“I killed two last night,” he growls, teeth bared. “One tried breaking into the apartment. The other? Outside, waiting for you to leave. Without me, you’d be dead.”
Cold fear strikes my heart, but I don’t show it. I refuse. “I could’ve handled them.” Kicking out, he shifts his hips, knee hitting my inner thigh. He presses, and I grunt, the pinprick of pain skittering over my skin. “You forget, I’ve survived worse. I can handle a few threats.”
My body shudders—not from pain, no.
With my legs open, his hips nestle between them. I gulp as desire unspools like a forgotten cord—desire I thought I lost years ago. It’s never present when I’m with Reese—or any other man. It seems to only be drawn out when Linwood is around.
Cursing, I try to ignore how wet I am.
“Oh, I know.” His words ghost over my face, and I try hard not to flutter my eyelashes. A blush creeps over my cheeks, and he gnashes his teeth together. “And every time, I was fucking there, cleaning up the mess. Admit it. Having me can help.”
“Admit it? Fuck you.Never.”
He chuckles, glancing down between us. His voice turns thoughtful, even nostalgic. “I remember the last time you opened your legs for me. You looked delicious like that. Do you?”
“No. And I hope the memory haunts you,” I spit.
Killian chuckles darkly. “It does. It’s a fucking recurring nightmare at this point, Princess.” He pushes off of me with enough force to dent the wall. “Regardless of what you think, you’re wrong. You need me. I’m going with you.”
Rubbing my chest, I follow after him, completely pissed. “I don’tneedyou,” I argue, fists at my sides. “I’ve handled myself for years?—”
“And if you think for one minute,” he growls, rearing back on me. His eyes blaze down, the flicker of emotions I used to crave to see, scorching me. “That I won’t be there to protect you, you haven’t been paying attention.”
Rage colors my vision, and I shove him. He only retreats a step.
“How fucking dare you?” I seethe. “After everything—after what you did?—"
Stepping close, he breathes harshly, gripping my hair into a painful knot. My whole body locks with pain and desire. I swear, I’m going to call a priest, because I must be possessed to want him aftereverything.
“Yell at me. Hate me if you want.” He shakes me. “Destroy me if it makes you feel better.”
“I do. Iwill.”
“You already have,” he growls. “You’ve fucking obliterated me. And instead of hating you—like I should—I would gladly get on my knees and ask for more.”
Tossing me back, he continues, “You are the only thing I care about. The only thing that keeps me tethered to this fucking planet. I need youalive. So, unless you want an assassin to shoot a hole through that pretty fucking head, I suggest you get used to me always being there.”
Slapping my palms to his chest, I spit, “That’s not fair, Linwood. After all this time, you think I need you? Now? I don’t. I haven’t needed you in alongtime.”
“Keep telling yourself that.” He steps away. “Maybe one day you’ll believe it. But you do—you need someone like me to keep you alive. Because you’re sure as fuck not doing it.”
Glaring at me, he takes in my rumpled clothing, lips twisted. “Consider this your only warning. You’re never going to be free of me.Ever,” he says, running a hand through his hair. “Now, go get ready. You have an empire to rule.”
9
MAEVE
Dusting the snow from my hair, I glare into the darkness of the Wharf.
The scent of old booze and sewer burns my nose. In the far back, a decrepit fireplace holds a failing flame; the pale orange light devouring the blue-slate tiles. My boot slips on something wet, and I breathe through my mouth, trying not to taste the smell.
This has been our storehouse my entire life. Old, with cobwebs in the corners and something brown growing in the bathroom, it’s a bar on the edge of polite society. Backing up to the harbor where we dump the occasional body, it’s a place cops avoid. Which is good.
In the back room, there are crates of liquor and guns. And, due to my involvement with De Luca, pink pills that are waiting to be distributed by my runners, too.
It’s not a great place. But it’s my men’s safe spot. This is where runners start their nights for their drops and deliveries. It’s where they end their nights, looking for a nightcap or to tend to wounds. This is where I used to nurse my injuries and builda rapport with the men. They knew me as Ferguson’s kid—just someone who tagged along.
But I grew in rank. I made the deliveries; I took the hits. I got into the trenches with them, and I like to think that earned me their loyalty. Pops never did it.
