18. Killian
KILLIAN
PRESENT DAY
Kicking open the med lab door, I hold Maeve in my arms. Blood soaks my shirt, and it runs in rivulets down her legs. That bullet got her the right way—but I swear on everything unholy, I will not let the afterlife have her.
If I have to fight Death himself for her soul, I will. Because her soul belongs to me. And I won’t let anyone—real, fake, or supernatural—take her away.
Slamming her onto the metal table, I throw my phone down and hit number three on my speed dial. Grabbing gauze, bandages, and antiseptic, I toss everything at her feet and start ripping into packages as the phone rings.
I’m in purgatory, waiting for judgment as the connection clicks to life. There’s a pause before the prince’s soft rumble floats across, and I swallow hard. “What, Reaper?”
“Maeve’s been shot. Get down here.” I’d ask for God’s forgiveness, but he left me a long time ago. Hopefully, this woman will understand. “I need Collins.”
There’s an inhale. The prince is stunned. Too bad I don’t have time to fucking care.
“We’ll be there in five.”
“Make it fucking two, or I’ll tear your limbs from your body.”
Stabbing my elbow into the phone, I flip open the antiseptic. Bile rises hard and fast up my throat, and I wince. Jesus fuck, it’s been years, and that smell is still the worst.
Fuck that. Those nightmares can go to Hell. Maeve needs me.
Ripping the fabric of her dress, I expose the wound. Right in the abdomen, the bullet hit a sensitive area. Statistically speaking, she’ll have other damage: broken bones, organs nicked, damaged tissue.
Worry so intense claws at my chest. She’s been asleep the whole time, and other than dousing her with antiseptics and praying Collins hurries, I can’t fucking do shit to save her.
The med lab doors fling open, and Collins rushes in, throwing her mass of cinnamon-brown hair into a bun on her head. Still in her pajamas, she fixes me with a hard stare before her pale cheeks turn ashen as she sees her sister.
“What happened?”
“Gunshot,” I snap. Holding her wrist, I count her heartbeat, wincing as it slows. “Move it, Colli. I don’t think I need to explain to you what a bullet does to someone.”
That seems to make the timid woman jump, grabbing a pair of gloves. Hayes stalks in, going to Maeve’s other side, touching her forehead.
I can’t help—I growl at him, teeth bared, a rabid animal protecting what’s his.
The hitter glares at me, but it’s lacking its usual disdain.
“Easy, Reaper.”
“If you touch her?—”
“Help me roll her,” Collins commands. We grab her shoulders, and Collins inspects Maeve’s back, blood pooling under her fragile form. “I’ll need imaging to check if the bullet passed.”
“Then, fucking do it,” I demand, pushing the metal slab closer to the machine.
Against the wall is a compact X-ray, thrifted when Simon was still the clan doctor. I don’t know how we go it—I don’t fucking care. When Collins hands me protective gear, I toss it to the side and hold Maeve’s hand, letting my presence give her strength.
She’s vulnerable. I know she hates being seen that way. I’ll give her my strength to ease whatever demons are plaguing her dreams and pray it’s enough.
The images are instant, and Collins plugs them into the makeshift screen.
Brows furrowing, she taps at a spot. I don’t need her explanation. I see the bullet.
“It’s lodged against her hip. It looks like it’s in pieces.”
It wouldn’t be Maeve if it was easy.
Pulling a pair of gloves, I throw some at the prince. “Suit up.”
Together, we prep Maeve for the quick surgery. Collins dons a mask and a local anesthetic in a long syringe. With a pair of tweezers, a scalpel, and a magnifying lens attached to her glasses, she has us hold Maeve down.
When the blade cuts into her skin, I have to stop myself from ripping it out of her sister’s hand. Maeve is out—she can’t feel any pain. But when I said my knife would be the only blade to touch her skin, I fucking meant it.
I know why she did, and why she needed it. She only knew pain under Michael’s control. When he left, she forgot how to function. I became the solution.
“Breathe, Linwood,” Hayes reminds me, voice rough. His knuckles are white, pressing into Maeve’s arms.
It’s not rational, but I want to cut off every finger for touching her.
“I’m fine.”
His navy-blue eyes narrow. “You look like you’re going to annihilate the world. And I don’t feel like going out in a fiery death right now. She’s alright. Breathe.”
Fuck him. That’s exactly what I was thinking.
The ticking of metal pieces into the small pan is nails on a chalkboard. Every clink is a fucking taunt. Another reminder that this damn woman got shot—because I didn’t keep her safe.
I spent years tending to her wounds. What does it say now that she gets hurt under my protection?
The last piece—the largest piece—comes out, a gush of blood behind it. I don’t think, scooping up pads to staunch the bleeding. At this point, it’s second nature.
Collins sits back, removing the glasses. “I think that’s all.”
“You think?” It’s harsh, and she winces.
Hayes growls, “Watch it.”
“Just because you’re second doesn’t mean I won’t erase your existence,” I threaten, voice low. “Especially tonight.”
Coldness steals the heat from the room, swallowed whole by my rage. Let it. It’s the only thing soothing the demons inside of me, demanding the head of those who hurt the woman before me.
And the worst part? Those fuckers are dead. All I can do is destroy the mole and end the Board for their hand in this.
Gladly.
Carefully, Collins reaches for her sister’s dress, and I grip her wrist, painfully wrenching it higher. I expect Hayes’ response—his gun goes to my temple, but I don’t release Collins.
Maeve was right—the girls, Briar, even the prince—are my fucking family.
For any of them, I would kill without question.
I tortured the man who tried to assault Sloane.
I tracked, attacked, and delivered the man who sold out Hayes to Collins for retribution.
I’ve hidden Briar from the worst kind of killers, covering his trail when he was younger.
But when it comes to Maeve? They can all burn in the deepest fires of Hell if it means keeping her safe.
“Killian,” Collins whispers, eyes pleading. “Let me go.”
“You don’t touch her.” My eyes flicker to the hitter. “You’d better be ready to use it. We both know that won’t stop me.”
“I have to bandage?—”
“I’ll do it.” I’m already bloody, covering her wound. I know what to do now.
Collins sighs, her nose wrinkling. She tends to do it in aggravation—and has since we were kids. “She needs stitches?—”
“I’ll do it.”
I don’t look away from Hayes. If the hitter is going to pull the trigger, I want to watch it happen. I know there is a darkness inside the brute, but he’s still too good for this world.
If it were me, I would’ve pulled the damn thing as soon as it was raised.
“Let her go,” Hayes begins, pulling the gun back. Figured he didn’t have the balls. “And you’ll take care of her.”
Colli’s eyes widen, alarmed. She thinks I won’t be able to handle it. Little does she know, I’m the only reason her sister is still raging against the world.
I give the smallest nod—a fragile agreement that can change if anything happens.
Releasing her, Hayes yanks her away behind his back. Though there’s a shiver of fear, Colli doesn’t seem like she truly thought I’d end her life.
She’d be wrong.
“Go,” I wave them away, grabbing more gauze. Throwing them on top of her body, I scoop Maeve into my arms, careful to keep the wound covered.
“Wait,” Collins protested. “You shouldn’t move her! She could bleed out—the trauma?—”
“I’ve got it.” I do. I’ve done more with much less.
I also know my girl would be more comfortable in her bedroom, away from prying eyes. I’ll need to remove her dress to bandage the wound, and I’d rather not be stabbed if I did it here.
Maeve would end my life if I allowed her little sister to see the various scars that cover her body. The scars on her thighs from where broken glass cut into them during runs. Gunshots that clipped her. The scars from the various broken bones and surgeries Michael made her endure.
The burns that cover her body from that fucking piece of shit, who thought one night, he’d use her as an ashtray.
I know my girl fought back; I know he had to have tied her up to keep her from slicing his throat.
That’s the only way he could do it to her—and I know she carries that shame whenever she looks at her body.
As beautiful as I find them, they’re her secret. I won’t betray that.
Kicking the door open, I catch the last bit of their conversation.
“He can’t be serious. I need to help?—”
“Let him handle it, Viper.” There’s a deep sigh as I turn the corner. “He’s seen more than either of us. He’ll take care of her.”