Chapter 11
COLLINS
When my shift ends, I stalk into Hayes bedroom. And unfortunately he isn’t there. Resolved to the fact that he is most likely out doing something for the clan, I turn to the only person who knows everything about my family. Killian.
If Hayes had a spare bedroom, Killian had a suite.
Pops loved him like a son—probably better because Briar and Ferguson never got along—and was given the best room in the mansion.
At the top of the three stories, hidden in the back corner, it overlooks the gardens behind the house and the sprawling forest that keeps our little paradise safe from spies.
The room is darker, walls wallpapered with textured grey, the king bed mussed from a restless slumber. The floor is littered with debris—guns, knives, and various other weapons. In the corner, by the window, is a wooden easel with bits of charcoal and paint brushes.
Other than that, there’s nothing personal. Killian just exists here.
He looks up from the desk, chest bare in a pair of dark sweats, hands cleaning his Glock with precision. It’s easy to see the man created by my father—from the malnourished boy who would jump at every noise, he’s become the man our enemies fear.
“Collins,” he greets, dark almond eyes taking in my messy scrubs. I’m splattered in blood and other bodily fluids from my clinicals. Dillon had me helping with everything, again. He doesn’t blink. “It’s late.”
Glancing to the fireplace, a small fire crackles beside us and I peer at the clock. It’s after midnight and I’m running out of time.
Has Maeve already asked? Did she kill him?
I might have a small crush on her friend, who annoys me to no end, but I didn’t want him dead.
“I know. It’s going to storm out. Up for a bedtime story?” My finger traces the beginning of a face, the pointed chin and wide eyes resembling someone I know, though can’t place.
He smirks, slapping my hand from the paper.
“If you were twelve again, sure. But you’re too old for a grown man to read you mythology.” He jerks his chin toward the door. “And your fiancé might not like it.”
Rolling my eyes, I turn from the art and step over his things. “Ew. No offense.”
He smiles, distractedly, buffing the barrel of his gun. “None taken.”
“Why did you suggest that, by the way?” I ask, coming closer to this desk.
“I don’t know what you’re referring to.”
“Yes, you do. You knew being engaged would halt Maeve. You suggested it. Why?”
Licking his bottom lip, dark locks falling into his eyes, Killian continues to clean. “I know your sister very well, Coli. And I know what she wants.”
“And that is?”
“You, happy,” he says, shrugging. The Glock clicks into place. “That’s all she’s ever wanted. Everyone to have their sickening, sweet fairytale endings.”
I snort. “Right. She was only looking to give Sloane the perfect marriage.” Rolling my eyes, I cross my arms. “She only cares about what’s best for the clan. Always has, always will.”
Killian shrugs. “Believe what you want.”
I ignore him and chew on my lip. “Have you seen him?” I ask. At his raised eyebrow, I gesture to the room. “Hayes. I haven’t been able to talk to him for days. I need to get to him before Maeve.”
Killian smirks and it’s the reaper staring at me, black eyes like glass, and face devoid of warmth. “Oh, she got to him. Gave him a Hell of a beating too. He’s off doing whatever he can to get on her good side again.”
Shit. “Did she hurt him?” I can’t have that on my conscience. Not Hayes. Not him.
I won’t think about why Hayes hurting because of me twists my stomach and forces my head to spin.
Killian looks up at me. “Define hurt.”
“Christ,” I curse, dropping onto his bed with a solid plop. “She’s going to kill him. Maeve hates not knowing things before they happen.”
“Comes with the territory,” he retorts. No shit. All Captains like to know everything in their clans. “Hayes is fine, Coli. Just a few bruises. She went easy on him.”
“You were there?”
“Yes.”
“And you didn’t stop it?”
He just stares. Right. He and Hayes have a great contest of who can piss the other off more. “Well, what does she know?”
Does she know I lied? How much trouble am I in? Will she send me off now?
“She was more hurt than curious.” He throws the rag down, putting pieces together until the Glock is whole again.
Double shit. “Killian, I’m so screwed. I don’t know what to do. What if she gets rid of me? She did it to Sloane. What if she kills Hayes? She might love him but still—” Killian slams the gun on to the desk, interrupting me as he straddles the seat backwards.
“Collins, enough,” he snaps. Like a well trained dog, I halt. “What do you need that will settle your mind?”
After being in our lives for so long, he knows how my mind spirals. How it’ll build up, run scenarios, twist and churn until my anxiety gets too high, I won’t be able to control it.
Exhaling, I grip my control and steady my hands.
“I need to find Hayes and explain. Tell him why I did it. Hope he’ll be agreeable enough to actually want to help me.
” I scoff. “It’s not like he has any reason to help.
” What if he told Maeve I was lying? My sister hated dishonesty.
He could use me to get back in her good graces and never have to guard me again.
“He’ll go along with it.”
I pick at my nails. “You sound so sure.”
He shrugs. “Because I am.” Standing, he pushes me to the side, grabbing a discarded shirt.
“Come with me,” he says, gesturing for me to stand. “I’ll take you to him. That way you can talk this out and I can get my bedroom back.”
Slipping the shirt over his head, he grabs the keys from his desk, sliding the gleaming gun into his waist. He adds to black knives to his arsenal.
“Preparing for war?”
Killian smirks. “Something like that.”
We ride into the Berkshires in silence. The deep woods are so thick the full moon’s rays can’t reach us. Tall oaks and wide maples are full of burnt red and orange leaves, with more covering the forest floor. My breath fogs up the window, the chill in the air reminding me of how close winter is.
We stop and I open the door. The night is quiet, only the purring of Maeve’s Mercedes G-Class and the distant hoot of an owl surrounding us.
Licking my lips, I look back at the reaper. “Does Maeve know you took her car?”
He gives me a bored expression. That answers my question.
Pointing through the darkness, I follow his finger to the distant blaze of a red flickering flame, concealed well in the foliage.
“He’s over there.”
“You’re just going to let me go alone?”
Leaning back, he settles into the car, running a hand through his locks. “Afraid?”
Terrified. “And if Hayes isn’t too happy to see me?”
He shrugs, closing his eyes. “Careful. He has a mean left hook.”
Slamming the door, I stomp through the heavy root laden ground, sneakers tripping on bunched up vines as I go. Fucking asshole.
Carefully picking through the trees, I crash into the clearing, twigs snapping underfoot. The small flame is actually a large roaring bonfire, with dozens of thick stumps fueling the blaze. Inhaling, I cough, expecting cedar and pine, only to smell burning flesh and hair.
“Oh God,” I say, gagging as I cover my mouth. It’s bodies. They’re burning bodies out here. That stench is unmistakable, one that warns humans away from danger.
“What are you doing here?”
Jumping, I spin to see Hayes, carrying a body over his shoulder. A very dead body.
Gulping, I wave my hands around as my heart pounds in my chest. “We have to talk.”