Never again.
I learned to strike first and kill. To never second-guess. To always end it.
Yet, all of that goes out the window with Linwood. He’s bigger, stronger, and smells like danger and mint. My body trembles in his hold, and pain radiates from my wrist as he grinds bones together. His eyes—black, deep, and furious—hold me hostage. I can’t move with him so close.
I can’t fight him—I can’t push him away.
Because the fucking bastard still feels likehome.
“Let me go.”
“I wonder if he’d still want you after I’ve ruined you,” he murmurs, seemingly to himself. “Maybe I should paint your perfect creamy skin with blood and fuck you raw. See if he’ll still touch you when you’re dripping me from between your thighs. What do you think?”
“Tryit.”
His smirk grows unhinged. “You’d let me, wouldn’t you, Princess?” He presses his cheek close to my temple and inhales. “I remember you fucking practically begging for my cock in the middle of a puddle of blood not too long ago. You looked magnificent and so very muchmine.”
I knock my head into his, forcing him away. “I’d rather not remember the times when I made poor decisions.”
Killian grips my throat harder, and his sadistic side flashes. “Poor decisions?Ouch. Tell me,” he says, lifting my chin, and his grip cuts off circulation to my hand. “Does he like you the way I do? Dirty, messy—violent? Or does he only like thecleanversion you show him? The perfect doll, curated for his simple tastes?”
I rally myself to break free—to fight back, but he presses closer, and the hard bulge of his cock grows tight against my lower belly. And the worst of all, I’m damp because I remember exactly how he used to feel.
How he—only ever him—has ever owned my body. How it only ever wanted him.
Un-fucking-real.
“There is no clean version,” I sputter, denying him. “Reese?—”
“Say hisfuckingname again,” he threatens, breath ghosting my face. “Idareyou.”
I know not to push this. “He gets the real me.” Blackness edges my vision. “He knows who I am.”
He laughs manically. “No, he doesn’t. He gets the perfectly manicured Maeve. The one who wears cute little heels and laughs at his stupid fucking jokes.”
My eyes widen. “Have you beenfollowingme?”
He just winks.Winks. Of course, he’s been following me. Because Killian cannot get it through to him that we’re finished—thatheended us. And he thinks if he comes back, I’lltakehim back.
After all this time? After everything I’ve done on my own?Not fucking happening.
“He gets who you wish you were,” he whispers, lips daring to kiss me. “But only I know the real you.”
I swallow against his hold, warring against my body’s reaction to his closeness. I’m fighting a battle on three fronts—against the pain in my heart, the need between my thighs, and the logical part of my brain that isscreamingat my lack of oxygen.
“You don’t know the real me,” I wheeze, fingers pulling at his grip.
“I do,” he reassures. “I know you, Princess. Every single horrible, terrible part of you. It’s my fucking curse to bear.”
He leans closer, his weight missed and familiar, and his nose brushes mine. A part of me wants him to kiss me, and a bigger part, the pissed-off, dying-for-air part, wants my knife to gut him.
He tosses me to the side abruptly, and I hold the wall, coughing as fresh, cold air enters my lungs. Leaning over me, his chest warms my sore back, and he nips at my ear.
“He’ll never love you the way I do,” he warns me before shoving off the wall, rage radiating with his stiff movements. “Go to bed, Maeve.”
He lights another cigarette, and I rub my neck, feeling his touch seared into my skin. He’s branded me against my will, a mark that I’ll have to hide. “This is my house?—”
“Go to bed,” he growls, ignoring me and my power. “Or next time you see yourboyfriend, he’ll be a decapitated corpse floating in the harbor. I’m sure that would kill the mood.”
