19. Killian #2
Maeve’s brow furrows, and her chin trembles. Gently, I trace a line and tilt her head back. Hayes watches, but fuck him. He knows damn well what she means to me—what I’ll do for her.
“What do you want, Princess?”
Quietly, she admits, “Them, all here. I can protect them here.”
It might be dangerous, but I have no doubt she’ll protect them. Maeve is the shield, and to do her job, she wants them in one place. She’ll sacrifice everything for them.
So, that’s what we’ll do.
Turning to the hitter, I jerk my head. “You heard your captain. Make the call. Bring them back.”
Pinching his brow, the brute sighs. “The capo is going to hate this. Thanks for that.” He presses a hard kiss against Maeve’s head, and I growl. “Rest. I’ll take care of it.”
Once he leaves, she kicks the covers off, and I make a displeased sound. “What are you doing? Trust the prince to be a good pet and gather them up.”
“I need a shower.” She winces as she moves, stitches pulling against her sore flesh. “I want to feel clean.”
It’s more than hygiene. Maeve is asking for her control back. Her sister and brother-in-law have been threatened. Her other sister has seen her incapacitated. She lost Tony—an outsider she let in during hard moments.
She needs stability. But she won’t do it alone.
“Fine.” Lifting her into my arms, I ignore her weak protests, moving into her attached bathroom. “I might be doing this, but fuck, I still want to punish you for your bullshit earlier.”
She snorts. “Fun.”
If her room is a gothic paradise of bugs and skulls, her bathroom is stark black and white elegance.
Her claw-foot tub sits alone by the far back window, overlooking the dark woods, with a gleaming rainfall showerhead hanging from the ceiling.
Black wallpaper of painted pink peonies covers the far back wall, sobering the mood.
Hitting the faucet with my elbow, steam immediately billows around us. I place her on the toilet, and it’s hard not to remember seeing her here, bleeding out numerous times. And the times I picked her up, I begged her to keep fighting.
Staring at me with a heated gaze, I can’t tell if it’s in anger or lust.
“Let me help.”
“I don’t need it,” she mutters, looking away. Goosebumps cover her skin, and the sheer fabric of her bra and panty set does nothing to hide how she responds to me.
Hate me, ignore me. But her body still wants me.
“You don’t,” I admit. “But I’m going to anyway.” Because, as the eldest daughter, she doesn’t expect help. She’s never had it. I have to do it—repeatedly—until she understands I’m the one to depend on.
I broke that trust years ago, but I’ll work harder than ever to earn it back.
She wars with herself, arms crossed. My mouth waters, scanning her body, the nipples that poke through the lacy fabric, the way her bottom lip pouts. I want to run my tongue over every inch, drink her down like she’s the last drop of water in this universe, but I hold firm.
“You have fifty-three scars,” I recount.
“I’ve healed twenty-seven of them. I was there when you were weakest.” I swallow roughly.
“And I saw you at your strongest. We have shit to fix, but don’t deny it.
I know you better than anyone else. I can help you—I will help you.
Whether you ask, or whether you want it.
Whether you think you need it, I will be here.
Because I’ve always been at your side—I’ve seen the ugly, the good. And the dark. I’m still here.”
“Is that really fair to say?” she asks, voice soft. “You haven’t always been here.”
“I have, Princess.” Holding out my hand, I add, “Just because you didn’t see me doesn’t mean you were alone. My spirit never left yours. You’ve been the keeper of my heart since we were kids, but you took my soul the day you gave me your love. I could never truly leave you.”
Indecision flickers in her gaze. If she lets me in again, will I hurt her—obliterate her trust? I see it in those damning eyes, and I hold my breath, awaiting my judgment.
I ruined her, broke her in ways no one else did. Not intentionally, no. But it doesn’t matter—I did it. Our shattered relationship is proof of it. But if I could give my life to the heavens above to get a shred of it back, I would.
Seconds pass, her eyes lifting to me. They’re guarded, unsure. It fucking rocks me to my core.
She sighs. “Fine.”
She places her hand in mine, and I exhale as if punched. It’s a small step, one hand of trust, and I wrap my strength around it to keep it from breaking.
“Don’t think I’ve forgiven you.”
My smirk is brittle. “I don’t expect you to forgive me. Not now. Maybe not tomorrow, or thirty years from now. But one day, I’ll earn it back.”
Peeling the bra strap from her shoulder, I marvel at the softness of her skin and the scars that line her collarbone. I know what she feels like, milking my cock, but touching her skin—feeling her presence is a pleasure I can’t describe. A deeper connection than just sex.
It’s coming home, her soul nestling in the empty spot I’ve kept for her return.
The rest of her clothing drops, panties falling to the cold floor. Her wound is angry, and my fingers feather over it.
“We have to keep it dry.”
She pokes my shoulder, and I bite back a curse.
“This needs to be taken care of, too.”
Pain in the ass.
Stripping, I follow her into the tub, gingerly holding her upright. Maneuvering her, I keep her warm in the water while blocking the wound on the side. The water hits my gash, and I hiss out a breath, the heat zapping some of my strength.
I trace a large scar that surrounds her left breast, a dull, raised line. A parting gift from the monster she slayed. I want to go to Hell and cut off every finger for daring to harm her.
Heat surrounds us, and she lets me hold her, curves soft against the planes of my chest and hips.
Her slick body, crushed against mine, heals something torn inside my chest. Hope.
Jubilation. I’m not sure, but I feel whole.
It soothes the demon, born from sins before I was born, tempered by her touch.
She plays with the pendant at my throat, face pensive. I don’t move or risk breaking the spell.
“Now, what?”
Licking my lips, I sigh. “Now, you hit back.”
She nods, expecting the answer. We were raised the same—an eye for an eye. I have no doubt she’ll make it brutal. In fact, a twisted part of me gets excited at the promise of her carnage.
“And this?” Her voice is small.
Pressing my forehead to hers, I gaze at her lips.
“I told you, we’re going to fix this. And then, you’re going to be mine again.” No use in denying it. She needs to know how this is going to go.
“And if I don’t want that?—”
“Not an option.”
She clamps her mouth shut. Lifting her chin, I brush my nose against hers, my lips begging to devour hers.
“Last chance, Princess,” I murmur. “One last chance to tell the truth. If you lie, I’ll fuck you in this shower until you’re begging me to stop. And even then, I won’t. I’ll drag orgasm after orgasm out of you until all you know is my touch.” I wait for the words to sink in. “Do you love me?”
Instead of answering, the fucking Devil keeps her mouth shut.
Good as any confession to me.
Smiling, I claw my hand into her locks, moving her head as if it belongs to me. It does—as assuredly as I belong to her.
“It’s fucking torture not to be with you, to feel you whenever I want,” I confess, staring into those eyes that have captured me since our first meeting.
“You say you don’t want this, that you’re with the fucking douche, but we both know you’re lying to yourself.
You want me. You want us. And you’re afraid. ”
“I’m not afraid?—”
I cut her off, picking her wet body up, pressing it into the tiles. My hands dig into the meat of her ass, still careful not to agitate her wound. But when she shivers, I press closer, my cock so fucking close to her center, it’s a damn tragedy.
“You are.” My eyes dare her to lie. “You’re terrified that this is real—that I’ll still be here when things get rough. You’ve spent all this time doing it alone; you can’t process having someone to help.” I move her, the barest amount, drinking down her gasp as my cock teases her slit.
Christ, I know how she feels. How she smells. The sounds she makes. I could come from her whimpers alone.
“Your soul is mine, Maeve. Your heart, your body, it all belongs to me. Get over your fear—because I’m not fucking leaving.”
My cock nudges her center, the barest give, and her hips buck, asking for more.
I don’t give it. Instead, I surge forward, claiming her lips in a harsh kiss that’s more domination than passion.
Our teeth clash, and adjusting her again causes my dick to move through her slit, another rush of heat between us.
I take what I can—tasting every inch of her mouth. I want to sink into her—take her again. I should—she needs another reminder of who I am and needs a purge of that fucker from her mind.
But this hurts her worse than fucking her. She’ll remember this.
She rips away. “Another promise?—”
“A vow,” I interrupt. “A vow to you. On my soul, you’ll never be alone again. Not in this life—and not in the next. We’re inevitable, remember?”
She rubs her lips, and it’s the first time in a while, she doesn’t hide the emotions in her eyes. I drown myself in the faintest flash of hope—hope that maybe, truly, I’ll be there in the morning.
Without question. Only death could steal me from her, and even then, I’d take her with me.