10. Maeve
MAEVE
An inviting hand drops into my vision. I sniffle, the cold dispersing my emotional pain until I sink into the wonderful numbness I’ve come to rely on.
Why is he here? Should I take it?
Reese doesn’t move, staring down at me. The snow melts under my legs, and my toes wiggle, looking for warmth. But I don’t move.
I don’t want him—not here. Not now.
There’s only one person I want—and I ruthlessly shove it away.
Wiping my mouth, I stand, wrapping my scarred hands around my middle. Too late, I realize what a sight I am—blood on my face, a revealing leather skirt, high boots. Not the type of date he usually takes out.
He scans me quickly, looking at every spot for a wound. “Are you alright?”
No. I’m not.
But he doesn’t need to know that. The world doesn’t need to know how broken I feel on the inside—how unsure I am in a role never meant for me. To the world, I’m emotionless and in control. Inside, I’m fortifying a dam that wants to break and flood me in all the nastiness of my past.
No one needs to know how haunted I still am. How those voices are my only comfort—and tormentors.
Nodding, I glance around. The gray sky has grown to black, the streetlights casting ugly orange circles on the white patches of snow. How long have I been out here? “What are you doing here?”
“Visiting a client.” He shoves his hands into his dress slacks, the heavy jacket covering most of his torso. “You shouldn’t be here. This area isn’t safe. I’ve heard of organized activity around here.”
Yeah, I’m the leader of it.
Stepping closer, he bends his head to level with my eyes, searching my gaze. “Are you hurt?”
“No.” My body is convulsing at this point, so cold my lips are blue. It’s better than anything else I’m feeling.
“You have blood” —he gestures to his face— “right here.”
Fucking Linwood.
Gently prodding my cheek, I avoid his gaze. I’ve never been embarrassed to be covered in blood before. Mayhem, grime, it’s been a part of me for decades.
In front of Reese, I’m dirty. In front of Linwood?—
No.
“It’s not mine.”
“Whose—”
“It’s mine.”
Fury flickers to life in my belly. Forget the ice dulling it; it ignites back to life with his nearness. Linwood glides around my side, sliding my coat over my shoulders. My perfume mixed with his essence drifts to my nose, and the weight in the pockets calms me. My gun.
I don’t look at him, though. Just wrap the jacket closer and try to stop my teeth from chattering too loudly.
“And you are?” Reese asks, scanning Linwood. Then, a light brightens his brown orbs. “Wait! I saw you at the charity auction a few months ago. Maeve said she had to drive you home after you had one too many drinks.”
Rancid amusement hits my skin like a whip. I can always feel Killian’s moods—know when he’ll snap, or when he’s relaxed. It’s a curse.
A gentle smirk covers his handsome face right now, but it’s not the good one.
“Is that what happened?” he drawls, digging out a cigarette.
“Maeve called me the next day—” He glances at me. “Am I remembering correctly?”
Nothing in me wants to have this conversation.
The fact Linwood stopped me from killing a man who deserved nothing less than death, and now he’s standing next to me like he has any right, is fueling the fury in my gut.
Add to it these emotions that won’t fucking stop—and I want him to hurt. I want to make him pay.
The anger claws up my throat, sinking its fangs into my belly as if to feed from me—to poison me further. I let it.
The Reaper takes pity on me. “If that’s what she said, then that’s what happened.”
Reese nods, smiling slightly. “I never properly introduced myself.” He holds out his hand, his smile turning wider. “Reese Silva.”
Killian flicks ash at his hand, not bothering to take it. I fight the urge to grab my second knife and stab it.
Not for the disrespect, no. Because he’s too close—his body heat sapping some of the cold away. Because I want him to bleed more—make him feel a small piece of the agony coursing through me.
“I know who you are.”
“And you are?”
Inhaling on the butt, he chuckles. “Not Reese Silva.”
Reese frowns, but I don’t care. All I can see is me picking Killian’s eyes from their sockets and putting them in a jar on my desk.
He’s so smug—so in control, and I’m still here, ready to fall apart.
Where was he years ago, when it was only me keeping the clan going? When Pops was losing money on gambling and strippers, while I fought for deals and kept the family leaping along? He didn’t deal with the stress—he got to be free—off on his missions, while I stayed and fought.
“He’s a family friend,” I bite out, teeth grinding. At Reese’s curious look, I sigh, controlling my temper. “Killian. An adopted brother, if you will.”
Reese nods as Killian turns toward me, eyes bright with humorous rage.
“A brother?” he drawls. Plucking the cigarette from his bottom lip, he bends close, whispering, “I have questions about what brothers and sisters do exactly, Princess. Because I don’t think me sliding my tongue deep inside your pussy was very brotherly. ”
Gripping my knife, I twist and pull it as his hand clamps around my wrist, a band of iron. Pinning the blade to my side, Reese completely misses the exchange, looking around the abandoned parking lot.
Turning back, he says, “Let me take you home. It’s getting late?—”
“No need,” Killian interrupts, twisting my arm behind my back. Glaring, I don’t make a noise, plotting his death the minute he lets me go. He’d look good with my gun in his mouth. “I’ll take her.”
“Like fuck?—”
“Have a good night.” Shoving me toward the back of the building, I stumble over the icy patches, heels skidding. Killian takes advantage of the opportunity, grabbing my waist and hauling me up against him. I’m nothing but a suitcase in his hands, held haphazardly.
“I swear to God, Linwood?—”
“Is that any way to speak to your brother?”
“—I will slice every fucking appendage off and shove them down your throat for this shit.” I kick out my leg, catching my heel into his shin.
He swears, missing a step, but his grip doesn’t relax. If anything, he holds me tighter, the press of his muscles and heat battling back the coldness in my veins. Coldness, I need to stay in control.
“If you wanted to use a knife on me,” he murmurs, lips pressed to my ear, “all you had to do was ask. I’d let you cut into me anytime.”
“Fuck you.” My body shivers, and this time, it’s not from the cold. That fucking wicked desire won’t rest.
Setting me down on the pavement, he pushes me against the car, wrenching the door open.
“Did that. I’d love a repeat, but right now, it seems like you’d want me dead, not to devour your pussy like a starving fiend.
So.” A heavy hand falls on my head, and he shoves me into the chilled car. “Buckle up.”
The door slams as I scream, kicking the side in anger.
He stares at me through the windshield, lighting another cigarette, and I seethe, twisted desires appearing in my mind.
I want to see him kneeling before me as I cut off his head—and I want what he promised.
Dark fantasies that shouldn’t be—but with Linwood, nothing is ever easy.
Nothing makes sense. Everything is so confusing.
Holding the knife to my chest, I glare at him. Every murderous thought I can conjure shines in my black eyes. I know he sees it—the fucker smiles.
As he enters, I attack. Throwing my leg over his lap, I pin him to the seat, blade to his throat. The teeth of my knife bite into his skin, but I don’t break the surface—not yet.
“I should fucking kill you,” I whisper, words deadly calm.
This I understand. These emotions—this pain, this rage—it’s familiar.
It’s comforting to fall back into the dark, to let it fuse into my blood.
I’ve spent years angry and hurting—and Linwood always knows how to dig into those wounds, pull them to the surface, to see me unravel.
It’s a damn game to him—to see how far he can go.
And when he pushes too far—when things become too real—he’ll leave.
Promises broken. Nights alone. Thoughts overwhelming.
The knife draws blood, and my body shakes with anger.
“You should,” he agrees, full lips twitching against the pain. Grabbing the hilt, his hand digs it further against his skin, red beading up at the wound. “If anyone can kill me, it’d be you.”
“Where did you put Bruno?”
His eyes bounce between mine. “Left him with the boys. They’ll make sure he’ll get home.”
“You should’ve let me kill him.” Heat rises from where I’m pressed against him, his hard cock painfully digging into me. I ignore it. “I should kill you instead.”
“I’m not stopping you.” His smirk challenges me. “Feeling bloodthirsty, Princess? I’m not complaining, but I wonder if your boyfriend would like this side of you.”
Coldness sweeps over me at the mention of Reese. I saw the disgust in his eyes—directed at me. He thought I couldn’t handle myself in this neighborhood—thought I was weak.
Pulling back, Killian’s hands clamp down on my hips, holding me still. It’s only then I look down and notice how his cock strains against his jeans. How high my skirt is lifted. How his nails rake into my sides, anchoring me to him.
“You’re going to break him,” he murmurs, pulling me flush to his chest. My hands slip, and more blood seeps from the wound. He doesn’t react. “You’re going to walk all over that sweet puppy with big, soft, brown eyes. He’s too weak for what you need.”
Scoffing, I grab the last dregs of my rage, ignoring how damp I’m growing between my thighs. How Killian’s eyes seem to see it, peering down between our bodies.
“And let me guess. You know what I need?”
That smirk turns dangerous. “You need passion. And lust.” His hands crush my skirt, the stylized Vita and Mors—life and death—daring to rip the fabric from me.
“You need someone who would fucking kneel for the chance to taste your pussy, someone who will fuck you against the wall to chase away the bad dreams. You need blood and carnage, and someone who will bask in it with you.”
Licking his bottom lip, he pries a hand from me, lifting my chin. Gooseflesh breaks out over my spine, and my nipples pebble through my shirt.
“Stop.” It’s a plea. I fucking hate it.
Stop making me feel like this—out of control, needy, weak.
“And you need someone who haunts the dark with you. Who will hold you when the demons come for your soul.” His thumb pulls on my bottom lip. “Someone who will battle them back while you rest. Who knows what it took for you to gain them. Someone who isn’t afraid of you.”
Ripping away, I look out the window; the glass foggy. Snow drifts around us; the night sky is a canvas of white, swirling clouds, and I exhale.
“I had that,” I mutter, words rough. My throat burns with the emotions I can’t express. “Then you left.”
“You never let me explain.”
“What’s there to explain?” I glare at him, the knife still at his throat. A flash of a thought—plunging it deep, strikes me. I could do it—end this. It’d make life easier.
But I can’t.
“You left.” The knife drops to his chest, stained with his blood. “You promised to stay, I told you I loved you, and you still left. That’s all there is to it.”
A muscle moves, his jaw cracking with pressure. “He doesn’t deserve you.”
“And you do?” I try to pull away, but Linwood still won’t let me move.
“No,” he says, laughing. “I don’t fucking deserve an ounce of attention from your beautiful face, Princess. But I’ll work every single day to earn you. Every single fucking day.”
Wrestling with him, I slide away, his arms like steel. Pulling my skirt down, his hand snakes out, vicious and brutal, grabbing my hair. Pain bites into my skull as he wrenches me closer.
“Why are you with him, hmm?” he asks, breath fanning my face, harsh and angry. “We both know you could fuck anyone—men would line up for the opportunity—but instead, you choose that fucking precious accountant. Why?”
Teeth clenched, I mutter, “Maybe I like him?”
His nose brushes my cheek, and he grins.
It’s not pretty. “You don’t like anyone.
I’ll tell you why you’re with him, Princess.
It’s not because he’s handsome or kind. It’s not because he spews poetry as he fucks you to boredom.
It’s because somewhere in that delusional heart, you think you can hide from this world with him.
You think you can be normal—sweet, precious.
You think you can hide your scars in that fantasy and pretend you were never hurt. That you don’t carry these burdens.”
He tugs me closer, and I gasp. “But I’ll let you in on a little secret. You were hurt. You carry these scars. And I fucking see you.” He shakes me. “And so help me, I won’t let you hide. Not from the world and not from fucking me.”
“Stop,” I breathe, heart shattering, falling like fresh snow to the floorboards.
I don’t want to be seen—I want to hide.
He throws me back into my seat as if I’ve burned him.
Exhaling, I wrap my coat around me tighter, a security blanket. Carefully, I reconstruct my mask, hide my emotions, and lock down on the pain that wants to explode from my chest. It’s safer this way—it’s always been safer.
“Is it so bad to want to be normal?” I don’t look at Linwood, keeping my eyes ahead. “To hide that part of me and pretend to be a regular person?”
He turns the car over, putting it into drive.
“No,” he sighs, clutching his tongue. “But hiding from the world doesn’t stop the pain.” His dark eyes cut to me, bleeding with more emotion I can name. “It means it’ll hurt worse later on, when everything becomes too much.”
We turn onto the street, and I rest my head, reeling.
“You’re hiding for now, Princess,” he murmurs. “But not for long. I’ll fucking drag you into the dark with me, kicking and screaming, if I have to. No more hiding.”