And I’m sure as shit not going to feel guilty for finally having her—even if it has put me on the outs with Maeve.
“Linwood,” Alessio greets, running a hand down his front. “I thought after the charity auction, you’d have found another employer.”
“I like being here.”
“I’m sure you know what kind of message,” I drawl. “Handmade card? Maybe filled with butterfly kisses?”
Killian’s pulse throbs in his neck. “Maybe I’ll offer you in return?”
I wink. “I’m not his type.”
Maeve sighs. “What’s your suggestion, Linwood?”
He winces minimally at her frosty tone. “An eye for an eye.”
Leaning against the back of her chair, I rub my forehead. Fuck. He’s right.
Ferguson taught us years ago—if a family attacked, you repaid the favor. Always. Maeve has worked hard to distance herself from her father’s teachings, but this is simple math.
You don’t let the families think you’re weak.
She exhales. “Find me someone.”
The reaper practically glows with amusement. But it’s the depravity that lingers like a ghost, surrounding us at theprospect of causing mayhem and death. We all feed on it, all of us anticipating the hunt, adrenaline spiking with hunger. It’s a frenzy that lives within us, but I know when to put mine away and let it rest.
Maeve and Killian don’t. They’re consumed by it.
Alessio blows out a breath as Killian passes. “Should I worry?”
“Not at all,” Maeve drawls. “Just keep my sister and nephews safe. And keep your men off the street at night if you don’t want any unnecessary losses.”
He shakes his head, standing to button his suit. “You’re a cold one, Ace.”
She smiles as if it’s a compliment.
14
COLLINS
Fidgeting, I tug the cream-colored sweatshirt lower, hands clasping the sleeves so as to grip them for stability.
Hayes stands in the middle of my bedroom, inspecting the heap of stuffed animals on my bed. Immediately, I want to shove them into a corner, hide my childish toys.
This morning, we made the choice to really sell our relationship. First step? Moving in together. Normal couples did that, right?
I’m already regretting this decision.
My desperation is the reason I’m here, looking at this hulking mass of a man in my personal space, feeling as if I’ll suffocate with him. He’s taking up too much space. How will he fit in here, with me and my things?
I didn’t think this through. The consequences, the longevity of it. It’s hitting me all at once. He’ll be here, until the Games end.
My palms sweat, my body uncomfortable with the realizations.
Following his gaze, he takes in things I don’t let others see—the towel covering my cracked mirror, the organized papers andcolor coordinated labels and the various medical texts, put into order of biggest to smallest. Through the closet, my clothes all hang in perfect rows, organized by color and season.
If it was anyone else, I’d be fighting off a panic attack right now. At them seeing me at my weakest. But Hayes has seen me at my worst—during panic attacks, low points, taking my barbs after a horrible day at school. He’s seen me naked on stage, pretending to be someone I’m not.
Strangely, I’m comforted that it's Hayes here and not a stranger.
