20. Maeve #2
Shoving Killian back, I glare, silently telling him to wait. Exhaling, he pries his fingers from my arm and pointedly looks at the hand on the opposite side. Running his tongue over his teeth, his eyes go dead, and I know I’m seconds away from seeing that hand sliced off.
“It’s alright,” I say, trying to smile. It’s more of a grimace. “Why don’t you get the tickets? I’ll finish this up.”
Reese doesn’t act like he wants to release me. His fingers dig, and his weight grows substantial. Freezing, I watch as Killian grows more intimidating, his energy turning wicked. I silently plead for the heavens to give me this one break.
After a breath, Reese nods, touch slipping away. “Alright. But I’ll be over there.”
We turn to watch him leave, weaving through the crowd, swallowed by the thick, puffy vests and knit caps. As soon as he’s gone, Killian snaps, grabbing my throat, blocking me from curious bystanders. Pushing me close to the brick wall, he cages me into an alcove, his weight my chains.
Back here, no one can see if we kill each other.
His breath skirts my ear. “I don’t know what the fuck is happening, but if you snuck out to get fucked by someone other than me, we’re going to have a serious problem.”
Grunting, I say, “I didn’t.”
“Then, what, you needed to spend time with that wet dishrag?” He swallows, fighting his wrath. “Am I not good company anymore?”
Swallowing against the burn of his hand, I shake my head. “It’s not that, but you need to leave.”
“Like hell,” he vows. “Tell me.”
“I can’t.” Not yet. Not if I’m wrong. “Leave, now.”
“No.” His nails cut deeper, and I gasp. “You’re hiding something again, Princess. And as pissed off as that makes me—trust me, we’re coming back to that—I can’t fucking get the picture of him touching you out of my head. Touching what’s fucking mine.”
Christ, he’s going to ruin everything.
“Don’t touch him.” Not until I get what I need.
“I won’t make a scene. Not here.” Relief is short-lived as he continues, “But if he keeps touching you, I will find him in a dark corner and break every single bone in the hand that dared to touch what belongs to me. Maybe then I’ll use his bones to make something pretty. A new knife handle?”
What does it say about me that I grow damp, body heated by his possessiveness? Now is not the time. There are too many conflicting thoughts, emotions, and I have a plan to finish.
But if I ever doubted how I feel about the Reaper, I don’t now.
There’s only one thing that might make him leave. And it kills me to say it.
“He’s my boyfriend,” I whisper. “I wanted to see him. He’s allowed to touch me?—"
“Say that to me again,” he threatens, voice low. “Say it, Maeve. I dare you. Try to deny you didn’t love being fucked by me—that you don’t bear my fucking initials. But really sell it. That way, when I rip his intestines from his body and wear them like a goddamn crown, it’ll be worth it.”
His nose trails along my neck. “You’re hiding something. Something big.”
“No, I’m not?—”
His knife appears, pressed to the center of my chest. Blocked by his body, no one sees how dangerously close to death I am. “Liar.”
It’s on the tip of my tongue to tell him—to confess everything.
His eyes are possessed, and this is the Reaper I know and admire.
His touch sears me, his jealousy a balm to the torrid emotions barely restrained in my heart, but I can’t.
I’m too fucking stubborn. I want to figure this out on my own; I want to see if I’m right.
If not to finally have understanding, but to prove that I can lead this clan without the Reaper’s influence. Without anyone else’s help. That I can trust myself—my mind—and make the decisions that will impact hundreds of people.
This clan is mine, and I need to be the captain it deserves.
Screams sound behind us, and the stampede of people jostles us closer together. A swarm of individuals starts clawing their way down the sidewalk. Without thought, I curl my hands into the Reaper’s jacket, and he twists, pulling us further into the hole and away from the chaos.
Bodies fall, some crushed underfoot before we hear the bullets. Four in rapid succession, they’re loud over the shouts of fear, and I jump. Killian presses me close, my personal shield.
Tucking me under his chin, he accuses, “You knew.”
“No, I didn’t,” I deny, eyes glancing to him and away. “I suspected. There’s a difference.”
Once the crowd passes, he pulls me down toward the opening, taking in the damage.
There’s only darkness; the full moon overhead is our guiding light.
The theater lights are shot out, and the ticket booth window is closed behind a thick metal screen.
A few bodies lay on the cement, snow packed from the rush, but no one moves.
I don’t see Reese.
Withdrawing his gun, he hands me his knife. “When we get home, we’re going to have a conversation,” he warns.
He glances behind us, and over his shoulder, a spark of silver moves in the shadows. My hands react, pulling the gun from my side, ripping a stitch with it. Leveling it on his shoulder, he stills and becomes the perfect stand.
Two bullets fire, soaring through the dark. My gun kicks back at the wrist, but I brace, expecting it. A gasp fills the air, and the pat-pat of metal hitting flesh, before there’s a heavy thud. Whoever it was didn’t get their shot off, falling back into the snow like the trampled innocents.
Blessed silence.
Until the Reaper grabs my face, pressing our foreheads together.
“A long conversation,” he threatens. “Starting with what the fuck this was.”
Nodding, my shoulders drop. That’s fair. Besides, my plan might not have gone exactly how I wanted—I had questions that needed to be answered—but my suspicions were confirmed.
Reese Silva is in bed with the Board. I don’t know how; I don’t know why, but I’ve been seeing the enemy without ever knowing it.