“Right there at his side,” he says, smirking. “If I didn’t, Ferguson would suspect something.”
“Such a good fucking dog,” I growl.
Killian’s smirk slips, cold fury looking back at me.
“I only heel for one person, and it was never Ferguson,” he reminds me. “And what about you? You were always watching her and you never knew?” At my glower, he scoffs. “Stones and glass houses, Prince. Be mad all you want, at Ferguson, at this world we live in, but you hate yourself more for never noticing—neverknowingwhat he did to your fiancée.”
God, just one hit. One hit and I’ll feel better.
But as much as I want to decapitate the man, he’s right. I can hate everyone until I die and go to Hell, but I hate myself more for never knowing. For never protecting her.
That’s been my one goal in life. To always keep her safe. And I fuckingfailed.
“Roman came to the awards dinner today,” I say, voice rough. Killian turns, eyes sharp. “He was screaming about Maeve attacking his businesses. That she’s the reason for Senior being in jail.” I glance at him, gut rolling. “I told him there was no way she would go to the Feds. Even for an enemy. That’s not true, is it?”
“Maeve had to do something.” He shrugs, crushing the cigarette under his boot. “You forget how it was before, under Ferguson, Prince. Maeve had no power—none.” Those black eyes flare, anger harsh and biting like a serpent. “None of the soldiers would’ve followed her and as much I would fuckingdiefor her, two of us against an entire organization is a bit too suicidal for me. So, she went a different route.” My breath stalls.
She went to the cops.Maeve went to the literal enemy, handing them information to get Roman Senior, and it worked. Collins couldn’t be sold to a man in prison, and it saved her from a horrible fate.
All this time, Collins thought Maeve disliked her, maybe hated her. When reality was, Maeve broke the cardinal rule to save her sister.
“How pissed was Ferguson?”
Killian let loose a deranged laugh. “Furious. But it was worth it.” Killian lights another cigarette. “Collins is too good to lose completely to the darkness. She might be tarnished by it, roughed up, fuck, enjoy it, but that’s not where she belongs.”
I agree. Collins is too good for that kind of life.
“Collins will have to take Simon’s place in the games.”
Stitching up bodies just to send them back into the madness? It’s her worst nightmare. I never wanted to put her in that position, but my rage said differently.
Tiredly, I sigh. “I know.”
“I’ll have to tell Maeve.”
“I’ll do it. I don’t need your rabid ass saying anything to her.”
“Rabid?” He snorts. “Don’t worry, Prince. I only bite people I like.”
Sick fuck.
Standing, I grab my new jacket, intent to head to the car. I need Collins, not this whole fucking weird situation.
“Just tell me,” Killian says, jaw clenching as the shadows and the flames play across his face, still firmly sitting on the log. “Why did she let you in so easily?”
Sighing, I tug on my hair. I have no reason to explain my relationship to the reaper—in fact, I could spite him. Ignore him. Drive him crazy like I’ve done our entire lives.
But something niggles at me. He didn’t have to tell me about Maeve, about Senior’s deal to take Collins. He did anyway—to put my need for vengeance to rest.
A secret for a secret, right?
“Because, reaper, we endured the same shit growing up.”
I expect a biting remark, some taunt, but Killian looks at me, cold eyes hard, mouth curving into a nasty smirk. It’s humorless.
“He used you.” It’s simple, matter-of-fact.
“I was his property.” I shrug, trying not to show weakness in front of the hitman. Hard to do—I’m handing him my biggest, deepest, secret. “Maeve saw herself in me the night I came toThe Wharf. Knew what I had been made to do. Didn’t even ask; just fucking knew.” God, I never knew how. She just did. “I think because of that, she knew I would never hurt her. Not like Michael did. So, she trusted me.”
