Strong hands grab me, but I lash out. Clipping Killian on the chin, his head snaps back, and pain stings my fingers.
I don’t feel guilty. In fact, I’m pissed.
“Don’t touch me,” I breathe, eyes narrowed.
Killian pats his lip, a cut running along the edge of it. When his soulless eyes look back at me, I don’t see irritation—but black hunger.
“You’re in your head,” he says quietly, controlled. “The voices are getting loud. And you think you’re failing.”
“Iamfailing.” I ready another punch, but he bats it away, throwing my arm back. “It’s my job to protect the clan. To see ahead. To always think of everyone else. And I couldn’t see the guy I was dating was a fucking dirty cop—someone working for the Board?”
What does that say about my judgment? I’m not fit to lead.
Pathetic and weak.
I swing again, but this time Killian ducks, throwing a jab back at my chin. Avoiding it, I twist, only for him to grab me around the middle. Lifted high, I kick and growl, a possessed cat striking out at a friendly hand.
“Fine. You’re pissed. Bepissed,” he grunts, lips to my ear. Tossing me on the desk, he cages me in, chest to my back. “ButI told you not to hit me again unless you wanted me to fuck you raw and watch the attitude leak out of you when I’m done.”
“Go to hell.”
“Only with you,” he returns. Grabbing a fistful of my hair, he hauls me up, hand to my stomach. “You want to fight, Princess? We’ll fight my way. Safe word, now.”
Scoffing, I elbow him. “You think I want sex right now?”
“I think you need a way to banish the ghosts.” Those fingers move lower, and as much as I want to cut his heart out of his chest, I grow fucking wet. “And we both know being fucked until you can’t remember your own name always worked before. I’m betting it still works.”
“You can’t possibly know?—”
“Tell me I don’t know you again,” he dares. “Go ahead.”
I swallow, the look of dark fury swirling around us. Killian does know me—that’s what’s pissing me off. He knows what I need to banish the ghosts, and he’s willing to help. I’m too fucking stubborn to give in.
His fingers hook on the band of my leggings, splattered in blood from the torture session. “I’m not going to be gentle. Safe word.”
“I don’t fucking want you,” I hiss, stomping my foot on his boot. It does little good.
He throws me forward, and my hands slap the desk.
“Liar.”
Those skilled fingers grab my ass, and I moan, despite myself. Chuckling, he tugs the fabric, and then air hits my flesh.
Glaring over my shoulder, he waves his knife at me, a smirk lining his face. My leggings are in shreds on the floor, my bare ass hanging out. He cut through my panties, too.
Quietly, he runs his hand over one cheek, kneading the other. “Fucking perfect,” he says, reverently. “Jesus, fuck, Maeve, give me the damn safe word. Please.”
The fight leaks out of me as he rubs my flesh, marveling at the softness of it. Lowering his lips to my shoulder, he tastes my skin, moaning as he moves.
I should stop this—and think. Reese knows too much, and Ronan is out there. He’s hunting me, waiting for a moment to take me out. What if he goes after my family—what about their safety? Everything rides on me being an effective captain.
But with his hands on me, the voices stop. The self-doubt flees. The demons, who paralyze me and keep me up all night, run away at the thought of battling the Reaper who would kneel for me. Who would set the world on fire for me—only to stand back and let my rage consume everything.
I can’t bring myself to give that up yet.
Cradling against me, his touch turns hard, punishing. It’s the right kind of counterpressure I need to focus.
You’re weak.
