11. Killian
KILLIAN
“No.”
The cunt—Reese—stands on the doorstep, shrouded in this burgundy dress coat and fucking loafers.
They look well-made, decadent. His hair is gelled back, perfectly polished.
Because, of course he’s fucking polished, a walking manicured lawn of boring bullshit, who shows up on the doorstep without notice.
Three days. Three days of watching Maeve in this house alone. Granted, she tried to avoid me—but fuck that—and I was left to obsess over her without his interference. I could almost pretend he didn’t exist. That his hands don’t know how my girl feels.
But of course, God doesn’t take pity on me. He’s here, holding fucking red roses, looking like the perfect Boy Scout that he is. Even the men next to him with guns on their waists don’t deter him.
Glaring down at the flowers, I tsk. After months of going out, you’d think he’d know that little bit about the woman warming his bed.
“She’s expecting me,” he nods pleasantly. He’s too nice.
I wasn’t lying when I told Maeve she’ll eat him alive. She’s avoided me for days, but I know she heard me. She’s too dark, too strong for some priss. She needs someone who doesn’t run when she snaps, who enjoys her rage, and can soothe her worries without infantilizing her.
This guy? This fucking guy isn’t it.
“She’s not here. Family business.” I lean against the door, body blocking him. My crop top lifts enough around my navel, showing enough ink to draw attention. Plucking one of his roses, the thorn stabs my finger, and I welcome the pain. “Poor choice, friend. Maeve hates roses.”
His face falls slightly. “Oh, I figured after our date in the gardens?—”
“Go away,” I growl, hating the reminder she’s been on dates with this fucker. Numerous dates. Most of them, I watched from the outside. While I was protecting her from threats, he got to be in her presence—smell her perfume—hear her words.
Touch what’s mine.
“Listen, I saw Maeve’s car. I’ll come in and wait?—”
My arm shoots down, veins enraged. Blocking the doorway, I halt him before he takes one step inside.
“If you don’t get off this doorstep,” I say, leaning closer. Simple brown eyes, tan skin, disarming aura. This is what Maeve likes? “I’ll remove you myself. And it won’t be in one piece.”
He cocks an eyebrow. “Are you threatening me?” It’s almost a challenge.
My smirk grows unhinged with the possibilities of flaying him alive in the basement. Does he have a bite I don’t know about? I’m excited to find out. “I am. Get the fuck off this property.”
He looks like he wants to argue. God, I hope he does. The idea of ripping out his vocal cords for daring to say her name gives me a sick sort of pleasure I haven’t felt in a while.
Standing upright, he thinks better of it and shoves the flowers into my hands. “I’ll call her and reschedule. Make sure she gets them.”
I make a note to see if Briar can fuck with his phone. And his car. He’d look prettier bent around a lamppost.
The lights of his car pull away, and only then do I leave the doorway. Turning, I throw the roses with a bit more aggression than I should across the foyer table. Petals fall, and a stem snaps.
I feel better.
Maeve descends the stairs in a tight black dress, with dainty black heels and her black toenails peeking out. With long, thick strands and winged eyeliner, she is a fucking fallen angel on this lackluster planet.
My heart aches within my chest. Something it only does when in her presence.
She doesn’t look at me, which I expect after our conversation at The Wharf. She’s still mad I kept her away from Bruno.
Under normal circumstances, I would’ve loved to see her slice Bruno’s nose off his body and feed the fish in the harbor with his remains. But we can’t—not with assassins hunting her. If we kill a leader of a family, we’ll start a war we can’t win.
One day, she’ll learn that everything I fucking do is for her safety.
Rushing past me, she grabs her coat, and I jerk her back. The guards inside the foyer ignore us, keeping their eyes overhead.
“If you’re looking for Reese, he’s already gone.”
She stops short, glancing over her shoulder at me. “What did you do?”
I don’t bother answering her. I could have done worse than simply scare him away.
In fact, I still might. I bet his blood is a pretty shade of red.
“He brought you roses,” I say instead, swinging her around. She shakes me off, cuddling them to her chest as if something precious. “Some boyfriend.”
“That was sweet,” she murmurs, holding them to her face. Inhaling, I notice the line between her brows, the puckering of her lips.
“Sweet?” I scoff. “Your mother loved roses. You hate them.”
“I don’t hate them,” she argues. She runs a finger over the petal, feeling its softness.
Grabbing them away, I toss them back onto the table. More petals fall, and it soothes the growing rage in my chest. Her inauthenticity—this person she tries to be around that piece of shit.
She tries to hide with him. She doesn’t want to be who she’s meant to be—a powerhouse in a dark world. Instead, she’ll use him as a shield, regress, hide, and pretend this life doesn’t exist.
Hide and pretend I don’t exist.
“You fucking hate them, Maeve. The smell gives you a headache. You prefer calla lilies. Purple ones. Almost black,” I recite from memory. “Second favorite? Orchid. Third? Violets.”
Rolling her eyes, Maeve crosses her arms. “I can like roses. You don’t know me.”
Baring my teeth, I step closer, glaring into her gorgeous face. Fuck, she looks like a goddess, stepping down from heaven. It does nothing for the fury igniting in my veins, a vast hunger that wants to consume her.
“I don’t know you, Princess?” I growl. “I know everything about you. Your favorite flower. Favorite book. Your favorite movie.” Gesturing to the flowers, I say, “You can’t even say they’re your favorite color—you hate red. You love purple. Are you really going to argue with me about this shit?”
“People change, Linwood.” She shrugs, avoiding my eyes. “I can like roses now.”
“Really?” I laugh, voice dark. Looking to her guards, I jerk my chin. “Get out.” Before I do something they’ll feel compelled to stop, and then I’ll have two more bodies to clean up.
They exchange a look, but don’t move. They don’t know what to do—who to listen to.
“They don’t answer to you,” she says, voice tight. “They only follow me.”
“Good.” And I mean it. I want loyal men at her back—protecting her if I’m not here. But not right now.
Slipping the gun from my jeans, I point it at one guard. “Then you tell them to leave. Or I blow a bullet into their heads. Solves my problem either way.”
The air shifts, and she tenses. She’s not one to be told what to do, but she understands how close I am to breaking. She can read me as fucking easily as I can read her.
“Outside,” she tells them. “Guard the door on the porch. This won’t take long.”
Gratefully, they exit, keeping their backs to us. Neither of them wants to see who kills whom. Plausible deniability.
“You think I don’t know you?” I ask, whispers floating between us. I lower the gun but keep it close. My jaw clenches as I scan her again. “You think I don’t know who you are, Princess?”
She glares, remaining silent. That’s the thing about Maeve that no one knows—my girl doesn’t like to lie. She’d rather remain silent than speak a half-truth or admit to something she doesn’t believe in.
I’m going to snap her neck one day.
Turning, I slam the butt of my gun into a glass vase, shattering something priceless Ferguson bought and showed off. The man had a terrible spending habit, but it’s not important. Nothing in this house is as important as making this woman understand.
“You forget, Maeve. I know you. I’ve seen all the darkest parts of you.
” I slam my hand into the glass, ignoring the sharp pain that flares along my palms and finger pads.
In fact, I relish it. It takes away the fucking agony in my chest. “I’ve been there, when those pieces were nothing but jagged edges, shoved together with sheer willpower and spite.
I’ve licked those wounds, healed those cuts, and lapped at the blood that fell because I craved something of you inside of me, where I could keep it forever. ”
Spinning back, I grab her throat, dragging her over to the hall mirror. She kicks out—because she’s a fighter—her heels scuffing the hardwood floor. Adjusting her, I make her look at the reflection of us.
Two dark shadows who belong together.
“I’m the only person who knows all your sins,” I whisper, lips brushing her ear. She shudders. Her cheeks are a delicious shade of pink, her eyes glazed with lust.
Hate me, ruin me. But fuck, she still wants me. That spurs me on.
“And I’m the only one who understands them.”
Taking my bleeding hand, I wipe it over her perfect face, painting her like a blank canvas. Delicate but firm strokes, I make sure my blood marks her.
My cock jerks, fucking unbearably hard, as I watch it drip off her chin. She fights me, twisting her head around, but my arm around her middle is like iron. I make her take it—force my claim onto her body where it fucking belongs.
Gripping her cheeks, I stare at my work. Blood smears her forehead, over her nose, down her lips. A few spots cover her neck and collarbone.
“You can’t hide from me,” I tell her. “I won’t fucking let you.”
“It’s not your choice?—”
“This is who you are.” I shake her. “A bloody, avenging goddess, who can kill anyone around us. Instead, you’re choosing to hide with that fucking dipshit.”
“I’m not hiding,” she denies. “Wanting normalcy isn’t hiding.”
“For us? It is.” I press my cheek to hers.
“We’re not normal people, Maeve. We know what it’s like to take a beating heart and hold it in our hands.
What it feels like to be sprayed with warm blood on a cold night.
And we both know that fucking guy wouldn’t know what to do with you when the nightmares become too much. ”
“He’s good,” she counters. “With him?—”
“What? You can be good?” I scoff. “We both know there is no such thing as good and bad people in this world, Princess. Only people who make choices, and we have to live with those decisions.”
“I’ve lived with mine.” She jabs me with her elbow, turning on her heel. Glaring at me, I fight to pull her close again. “Every single choice haunts me. The voices—the ghosts—they don’t fucking let me have one moment of peace.”
My heart breaks for her. She might have killed Michael and gained back her freedom, but she’s still tormented by him. By his words, his actions. By her father’s control.
Maeve is the strongest woman I know, and yet, the past holds on to her so tightly, she can’t see through it. It had been like this for years. When we were together, I used methods of grounding her—but without me, she has nothing. Nothing but her sheer will to keep going.
And it’s getting ragged. She’ll break soon.
“Hiding doesn’t stop the pain,” I remind her. “It doesn’t make the ghosts leave.”
Her eyes are black, anger rising like a shadow that will destroy us both.
“I can’t live like this. I can’t keep hearing them—feeling them watching me.
” Her bottom lip trembles. “Do you know what it’s like to feel the eyes of hatred on you?
Afraid of making a mistake, of failing—” she cuts off, voice soft.
“When I’m out of this house, where no one knows me, I finally feel free. The nightmares stop?—”
“They won’t end, Princess.” My words are a rumble, my eyes turning soft.
“Running away—hiding, doesn’t erase what happened.
” I touch her shoulders, and she jerks away.
“You were hurt. You wear the scars of every terrible thing that you experienced. And now, you have to lead a clan that no woman has ever led. You need to face your demons—fight them.”
Wrapping her arms around her waist, she looks to the side. Broken, forlorn, and still mesmerizing. I itch to touch her, to soothe her pain.
“What if I don’t want to fight anymore?”
My fucking heart.
“Then I’ll fight for you.” Pushing into her space, I gaze down at her red-stained face. “I’ve seen the worst parts of your soul, Princess. It’s my fucking home, a place I fucking yearn to return to. I can handle all of it.”
Clearing her throat, she glares at me. I see the attack before the words leave her lips. “So, you can leave me in the middle of the night again?” Her lips twist. “So, I can wake up alone, left to fight the nightmares? No, thanks.”
I knew it was coming, but it still hurts.
“Maeve—”
“No,” she snaps. “I’ll handle this. Like I always do.”
“By hiding?” I challenge. “Pretty cowardly.”
That’s the wrong thing to say—she strikes out, flinging her knife into my shoulder. Luckily, I’m quicker. Blocking her wrist, I slam it onto the table, knocking the blade away.
“You don’t know what I’m dealing with,” she snarls. “What I have to do to survive.”
“No, I don’t,” I agree. “But if you tell me?—”
“Fuck. You,” she snarls and kicks out. Her heel scrapes my shin, and I bite my tongue, keeping the shout from exploding.
Something snaps inside of me. Something dark and ugly—the demon my mother always knew existed—and I wrench Maeve forward by her hair. Soft silken locks knot in my palm, and I hold our faces only inches apart.
“Maybe that’s what you need,” I murmur, fury pulsating in my blood. “To be fucked until you remember who you are. Who you belong to.”
Throwing her into the office, she rights herself against the desk, glaring over her shoulder at me. There she is. The icy rage, the murderous look that makes me want to ask for more.
Flipping out my knife, I twirl it over my hands. “Safe word, Princess. Now.”
She raises her chin, a dangerous dare in those black eyes.