34. 34
Harlow
The dreaded next shift arrives.
Today, I quit. Killian already ended whatever we were. Now I’m ending the job. Clark can move me back to the hospital floor and find his son another sober aide. This arrangement ran its course. Yep. That sounds professional enough.
“You’re late,” Killian growls when I step into the mansion thirty minutes past my start time.
I wince and nod, but walk into the elevator. He follows closely. He seems off. More fidgety than normal.
“Why are you late?”
It’s kind of strange that he can make me cry, then be upset I’m a measly thirty minutes late.
“I hit something on the freeway and got a flat tire.” I step off the elevator.
“What?” he says, his tone demanding. “Why didn’t you call me?”
I set my bag in its usual spot and walk into the kitchen to get a drink. “You were working. Besides, it’s nothing. It happened during my lunch break. Hudson put on the spare to get us back to school. I stopped at a tire place after class and bought a replacement. That’s why I’m late.”
“Hudson,” Killian says the name like it’s poison on his tongue. “You’re still going to lunch with that asshole? In the car I bought you?”
I blink several times. Great. Now he’s holding the car over my head.
“Take the car back,” I snap, but immediately regret it. I wouldn’t have any way to buy a replacement.
“You don’t want the car?” he replies brusquely and sets his phone on the counter.
“Uh, yeah. Although, let me save for another first. Also, I’ve been thinking about this weekend and our date. I think it’s best we go our separate ways.”
He stares at me, then his deep brown eyes darken more. “Separate ways.”
I hesitate, then wince as I speak.
“Yep. I think this arrangement has run its course, and—”
“Why don’t you ever invite me to lunch?” he interrupts.
“Uh, what?”
Killian grips the kitchen counter, his knuckles white. He looks at the floor, trying to calm himself. The energy emanating around him is so intense that I step back. My heartbeat inches higher, like it senses danger before I do.
“What happened after I dropped you off?”
“What?”
“Did your ex fuck you?”
“Whoa! That’s none of your business!”
“Why did he send you four grand?”
My heart stops and I stare, mouth gaping open. Softly, I ask, “How did you know that?”
“Did he bury himself between your thighs right away? Or did you make him work for it?”
“Killian! Did you forget? You dumped me!”
“I need to know, Harlow. It’s under my skin. Lie to me. Did you let another man fuck you the same goddamn night I did?”
The question is low but holds something I haven’t heard in his voice. It sends a violent shiver down my spine. I have nothing to be ashamed of, though.
I inhale deeply and stand firm. “You threw me away, Killian. Who cares what happened afterward?”
He glares. Frozen.
“How could you fuck him after me?” he says. “Am I that forgettable, or are you just that big of a—?”
“A what? A whore?” I say, my voice anguished and broken.
He stares, waiting.
It’s almost like he cares. I’m letting him fool me all over again. I refuse to feel guilty after how he’s treated me. In fact, screw him for trying to make me feel worse than I already do.
“Okay, Killian,” I say flatly. “You want to know what I did? Fine. I’ll tell you, and I won’t lie.”
I lift my chin and square my shoulders, unashamed and determined to accept our places in this world.
“I got on my knees. I sucked his cock. And he came down my throat. That what you want to hear?”
He draws in a sharp breath as if I just speared him through the heart.
What an asshole. I scoff in disbelief, mad at myself for once again believing this man actually gives a shit about me.
“And you know what? It meant nothing. It was just sex. That’s what you’ve been trying to teach me. I get it now. What you and I did in your condo was just sex, too.”
He hasn’t moved a millimeter. His lips are parted, and his gaze unblinking.
I shift uncomfortably, but remind myself this is his doing. Not mine.
The energy in the room shifts, dark and dangerous.
“Tell me you’re fucking lying, Harlow.”
“It’s true,” I mumble.
“Goddamn it. You’re lying,” he says louder, his voice strained.
“I’m not. I don’t know how you found out about the four thousand dollars, but guess what? Evan paid me. Now I can pay my tuition.” I force a bitter laugh, soft and defeated. “I am trailer trash. Congratulations, Killian. You were right. I forgot where I belong.”
I turn to fetch my bag and get the hell out of here, feeling slightly better that I finally owned my truth and abandoned this fantasy I belong in these walls — that I belong next to him.
Just then—
His hand clamps over my forearm, tight and painful. My gaze darts up. His face is shadowed with simmering rage.
“You did this for tuition? You fucking bitch.”
His tone makes the hairs prickle on the back of my neck.
I furrow my brow, completely confused. I lift my chin to hide my fear, but I don’t feel nearly as sure of myself as moments before.
“Everything I’ve done...” he says, low and dark.
That’s when I see it.
I get tunnel vision. Because he sniffs twice and wipes his nose. His eye twitches. His tongue slides over his top gum. All subtle acts, but together, they’re glaringly obvious.
No.
He’s high on cocaine.
Oh, God.
Instantly, my senses heighten. There is one thing I know for sure about addicts: the person they become can be wildly different from the sober version.
“Uh, can you let me go?” I say cautiously, because I don’t know Killian when he’s high. I jerk my arm free. “We’ll talk later.”
Which really means: I need to calm him just enough to get away as fast as possible.
But my careful words only upset him more.
He throws a glass and it hits the drywall, leaving a crater. Plaster and glass fragments fly everywhere.
I flinch and back away, my pulse racing full speed.
“Killian, you’re scaring me.”
His lips purse tightly, and he balls his hands into fists, stalking toward me.
“Calm down,” I say, my tone professional. I hold up my palms to slow him, as if that will work.
“Just be honest,” he growls. “Did you like it? Pleasuring another man after I—” His voice cuts off, the anger too strong.
Killian’s nostrils flare, his jaw clenched tight. He stares for a moment.
Then moves faster.
Straight for me.
I stumble back, awkward and desperate. My hip thumps into the side table. A vase falls and breaks. I trip over the ceramic pieces and slam onto my ass, hitting hard against the white carpet.
Killian’s hands tug at my scrub bottoms. I gasp and crabwalk backward as fast as I can. He jerks the fabric hard, ripping them down to my ankles — underwear too. The cold air hits my bare skin. I kick and thrash, but he is so much stronger.
He’s over me. He rips open his wallet, then throws cash at my face. The bills flutter everywhere.
“How could you fucking do that to me?” he snarls.
The wallet hits my face.
I fear what’s coming next is much worse.