor.”
Vincent’s expression fades. “What did you say?”
I lean forward, my voice low and steady.
“I told him if he so much as breathes on her career…if he tries to tarnish her name, I’ll burn him down.
I reminded him I know exactly what he did when he was a professor here, before his miraculous promotion.
I told him if he pushes me, I’ll make sure the world knows he couldn’t keep his hands off his own student. ”
Vincent lets out a low whistle, shaking his head. “You don’t bluff, do you?”
“No,” I reply flatly. “Not about her.”
For a moment, there’s only the faint hum of the heater kicking on. Then Vincent sits forward, elbows on his desk. “You realize that by threatening him, you directly put yourself in Sheridan’s line of sight, more than you already were.”
“I know.” My chest tightens as I think of her laugh tonight, the way she danced through the crowd, effortlessly waiting on clients.
“And I don’t care. If being on display at this gala gives me a reason to stay close to her, I’ll do it.
I won’t let him use her as collateral damage in his power games. ”
“Then you better be careful,” Vincent warns. “Because he’ll be watching. And if he catches even a hint of what’s between you two, he’ll ruin you both. I’ll do my best to keep the dog off the trail, but you’re not making it easy. Keep the threats to your boss to a minimum.”
I rise from the chair, every muscle tight with the strain of holding myself together. “He can try to ruin me, but I promise you, Vincent—if Sheridan tries to destroy her…he’ll go down with me.”
As I turn to step out of the door, I hear Vincent say, “Ya know, I am glad I am not on your shit list.”
Walking out of Vincent’s office, she catches me staring again.
She flashes me a subtle smile that twists something in my chest. My chest aches with the knowledge that I’ll have to let her walk out of here without me.
She needs these quiet moments with her friends.
Needs the illusion of normalcy. I have to let her have it.
So I make the conscious decision to walk across to her. Her eyes flicker up at me, curious, as she is setting the bills down on the bar.
“I’ll see you Monday in class. I have some things to take care of this weekend,” I murmur, keeping my voice low. “Get some sleep.”
She nods her head, and she grasps my hand, pulling me in for a quick kiss. When she breaks the kiss, I revel in the smudged pink color of her lipstick.
My cock twitches in my slacks, and I force myself to leave before I change my mind.
Outside, my breath clouds in front of my face as I hurry down the alley to my car. The wind slips its fingers beneath my collar, and I yank my coat lapels up to my ears. My Audi sits alone, half-illuminated by a streetlight that buzzes and flickers every three seconds.
I slam the car door against the wind. The abrupt silence rings in my ears. No music. No clinking glasses. No chatter.
Just me.
And her. Always her.
It’s two seventeen in the morning. I turn the key and shift the car into drive. I white-knuckle the wheel, watching my knuckles go pale as I stare through the windshield. Easing onto Scholar’s Street, my headlights catch the gargoyles perched atop Cornelia Heights’ wrought iron gates.
I shake my head in frustration.
Sheridan thinks chaining me to this masquerade gala will keep me distracted. He’s a fool.
If anything, it gives me cover.
Vincent has taken care of the logistics, the plane tickets, the rental car, and our lodging. All under his name. He’s willing to risk everything if this goes sideways, and I have to make sure it doesn’t.
Deirdre wants revenge. And I can’t blame her. Trevor took everything from her once. He won’t get another chance.
But this trip can’t just be about revenge for Deirdre. She needs closure. Her father died while she was gone, though it was at his persistence that she left; she’s never visited his grave.
The memory washes over me. Brandon Danforth approached her that night. The frat party where I couldn’t stay away from her, not after she sent me that picture. I remember the blind anger I felt when I heard the aggression in his voice, the way his head smacked the pavement when I threw him down.
I wanted him to die.
Another memory rushes in.
During Thanksgiving break, during one of our stolen nights together, she confided in me about her father. Voice cracking and tearful, she placed every jagged piece of her heart in front of me, and I vowed that night; to take care of her, heart and soul.
“I didn’t even go to his funeral,” she’d whispered then. “I left before he died. I was halfway across the country trying to start over, and he…he was dying, and I left.”
Her eyes had glistened in the lamplight, stubborn against tears that refused to fall.
“I promised him I’d be okay,” she’d said, voice trembling. “I tried to stay, and I just…ran. Leaving him all alone.”
My heart splintered at the sight of her pain.
“He wanted you to live,” I’d told her gently. “And you did. You survived. That’s what he asked of you.”
She nodded numbly, but I knew even then she didn’t believe it.
The image of her like that, fragile and trembling, but still standing, lodges in my throat.
I’ll take her there.
She’ll get her closure, and while we’re there, we’ll finish this. We’ll find Trevor and end this nightmare.