“How much longer are we keeping him?” He’s failing quickly. He had no problem branding a defenseless woman with an iron poker, but Maeve’s carefully aimed cuts are wearing him down.Pussy.
Her green eyes glance at me, gesturing for the rag to clean herself. But we’re both still stained—bodies and souls.
“Until I say we’re done.” I can’t help but smirk, the small woman going to the bar for a tumbler full of scotch. It used to hold delectable, expensive liquors imported from Ireland. She tossed them when she took over for Ferguson.
“That could be a while. He’s not going to live until then.”
“He will. I’ll make sure of it.”
It’s as ominous as she means it. Maeve will drag this torture out, force it on Dom until she’s exorcised whatever demons haunt her. Demons that come with a childhood full of abuse and shame.
It still festers, under the skin, that deep wound. It never truly heals. I get it.
“Have fun?” Killian asks, leaning against the doorway. My entire body locks, the need to grab my knife urging my fingers to twitch.
Killian Linwood is a man that Hell spawned and then barred from ever entering again. He’s the bane of my existence, and a psychotic killer without a leash. He was brought into the clan years before me, trained by Ferguson O’Brien himself, and then allowed to ravage the world in his particular brand of chaos.
Most of the time, you don’t know whose side he’s on. With a smirk and soulless dark almond eyes, he feels like Death. As kids, he constantly threatened to expose me to the clan.
How he knew who I was, I’ll never know. It doesn’t matter now.
Killian hates me for only one reason—for my spot at Maeve’s side.
Which isn’t really my fault. The bastard had my friend’s heart in his dangerous little claws and he fumbled it. No note, no goodbye. Just one day, didn’t come back, and shattered Maeve into tiny little pieces. I was there—not wiping her tears, but managing her rampage and her fury.
It’s been three years since they ended and he’s been trying for the last year to get back into her good graces. Won’t work—Maeve doesn’t forget who burned her.
“Oh, look who’s back,” I mutter, sitting on the edge of Maeve’s desk. “Escaped the pound?”
His black eyes flash, noticing how Maeve hands me a glass and not him.
Maeve and I have built our friendship on dark deeds, traumatic pasts, and close calls. She’s the only one who knows about me, and I was the only one here to see her fall when Killian left. She’s as close to me as a sister and I respect the fuck out of what she’s accomplished here, in this clan.
But to Killian? I’m a threat to her heart.
There’s nothing between us, and one day, I’ll earn a blade to my sternum for my love of messing with Killian over it. But not today.
“I assume that’s from Dom.” He scans Maeve, licking his lips subconsciously. He doesn’t move, doesn’t blink, drinking her in as if she’ll sustain him alone.
“Why are you here?” she asks, sitting beside me on the desk, body slumping slightly. The hours after a torture session are exhausting as the body comes down from the high, and adrenaline leaves your veins. Everything shakes, the mind muddles all thought, and it becomes hard to focus. I’m ready to drop and I know she feels the same. “I didn’t send for you.”
“Trust me, I’m fucking aware,” he snaps, hands sliding into his pockets. Coming into the room, he scans the area, as if seeing it for the first time. “I never left.”
“Obviously.” I wink over my glass, and Killian smirks wide but his eyes go cold.
That’s not a good sign. Mentally, I calculate how much quicker I can pull my gun than him.
Probably not by much.
“Where are your guards?” he asks, keeping me in his sights. I know what he’s thinking: if he kills me, will Maeve ever allow him back into her life?
I may think the same on occasion.
Draining my glass, I brace as Maeve leans against my shoulder for stability. Killian’s jaw clenches as the display.
God, it’s too easy to fuck with him sometimes.
“Patrolling.”
