“What the fuck was that about?” Carter asks.
Killian pops his head up and glares at me.
“You,” he growls, as he jumps off the table and moves for me. Grabbing my throat, he pushes me against the wall.
“I knew you were fucking trouble.”
Knox grabs his shoulder.
“It’s not her fault and you know it.”
I glance at Carter for an explanation, but he just shakes his head, clearly not knowing the answer.
There have been moments where Killian has scared me a bit, but never like this. His eyes are wild with fury, his clenched jaw, normally sexy, is now frightening.
Knox growls behind him.
“Let her go, Killian. I won’t tell you again.”
He removes his hand from my throat and steps back. Carter moves forward, and inspects my skin for marks.
“He didn’t hurt me. He wasn’t squeezing. I’m fine.”
Killian grabs a black bag he didn’t come here with.
“Let’s go. We have shit to discuss, but not here.”
Carter and Killian walk out of the room first. Knox takes my hand, and we follow behind them. He doesn’t say a word to me, but squeezes my fingers, trying to reassure me that everything is okay, even though I really don’t think it is.
We make it out to the car, and Knox opens the door for me. I slide in the front seat, and he and Carter get in the back, while Killian drives.
Killian turns the radio off. I wait for someone to speak, but no one does. The car ride is silent and filled with heated tension. Whatever is going on, Killian blames me, and that has my anxiety climbing. Every quiet mile causes more trepidation. As if he can sense my every emotion, Knox reaches forward and squeezes my shoulder. When we pull up to the house, Killian parks the car outside the garage and says, “The lounge.”
“What’s going on?” I whisper to Knox as we walk down the hallway, and he shakes his head. He wraps his arm around my waist and stops briefly, kissing me on the top of my head.
“You’ll find out soon, but everything will be fine.”
We walk into the lounge, and Knox motions for me to sit on the couch. After I take a seat, he sits beside me, while Carter lowers himself into the chair across from the sofa.
Killian opens the refrigerator and grabs four beers, passing one to everyone. I stare at the bottle in my hand.
“Too good for beer, Killer?”
I shake my head.
“It’s fine. I just have never had it.”
Knox reaches over and opens mine, before removing the cap from his own. Killian takes a long swig of his before speaking.
“The man I fought tonight is Victor Moreno, leader of Morte, a vicious gang.”
I nod and take a tentative sip of my drink. It has a crisp bold flavor, with a hint of bitterness. It’s okay, although I don’t know that it would be my choice if I had other options. I prefer wine.
“What did he say to you that pissed you off before the fight?” Knox asks, clearly for our benefit, since it seems that he already knows the answer to his question.
“He wanted me to throw the fight. If I refused, he said he was going to take Heather and rip her from limb to limb.”
My gasp is audible, as my fingers tremble around my beer bottle.
