My heart hammers as Killian slips from the ring. I don’t wait for him to come and find me, so I mumble an intelligible “I gotta go” to Ava, then bolt out of there.
Creigh is fine, so that bastard has nothing to threaten me with.
And I sure as hell am not going to stick around to witness his craziness in full glory.
I wrap my sweater around my middle and hasten my footsteps out of the fighting club.
As soon as I’m above ground, I breathe in a harsh intake of air. I’m still shaking and I don’t think I can stop that reaction.
It’s not until I’m in the car park that I realize we came in Ava’s car and unless I’m ready to go back in there, I have no ride.
Whatever, I’ll call an Uber.
I’m ready to lay my head on Cecily’s lap and let her tell me all sorts of psychological shit just so I can forget.
Or maybe I can paint something.
An engine revs behind me and I step to the side to give way to the car. But it swerves in front of me and I yelp as it comes to a sudden halt.
It’s a bright red Aston Martin that appears to be a custom—something my uncle would collect in his motor collection.
The driver’s door flings open and a larger-than-life shadow staggers out of it.
My heart stops when he drags his fingers through his hair, his jaw clenching. “Last I checked, we had a ride to go on, didn't we?”
9
GLYNDON
Red drips onto the concrete.
Dark.
Ominous.
Drip. Drip. Drip.
I follow the direction from which the blood is pouring and pause.
Killian still wears the red shorts and has thrown on a black T-shirt. His muscles flex, but he doesn’t appear to be cold, or in pain due to the bruise peeking from his arm or the cut on his lip.
That’s from where the blood drips, smearing his chin and collarbone.
“Get in the car,” he orders with complete assurance.
Someone honks because the crazy bastard stopped in the middle of the street, but Killian doesn’t pay them attention.
I shake my head and try to bypass him.
“I can always go back in there and pick up where I left off. The only difference is that you’ll regret the decision once your precious Creighton ends up in a body cast.”
My fists clench. “Don’t.”
“I heard he doesn’t tap out. So maybe he’ll be hooked to a machine in a hospital next time you see him.”
“Stop it!”
“Get in the fucking car, Glyndon.”
The guy honks again and while Killian doesn’t seem to hear him, the sensory overload nearly drives me up the wall.
“Get out of the way, motherfucker!” the guy screams from the window in an American accent.
Once Killian stares at him, he swallows and reverses, then hits a rubbish can on his escape route.
“You have until the count of three. If you don’t get in the car, I’m going back to Creighton.”
“I’m not going anywhere with you.”
“Three.”
The bastard didn’t even count.
He slides back into his car, and I don’t let my brain think as I throw the passenger door open and get inside.
I’m breathing harshly, my skin crawling and my heart about to leap out of my skin. It isn’t normal that I’m on an emotional upheaval whenever I’m in his orbit.
One hand on the steering wheel, the other casually lying by his side, he faces me. “That wasn’t so hard.”
I glare at him and cross my arms over my chest. “For your information, I still don’t trust you. In fact, I distrust you even more now that you proved you’re not only prone to violence, but you’d also threaten my family with it.”
“All humans are prone to violence. I just have better control over it.”
“You don’t sound so convincing with blood dripping all over your face.”
“Worried about me, baby?”
“You’d be bleeding out and I wouldn’t even notice. In fact, I’d use the blood to mix colors on my palette.”
“Ouch.” His voice drops. “Though you’re such a horrible liar. You looked as pale as a ghost when I was being punched.”
“I dislike violence, so it’s not about you. I would’ve reacted that way to anyone.”
“I choose to believe that you felt especially aggravated because it’s me.”
“That’s called delusional.”
“Semantics.” He reaches for the glovebox and I push against the leather of the seat.
The squeaking sound fills the interior and I whisper, “What are you doing?”
Killian grabs a tissue and smiles. Or more like smirks. “Don’t worry, I won’t bite you.” He wipes the blood, smudging it all over his mouth further before making it go away. “Yet.”
The engine revs and I startle when I’m physically flung back against the seat as he speeds forward. My mind races with endless possibilities about where the hell he’s taking me while I fasten my seatbelt and hold on to it for dear life.
Logically, the northern side of the island isn’t that big. Aside from the two campuses, there’s downtown, shops, a library, and some restaurants and hotspots that the students frequent.
So he can’t kidnap and kill me around here.
Still not a reassuring thought, though.
“I figured you’d be a good girl.”
My eyes leave the road and focus on him. He motions at my seatbelt that I’m digging my nails in.
“It’s for safety.”
“Don’t worry. I’m an excellent driver.”
I resist the urge to roll my eyes. “I’m sure you are. I bet you’re good at everything.”
“Pretty much. I’m good at what I’m interested in.”
“And what are you interested in?” I sound nonchalant enough that it flies under the radar.
Because I’m changing gears here.
I can’t just keep getting blindsided by him and thrown around like a helpless doll. I need to somehow make the first move.
If my previous interactions with Killian are of any indication, then I’m sure he’s on the antisocial spectrum. Like Lan—maybe even worse.
Because while he’s a beast to the world, my brother chooses to spare us. The keyword being chooses. Because Lan can become insufferable when he’s bored. It’s why we stay away from him—it’s just impossible to figure out what goes on in his unpredictable head.
And if Lan is of any indication, then like him, Killian must have an obsession. A stimulus. A need for something to keep his tendencies regulated.
For my brother, it’s sculpting. He became a more socially accepted being after focusing on his art. The only time we voluntarily approach Lan is after he exits his art studio.
It’s when he’s the most elated, somewhat normal, and even jokes with us.
I choose to think that Lan would never be as subhuman as Killian, though. I choose to think that deep down, my brother cares about our parents and us.
Back at RES, he beat up a bunch of entitled kids who called Bran a fag. He came home bloodied, but those kids had to be admitted to the A&E.
He also slashed the tires of a teacher who called my painting mediocre and told her she had no business judging me when she was a tasteless, talentless piece of rubbish herself.