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The interior is executive style, with black sleek fittings and fixtures, and opaque painted walls. There are silver lights that hang down from the ceiling over the dining table that’s large enough to fit six people, and bar stools tucked beneath the kitchen island. Turning to the left, there’s the stairs that lead up to the second level where all of the bedrooms are, with the exception of the back room on the first floor, i.e., Perse’s old room.
I look up at Killian. “Where am I sleeping?”
Killian rolls his eyes, releasing me and tugging his shirt over his head. “Your shit is already upstairs.”
I stare.
“In my room.”
“Wait—”
“Saskia, it’s only for seven hours or until Perse has sorted out the dynamic of your group. She has to do this as the leader.”
I sigh, taking a seat opposite Kyrin but beside Keaton at the table. “I know.”
Killian heads to the fridge as the bus pulls away. “Want a drink?”
I nod. “Thanks.”
Kyrin studies me carefully. “What’s been happening since the last time I saw you, which would have been with this asshole’s fist in my face.”
I flush. It doesn’t feel like that was just last night considering everything else that has happened from then to now.
“Well, let’s see…” I pick up the glass Killian puts in front of me, smelling the whiskey right away. I put it back down. “Not much.”
“Hmmm,” Ky murmurs, watching me carefully with his sharp eyes. “Interesting how good of a liar you are.”
I take a sip of my drink anyway, suddenly feeling like I’m way out of my element in this RV and we have approximately six hours and fifty-three minutes remaining in our journey.
Keaton hasn’t breathed a word, yet his eyes have remained on me. Watching. Always watching. Examining. Psychoanalyzing probably.
Kyrin gestures to the two of us. “This looks a lot more serious than a ‘we’re just fucking around’.” He leans back in his chair, his glass dangling from his two fingers. Kyrin is interesting. Words leave his mouth, but his eyes are cold. He is where death would go to be comforted.
Killian slides out from his chair and takes my hand. “Let’s go.”
I don’t hesitate, following him up the stairs and down the hallway until he’s opening the door into his room.
I pause for a few seconds, taking in the style. I didn’t expect it. I figured he’d have blank walls and lifeless décor. He didn’t. The walls are black, his bed sheets black silk. There’s no tacky art hanging on the walls. A TV hangs on the wall across from his bed, and on the opposite wall near the door is a large abstract art piece.
“This is amazing.” I touch the canvas, lost in the intricate swirls and colors. It starts light and fresh, with vibrant colors. Greens, orange, red, yellow, purple before it begins to merge together in the middle, forming a darker tint, and finally to the core where it’s black. I tilt my head as I continue to study it, entranced within the meaning. People express themselves with not just creating art, but with the art that they own. Listen to it. It doesn’t lie.
“Who did this?”
“Kohen,” he answers.
“As in King’s brother?”
He nods his head. “The very same.”
Killian grips my hips and turns me around to face him. He grins against my mouth. “Stop overanalyzing my art. Don’t you know that it’s a window into my soul?”
I reach up and press my lips to his. “I want to know more.”
“You know too much already.” He picks me up and tosses me onto the bed. Crawling up my body, he stops when his head is above mine, his eyes searching mine carefully. “What is it with you, Little Dragon.”
He caresses my cheek softly before his thumb moves across my mouth and slips between my lips. I suck him softly, flicking my tongue over the cushion of his thumb. “Absolutely nothing.”
His lips drop to mine and my legs open farther, allowing him to sink into me.
He bites down on my neck, chuckling. “Oh, these seven hours are going to be fun…”
I no longer care about the exact number of hours or minutes.
After throwing on Killian’s “Trickster” Brothers of Kiznitch shirt, I’m walking down the stairs, well, waddling down the stairs after Killian’s onslaught of pleasure. Kyrin is sitting at the table, flicking through his phone.
“Hey,” I call out, and his eyes drag up to mine. With Kyrin it’s black and white. I’ve felt his hostility grow the more time I spend with Killian, but I don’t know where it comes from. Maybe he thought I was using Killian too.
Grabbing a water bottle from the fridge, I take a seat opposite him.
His eyes stay on mine. “I don’t trust you.”
I pause, water still in my mouth. Swallowing, I tilt my head. “Why?”
Kyrin shrugs, tossing his phone onto the table. “Have my reasons.”
