There it was. He stared at me like he was waiting for something. A reaction. A fight. A sign of intelligence. I gave him none. What did it matter?
After a second, he exhaled, running a hand down his face as if I’d exhausted him. “Get yourself together,” he muttered. “Stop acting like a damn animal.”
He turned. Unlocked the door. And walked out. Just like that. Leaving me standing there. Breathing. Waiting.
Chapter 18: Chloe
The silence lasted exactly a minute. Then the door opened again. Caspian stepped inside.
He didn't close the door right away. His eyes landed on me. So many emotions swirled in them—dark, hungry, angry, jealous. I stared at him head-on.
"So," he said softly, stepping in and shutting the door behind him with a quiet click. "That's what we're doing now?"
I didn't move. His gaze dragged over my body—slow, deliberate, the way a man looks at something he believes he owns.
"You think you're slick?" he continued, his voice rising slightly. "It was for him, wasn't it? That motherfucker that's been staying with y'all?"
He was talking about Killian.Yes.
I wanted to cheer. This was a part I hadn't planned. The night I'd almost gotten caught with Killian, when they found me outside, I'd seen it in Olivia's face when he touched me—the jealousy, the anger. Ava and Olivia had probably twisted a story. If they believed I wanted Killian, they'd talk. They'd exaggerate. She'd poison the air with it. They would tell the family. They needed that version of me to keep me silent.
Good.
"You've been real bold lately, my sister says," Caspian said, stepping closer.
I stayed still. He stopped himself, his jaw tightening. "You forget who takes care of you?" he snapped.
I tilted my head slightly. Just enough. It made him angrier.
"I'm the one who kept you out of a padded room," he said. "Me. I'm the one who makes sure you eat. Makes sure they don't throw you somewhere worse."
His hand shot out and grabbed my chin. "You think he's going to save you?" he asked, quieter now. More dangerous. "You think a man like that is going to choose you over what's already promised to him?"
He leaned in. His breath was hot on my face—scotch and something rotting underneath. "I've been patient," he murmured. "But if you want a man so bad..."
He tried to kiss me. I let him get close.
My knee came up hard. "Fuck," he groaned, stumbling back before I could fully connect. His hand came up fast. The slap cracked across my face, snapping my head to the side.
That was what I needed: him to leave another mark where Killian would see it. I shoved him hard, sending his back into the wall. He recovered quickly, reaching for me again—
I grabbed Killian’s gun from under the mattress. The safety was already off; I'd checked it twice before he walked in. I raised it. Steadied my grip. Pointed it at his chest.
He froze. His eyes went wide. His mouth opened. He looked at the gun, then at my face, then back at the gun. He'd never seen me like this. None of them had. I had spent the week watching videos and reading instructions on how to handle a gun, and then Killian had showed me. Everything had come together.
"You don't have the nerve, little girl," he said, but his voice cracked. "You can't even—"
"On your knees."
The words came out quiet. Caspian's face went pale. His lips parted, but no sound came out. He'd heard me speak. After all these years of silence, of playing the doll, of letting him believe I couldn't form words—he'd heard my voice. And it was pointing a gun at his chest.
"I said," I whispered, "on your knees."
He dropped. Not slowly. Not with dignity. His legs folded like they'd been cut from under him. He knelt on the dusty floor, staring up at me with something I'd never seen in his eyes before: fear. Real fear.
“You?” his voice trembled. I had stopped speaking to everybody except Mary when he moved to Florida when I was twelve; he probably believed I couldn’t.
“I can talk. I can shoot, too.” I let off one shot. I wanted to shoot him in the head, but instead, I aimed right over it.
