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Xander:My condolences about Glyn, Captain. It’s my worst nightmare to imagine some fucker taking away my Cecily.
Aiden:Hello? They’re old enough to be independent, so can we normalize letting them live their lives?
Cole:Except for my Ariella. She’s only sixteen. My Ava is off-limits, too. Do you hear that, Aiden? Let Eli know.
Aiden:You’re so delusional to think you can stop Eli from doing anything. Even I can’t dictate his actions anymore.
Cole:We’ll see about that. Don’t blame me for the violence that will happen when he comes near my daughter.
Ronan:Let me bring the popcorn.
Cole:You, too, Ron. Keep your son far away from my Ari.
Ronan:I should be the one to say that, fucker. She’s like a little hellion stalker. Jesus, I’m scared for Remi’s life.
Levi:You can brush me off all you like, but I’ll be the one laughing when you’re the ones who lose your kids.
EPILOGUE - GLYNDON
THREE MONTHS LATER
“Are you drunk?”
I stare up at Killian with a wide grin and squint an eye. “Did you know you sound so hot when you’re angry?”
“Glyndon,” he grinds out.
“You sound hot when you say my name, too.”
He taps a finger against the counter, obviously waiting for a reply.
“What? I only had, like, two drinks. Right, Niko?” I stare at my partner in crime as we sit on the kitchen counter while Gareth mixes us some drinks.
Okay, maybe there was more alcohol than I divulged, but it’s all Killian’s fault. I got bored waiting for him to come home from his shift at the hospital, so when Nikolai started drinking, I joined him.
And I still waited, because it’s, like, eleven p.m. now, and I’m tired and I have an early class tomorrow. But I couldn’t go back to the dorm, because this bastard has totally trained me to only sleep on top of him.
Or that’s what I tell myself.
The sad truth is, I’ve been falling head over heels for this man over the past few months, and I’ve been enjoying every second.
Killian will always be Killian, with his unorthodox methods, brooding personality, and bleak mind, but he smirks when he sees me, he kisses my forehead after he pleases me. He fucks me like he can’t breathe without me.
He shows me parts of himself that the world isn’t privy to, like the photographs he’s been taking over the years. Lately, his red room has been filled with pictures of us, or more specifically, me. In all different positions. During sex. Outside of sex. When I’m looking. When I’m not looking.
He said I’m his masterpiece.
I don’t even have to worry about other people, because he sees no one but me. I know because the other day, I went to surprise him at med school so we could have lunch together and a girl was practically rubbing her breasts against his arm while he was reading from a textbook.
He simply placed a hand on her forehead and pushed her away as if she were a pest—without breaking his focus from his task.
When I’m around, he finds it hard to focus on anything else—his words, not mine.
Only when I was a few steps away did he look up with that heart-stopping smirk. It’s seriously bad for my health at this point.
He’s definitely not smirking now. In fact, his eyes narrow the slightest bit. “What did I say about getting drunk when I’m not around? And the motherfucker’s name is Nikolai.”
“I say, are you jealous that Glyn and I are bonding, Satan’s heir?” His cousin points a half-empty shot glass in his direction, a shit-eating grin curling his mouth.
