Swinging me around, the Reaper peers down at me, a cigarette hanging from his mouth.
Staring at me, he slowly plucks the butt from his full bottom lip and then licks it. The pale pink piece of flesh glistens with saliva, and I have the insane urge to follow it.
“We’re not done,” he comments lightly. His words hang around my throat, a wraith pulling me to Hell. “We have things to discuss.”
Smoke curls around us, and I inhale.
“Like, what?”
He laughs, full of mirth. “Don’t play coy, Princess. You’ve never been good at it.”
Taking another inhale of the smoke, he holds it for a long moment. When he releases it, the white wisps curl around his nose, like a demon seething.
“Did you know an assassin would be there?”
“No.”
His eyes harden, an unhinged quality striking them. “Did you plan onfuckingthat accountant tonight?”
Rolling my eyes, I answer, “No.”
A muscle bounces by his ear. “Are you going to tell me what you had planned?”
I should—but that would mean admitting to fucking up royally. I don’t think I could take that kind of shame.
“No.”
He grows still, calm, like death seeking out a new soul. It’s the precursor to when he finally snaps, and his rage overtakes him. Whereas my eyes bleed black when I’m close to losing it, Killian freezes, becoming unmovable.
He’s going to explode—and it’s going to destroy the house.
Hayes comes back to my side in a hurry, and I exhale. Opening my mouth, I say, “Hayes, I need?—“
He grabs my arms, stopping me. Killian releases a growl that feels as if it were forged from the underworld. “Incoming.”
Cursing loudly, the capo comes barreling down the stairs. Dressed in a crumpled dress-shirt and slacks, he’s the most disorganized I’ve seen him. Maybe Killian was right—maybe becoming a new father is taking its toll on the man.
I’m usually the type to stand my ground and fight. I’ll take the hits and give better back. But right now, I have two choices.
Stay here and listen to a whining lecture from a man I can’t kill, or deal with the shadow at my back that wants to consume me in his ire.
My side aches, but fuck it. Eyes darting to my office, Hayes reads my expression. Playing interception, he blocks me as I dart across the hall. A place that used to be a room of shame, it’s become my sanctuary. And if it starves off the two men giving me a headache, all the better.
Killian cuts me off before I get three steps.
“Going somewhere?”
“Fuck.” I really hate that he knows me so well.
Shoving two fingers into my wound, I double over in pain, and he holds the bloodied fingers to my face. “You’re going to pass out. You need this fixed.”
My wound—or us, I can’t tell what he’s referring to. Knowing Killian, he means both.
Hand to my side, I glare. “I’mfine.”
That was the wrong thing to say. Hauling me close, he tugs me into my office and throws me at the desk. I stop myself from colliding, hand slapping the wood as pens and papers fall to the ground.
Behind me, he kicks the door shut.
