Oh, it grated, being spoken of like a thing her father owned. “He and Lottie’s dad seemed to have moved past it.”
Again with that little twinkle in his eye, the one that made her want to plow her fist straight into his stomach. “For someone who so clearly hates me, you seem very invested in changing my mind. Tell me, princess, do you want me to touch you again? Do you want to come screaming again with your pretty cunt stuffed full of Daddy’s cock?”
Her pussy, traitorous bitch that she was, clenched emptily at his filthy description of what they’d done. She hated him for taking what should have been one of the best nights of her life and turning into something so crude.
But she hated herself more because it didn’t change how much she wanted him to act out every single word right there in the middle of the hallway. “You’re an asshole.”
“I am. And a criminal. So, as I said, it’s best if we simply go our separate ways and never, ever tell Braden what happened last night.”
“Agreed.” And if her chest ached at the thought of never seeing him again, it was just because she was kicking herself for not taking Cordelia’s rules seriously last night. For not properly vetting him before she let him do such filthy, depraved things to her in her father’s club.
See? If you’d followed the rules, this never would have happened.
“Good.” He pulled his hand away slowly, almost as if he truly couldn’t resist touching her. “I’ll take care of the room and the… items we used so your father never has to know.”
“Thank you. Now, if that’s everything, I would like you to step aside, please.”
Something flickered across his face, a remnant of the darkness she’d seen in him the night before, and she had to fight the urge to shrink back from it.
“Just so we’re clear, I’m not in the habit of allowing others to order me around, princess. My friend’s daughter or not, I suggest you curb the urge in the future. Unless you’d like to see exactly what kind of man I am, firsthand.”
With that, he pushed off the wall and turned, striding away with his hands in his pockets as if he hadn’t just threatened to… well, she wasn’t sure what he’d been threatening, exactly, but it had definitely been a threat.
She should follow him back into the ballroom. Put on a smile and pretend her entire world hadn’t just been rocked in a matter of minutes. Lottie and Braden would expect her to be there, standing up with them, not giving the world a single clue that she’d just learned her father was best friends with a mob boss.
But she couldn’t do it. No amount of training or the desire to do right by her father could keep her from losing her absolute shit on him in the middle of his wedding brunch.
Better for everyone if she just went upstairs, packed her bags, and went home. She’d have to face Lottie and her father eventually, but for now, she just needed… space.
So she dragged in a deep breath, smoothed out the front of her dress, and headed for the elevator bank.
And tried to pretend her heart wasn’t breaking with every fucking step.
Chapter Thirteen
Killian
Reckless.
That was the only word to describe the way he’d acted.
He’d known there was something familiar about her the moment he’d looked in her eyes. And if he’d stopped for five fucking seconds to really think about who would have been at the club last night, he might have put two and two together.
But he hadn’t, because he’d been too caught up in his own internal drama, too desperate to lose himself in a woman so he didn’t have to think about the blood on his hands for a few blessed minutes to actually pay attention.
Reckless. Careless. Weak.
It took all of his infamous self-control to keep the snarl from his face as he re-entered the ballroom and headed for Cordelia’s table. Laying a hand on Jacob’s shoulder, he offered the boy’s Domme an apologetic smile. “Cordelia. Do you mind if I borrow your boy for a few moments?”
Cordelia narrowed her eyes, suspicion clear in the bright green. “Why?”
“Boy stuff,” he tossed back lightly, bumping up the wattage on his smile.
Without waiting for an answer, Jacob rose and flashed a smile of his own. “I won’t go far, Dee. I promise.”
“All right.” Reluctance all but dripped from Cordelia’s words. “Take care of my boy, O’Rourke.”
The warning had the guilt, which had already dug its claws deep into his chest courtesy of Braden’s bombshell, digging in even deeper. “Always.”
