Chapter 35
HAYES
The raging inferno before us feels muted in the Berkshires, the dark forest hiding us among the animals in the shadows.
It took less time getting here with Killian’s erratic driving, as we avoided stopping at any red lights. How we didn’t get picked up by the cops was sheer luck.
Simon’s body is in the flames, the scent of burnt hair and singed blood boiling into the air. As disgusting as the smells are, this place is my escape. I can be alone here, in the quiet, watching my prey dissolve. Mistakes gone, darkness buried away, here, I’m free and all my secrets are erased.
Collins was never free. She was never safe. I thought being Ferguson’s favorite allotted her some kind of protection in this world. I teased her about it—envied her. He kept her guarded, showed off her accomplishments while the rest of the kids were ignored. How was I to know differently?
But she was used differently, just another kid Ferguson could harm.
A beer bottle appears in front of my face, Killian sitting beside me on the rotted log.
I don’t dare drink from it.
Rolling his eyes, the reaper takes my beer, sipping from it, then his own. “Happy?”
“Not really. You’d poison us both just to get me.”
Chuckling, he nods. “Fair point. But why kill you now, when the trials are a better option?”
“Asshole,” I mutter, taking a deep swing from the bottle.
We sit in silence, only the crackling of branches and bones the sounds around us. Most animals have avoided this area, the scent of death too strong to compel them to investigate. It’s just us and our thoughts.
It’s also really fucking weird to be sitting here, quietly, with the reaper. A man who met me as a teen and promptly threatened. A man who rigged this entire situation to screw me out of a spot next to Maeve, just because I kept him from her.
He’s petty, jealous, and dangerous. And we’re sharing beers in front of a fire like it’s a campout.
“Do I want to know why Simon is in the pit?”
“Does it matter?”
“Not really.” He shrugs, sipping from his bottle. He digs out a cigarette from his jacket, holding one out to me. “Simon would have died sooner or later. By my hand or Maeve’s. I’m just curious how it came to be by you.”
I don’t take the cigarette, apprehension rising. “What the fuck is happening right now? Why are you being nice to me?”
The smile I get is cold, but not violent. Not like it’s been. “I’ve never hated you, Prince.”
“Bullshit.”
His side-eyes me. “I haven’t. I’ve just been…”
“Jealous? Twisted? Vindictive?”
He smiles, looking down in the beer bottle like it’ll give him all the answers. “That and others, yeah.”
“You’ve made my life a living hell,” I bite out, draining my beer.
Killian offers me his and at this point, I don’t question it.
I’m confused and my arm is fucking killing.
I just want to be home—I want to talk to Collins.
“You’ve never let me have one day of peace since being here.
Constantly threatening to tell the clan who I am. You’ve always hated me.”
“How do you think it’s been for me, Hayes?
” He startles me, using my name. “Maeve doesn’t trust easily.
But you? She let you in. You got to see sides of her that I spent years trying to see.
” Those black eyes flash, rage and envy shining back at me.
“You got a place I wanted. For years. So maybe I wasn’t nice to you.
But let’s face it—I could have been a lot worse. ”
It wasn’t hate—not entirely. Killian hates what I represent, what he couldn’t be. No, he’s jealous that Maeve relied on me, bled with me on the streets, and not with him.
Begrudgingly, I get it. A little bit. After all, the man is obsessed with Maeve and to see someone where he wants to be, has twisted the deranged ghoul into something nasty. I just happened to be the proverbial punching bag.
“So what? Now we’re friends?”
Killian raises an eyebrow. “Do you want to be?”
Do I want to be friends with a psychotic killer? “God, no. This is so weird.”
He smirks. “Thank fuck.” He puffs from the butt of the cigarette, smoke drifting from his nose, a dragon in the night. “What did he do?” He jerks his head toward the fire.
Maybe it’s the booze, or the need to finally unload. Maybe because there’s always been a part that saw Killian as someone I wanted on my side instead of my enemy. Because he’s a force in this world, his name scares even the De Luca Capo.
I sigh, pinching my brow, shoulders dropping. Why the hell not?
“He helped Ferguson teach Collins how to dissect bodies.” When I look up, Killian’s mind is trying to decipher my meaning. I don’t love how intelligent the killer is. “They used live bodies, reaper. Made her cut up humans, patch them up and do it all over again. He used her during his interviews.”
The emotions close off, eyes hard and unrelenting. “Oh.”
My mouth frowns. “Oh? You look at these girls like they’re your fucking family and all you can say is oh?”
Killian sips from his beer, shrugging. “I already knew about that.”
Rearing back, I glare, calculating how quickly I can move to shove the reaper’s head in the fire. “You knew?”
“Maeve too.” He nods. Looking at me, the asshole smiles. “You don’t honestly think Maeve didn’t, do you?” He tsks. “Maybe you don’t know her as well as I thought.”
I hate him. “And she did nothing to stop it?”
He gulps from the bottle, eyes firmly on the fire. “By the time she found out, the lessons had stopped. And it’s not as if Collins confided in her so she could stop it.” Kicking his feet out, Killian flicks ash away. “No, Maeve found out when she eavesdropped on a conversation.”
I still have the urge to strangle him. “What conversation?”
The reaper sucks from the butt, holding the smoke in his lungs a moment too long to be healthy. “About a year before Ferguson died, he had an interesting guest at the manor late one night. I had just come back from a mission and was ordered to attend.”
He flicks ash away again. “I told Maeve as soon as I got there. Because she needed to be aware.”
Finishing the beer, I toss the bottle into the flames. Within seconds, the glass shatters, disrupting the soothing sound of the night. “And? Who was it?”
“Roman Senior,” he says, inhaling another drag.
“Your dad. Apparently, Ferguson was planning all along to give Collins to your father as another wife.” He shrugs, cracking his knuckles.
“Maeve listened outside the door as they planned to bring the girl in, after her residency. Senior was so impressed with the lessons Ferguson gave her.” Finally, those bleak, black eyes look up at me.
“He was so fucking happy with how good she was. Ferguson served her on a silver platter and she had no idea.”
For years, Collins survived that house, with her father, enduring torture of the worst kind because she thought it meant safety. She thought if she played by Ferguson’s rules, she’d be free. To be a doctor, to help people.
When really, he was training her to be the next Bruno bitch and sentenced to a life of imprisonment. He broke her like a well-trained horse and she never knew.
My father is a horrible man. He’d kill her.
“And where were you?”
“Right there at his side,” he says, smirking. “If I didn’t, Ferguson would suspect something.”
“Such a good fucking dog,” I growl.
Killian’s smirk slips, cold fury looking back at me.
“I only heel for one person, and it was never Ferguson,” he reminds me.
“And what about you? You were always watching her and you never knew?” At my glower, he scoffs.
“Stones and glass houses, Prince. Be mad all you want, at Ferguson, at this world we live in, but you hate yourself more for never noticing—never knowing what he did to your fiancée.”
God, just one hit. One hit and I’ll feel better.
But as much as I want to decapitate the man, he’s right. I can hate everyone until I die and go to Hell, but I hate myself more for never knowing. For never protecting her.
That’s been my one goal in life. To always keep her safe. And I fucking failed.
“Roman came to the awards dinner today,” I say, voice rough.
Killian turns, eyes sharp. “He was screaming about Maeve attacking his businesses. That she’s the reason for Senior being in jail.
” I glance at him, gut rolling. “I told him there was no way she would go to the Feds. Even for an enemy. That’s not true, is it? ”
“Maeve had to do something.” He shrugs, crushing the cigarette under his boot.
“You forget how it was before, under Ferguson, Prince. Maeve had no power—none.” Those black eyes flare, anger harsh and biting like a serpent.
“None of the soldiers would’ve followed her and as much I would fucking die for her, two of us against an entire organization is a bit too suicidal for me.
So, she went a different route.” My breath stalls.
She went to the cops. Maeve went to the literal enemy, handing them information to get Roman Senior, and it worked. Collins couldn’t be sold to a man in prison, and it saved her from a horrible fate.
All this time, Collins thought Maeve disliked her, maybe hated her. When reality was, Maeve broke the cardinal rule to save her sister.
“How pissed was Ferguson?”
Killian let loose a deranged laugh. “Furious. But it was worth it.” Killian lights another cigarette. “Collins is too good to lose completely to the darkness. She might be tarnished by it, roughed up, fuck, enjoy it, but that’s not where she belongs.”
I agree. Collins is too good for that kind of life.
“Collins will have to take Simon’s place in the games.”
Stitching up bodies just to send them back into the madness? It’s her worst nightmare. I never wanted to put her in that position, but my rage said differently.
Tiredly, I sigh. “I know.”
“I’ll have to tell Maeve.”
“I’ll do it. I don’t need your rabid ass saying anything to her.”
“Rabid?” He snorts. “Don’t worry, Prince. I only bite people I like.”
Sick fuck.
Standing, I grab my new jacket, intent to head to the car. I need Collins, not this whole fucking weird situation.
“Just tell me,” Killian says, jaw clenching as the shadows and the flames play across his face, still firmly sitting on the log. “Why did she let you in so easily?”
Sighing, I tug on my hair. I have no reason to explain my relationship to the reaper—in fact, I could spite him. Ignore him. Drive him crazy like I’ve done our entire lives.
But something niggles at me. He didn’t have to tell me about Maeve, about Senior’s deal to take Collins. He did anyway—to put my need for vengeance to rest.
A secret for a secret, right?
“Because, reaper, we endured the same shit growing up.”
I expect a biting remark, some taunt, but Killian looks at me, cold eyes hard, mouth curving into a nasty smirk. It’s humorless.
“He used you.” It’s simple, matter-of-fact.
“I was his property.” I shrug, trying not to show weakness in front of the hitman.
Hard to do—I’m handing him my biggest, deepest, secret.
“Maeve saw herself in me the night I came to The Wharf. Knew what I had been made to do. Didn’t even ask; just fucking knew.
” God, I never knew how. She just did. “I think because of that, she knew I would never hurt her. Not like Michael did. So, she trusted me.”
Nodding, a muscle bounces by Killian’s ear and he tosses the spent butt. He didn’t even finish it.
“I don’t need to remind you what that trust cost her,” he says, voice flat. “And what she’s done for you. Or what I’ll do to you if you ever hurt her.”
Clearing my throat, I nod once. “I know.” It’s the one thing I don’t doubt.
Killian will kill me if I hurt Maeve. He’s a deranged man, but she has his complete loyalty.
“Good. Then don’t fucking lose.”