“Wasn’t trying to be funny. Just realistic.” He sighs, sinking deeper into the pillows. “But I appreciate you asking. You’re a good kid, Jhene. Better than you give yourself credit for.”
Unsure how to respond to that, I settle on helping him sip more of his water. Another thing within my control, however small and inconsequential it is.
But the big things? I have to learn to accept them as they happen. I’m just a small fish in the huge pond that’s the underworld, which means I have to look out for my interests first.
Dawn is gradually creeping onto the once plum sky by the time we make it back to the studio.
Killian hasn’t uttered a word since we left the hospital. The rage he exudes becomes a third presence, a whole aura I can feel pulsing the air. I’d hate to be the next guy on the street who looks at him the wrong way; it wouldn’t surprise me if he walked away with his face rearranged.
He’s pacing the five-hundred-square-foot space while I slide out of my sneakers and pad over to the rollaway bed.
Things were already kind of awkward between us after the Banshee last night.
I admit I saw Bridget flirting with him and it irritated me. Even worse that he seemed to be playing into it.
…though I keep asking myself why should I care?Whydoes it bother me if he was?
“Take the real bed tonight,” he grunts.
My brows knit. “Don’t you have training soon? Don’t you want to get a couple hours?—”
“I won’t be getting any sleep. Not tonight. Not for a while.”
His phone buzzes from his pocket. He digs it out and answers with the same angry grunt, ordering whoever it is on the phone to track down the guys who showed up at the Banshee tonight.
Tense silence commences when he hangs up and stalks toward the dresser, presumably to change. I watch him, my pulse beating hard despite my lack of movement.
It’s the uncertainty. The fact that I know he’s furious and feel inept at providing any real solutions.
“What’s… um, the plan?” I ask hesitantly.
He’s ripped off his shirt and snatched another from a top drawer. “I’m handling it.”
“Not really an answer. What are you going to do? What’s the next step?”
“Anybody ever tell you for being the wallflower type you’re sure as hell nosy?”
“I’m just…” I pause, pulse pounding even faster. “I’m worried. A-about you. About all of this.”
Killian spares me a glare from over his shoulder. It’s the kind of grizzly, probing look you give when you’re deep in thought.
I almost shirk back from it, it’s so intense.
“We hit back,” he answers, tugging a wifebeater over his head. “Make them fucking regret ever thinking they could touch what’s ours.”
“And if that just makes things worse? If they retaliate again?”
“Then we hit them harder.”
“Killian—”
“I told you at the hospital. It’s not your place,” he growls. “They drew blood first. Now they pay the price. That’s how this works.”
My voice dies out, and I revert back to my silent nature. Standing and hovering in place and averting my gaze to every corner except the one Killian occupies.
He’s learned how to read me.
It only takes him seconds to pick up on the cues—things like the tension in my shoulders and how I rub at my left arm with my right hand.
