33. Killian #2
When he pulls back, I’m still standing, covered in a dozen superficial cuts, all rapidly bleeding. It won’t kill me, but I’m fucking sore. Escaping won’t be impossible, but I’ll be slow.
“C’mon, Doyle,” I taunt. “This is a bit anticlimactic. You, spilling all your devious deeds to me in an abandoned warehouse. At least give me something interesting before you kill me.”
“Something interesting?” he spits, grabbing my face. Sweating through his shirt, his fingers tremble with exhaustion. Torture isn’t for the weak. It takes a lot of reserve and strength to cut into a human body and remain upright.
Maeve could do it. Because she’s stronger than all of us.
“Once I kill you, I’m going to give your precious captain to Bruno,” he teases. My vision slowly morphs red, his words sinking deep. “He’s wanted to break her for years. And I’m going to let him do it—right after I break Sloane. Maybe I’ll even break Collins when I’m done. Wouldn’t that be fun?”
I wrap my hand in the chains, absorbing the coolness. It fights the burn in my skin—my wrath that will explode. I tug it again, ready to pull. With the right height, I can twist his neck with my legs and escape once he’s dead.
It’s not perfect. I’d rather take my time with him, make him regret coming after my girl—my family—but beggars can’t be choosers. Maybe the devil will let me get a second chance when I go to Hell?
A glint of metal flashes in the darkness behind him. Blinking, I’m struck by the small pale hand that appears, and the wicked pearl-inlaid blade that cuts into Doyle’s neck.
It’s a superficial cut, enough to knock him down. Falling, he gurgles, clutching his neck. And Maeve—the fucking dark goddess that she is—stands over him in a pair of bloody jeans and a leather jacket. She’s still in the same clothes I left her in—has she slept, eaten since then?
The saw clatters to the ground, and I jump aside, the teeth skidding across my leg. I’ll have a scratch, but it’s better than dying.
“Holy fuck,” I breathe. “You’re here.”
Something tight explodes in my chest at seeing her. Not fallen into a pile of pain and sorrow, but looking vengeful, ready to smite everyone for daring to piss her off. She looks too good like that; I’m tempted to kneel for her right now.
“Of course, I’m here,” she says, rolling her eyes. Doyle continues to flail, and she leans down, snatching the keys. “When you didn’t come home, I went to find you.”
“How?”
Standing on her toes, she uses my body to steady her balance as she unlocks my hands. “The tracker Hayes sent you? It works both ways.”
Thank you, Briar.
Once my hand falls, I wrap her into my arms, inhaling at her neck. She’s here—warm, whole. Mine.
“Why?”
She curls her hands into my hair, tugging me back to glare at me.
Touching my chest, right above her mark on me, she says, “You said next time you left, to kill you. Hayes told me you went to track down Ronan. So we did a little bit of digging. And if you weren’t being held, I planned on making good on that promise. ”
My angry little Devil.
“I heard what he said,” she whispers. Those green eyes glare up at me, confused. “I heard what happened. Why didn’t you tell me?”
Why didn’t I explain why I left? Why didn’t I confess to always doing it for her? I could’ve—I could have explained and forced her to listen.
“It wouldn’t have changed anything, Princess,” I murmur.
“You hated me for leaving you, and you had every right to do it. You’re a stubborn pain in the ass who won’t change her mind unless you change it.
I could fucking paint you a picture, and it still wouldn’t have made a difference.
I promised to stay, and instead, left you to fight the demons alone. I’m sorry.”
Pressing a hard kiss to her temple, I inhale her orchid and violet scent and let myself enjoy this. For one second, she’s here, in my arms. Like this, I know nothing can touch her—her ghosts, the evil of the world, the Board. It’s her and me, inevitable as always.
“But you left for me.”
“Everything I do is for you.” I sigh. “I couldn’t let you be married off—used like cattle. So, I did what I had to do, which led to me being gone for so long.
“I took my punishment. I was owed it. And I knew eventually you would be mine again. I just had to be patient.”
“So, everything I said—everything I did?—”
“Was child’s play,” I taunt. “If you didn’t really want me, you could’ve been meaner. Hell, you could’ve killed me. We both know you’re capable of it. I just had to wait it out, accept the hits, and keep coming back for more. To prove I wasn’t going anywhere.”
Because that’s what my girl needed—to see I would be here through the bad. It took months, but now she knows. I’m devoted only to her.
Without another word, Maeve pats my chest and turns toward the discarded saw.
Grabbing it, she kneels over Doyle’s gasping body and waves the saw.
I see it before he does—the black in her eyes as her demon possesses her.
The true side of her that feels like home to me—twin darkness that was spilt between two hearts and destined eons ago.
The saw cuts into his torso, and those screams—God. I’ll remember those for all eternity and fucking smile with giddiness every time. It’s a chorus of angelic chants, and I lap it up, depraved and twisted.
It’s a glory mess and takes her much longer than it should.
But she needs this—this is his penance for coming after her family—and her throne.
I’m sure the Board would not have put up as much of a fight if Doyle hadn’t been wronged.
He’s a fucking nuisance, but he made his fate—and my girl is going to hand it to him like the Moirai.
Once she gets to his heart, the man’s eyes are vacant, and his body doesn’t move.
He’s dead, but she doesn’t care. Cutting the veins and arteries, she works through the ribcage.
The cracking of bones and squish of slippery organs slips through my ears, and I swallow, drool pooling.
This would turn off most men. Me? I’m debating if pulling her panties to the side right now would be too fucked up for her.
Standing, she yanks the heart free. She’s sweaty, covered in various bits, stained red up to her elbow. And she has the cutest smear of blood on her cheek, which makes me smile.
She deposits into my hands. The heavy heart is solid, blood soaking into my palms. It’s more than a simple offer—to hold the heart of the man I threatened to do this.
But it’s not a punishment to Doyle—it’s not even revenge. It’s her promise to me. Maeve is symbolically handing my heart—it’s wicked, scarred, and bloody, but it’s mine, if I’ll have it.
Looking at me expectantly, her eyes are so wide, I can see all the thoughts—the emotions. The uncertainty, the fear. It only twists inside my chest, combatting the soreness and aches.
She’s asking me—begging me—not to leave again. That by handing me this heart, she is completely mine, as long as I’m hers. As long as I stay.
She’s showing me the wickedness that’s always existed, and is trusting me not to hurt her again.
Like fuck am I leaving her. Our demons play together too well.
“Did you just give me a heart?”
She nods, wringing her hands together. “You gave me your heart a long time ago. I thought it was only fair for me to do the same.”
“Princess,” I drawl, smirking slightly. “I took your heart years ago. And I never plan on giving it back. This is it. We’re inevitable. Just like death.”
She exhales as if a weight has been lifted from her shoulders. “Like death,” she agrees.
Pinching her chin, I press a soft kiss to her full lips. “Now, we’re going to show them why you’re the captain.”
A devious gleam takes over those eyes, and I’ve never been more in love with this woman than I am right now.