“You should stay away from Kill. He’s bad news.”
“So everyone keeps telling me, but he’s the one who won’t leave me alone.”
His expression softens and he releases a long sigh. “Then my condolences.”
“Why?”
“Because he doesn’t stop until he gets what he wants, and what he wants isn’t often known.”
“He won’t be able to come near me now that he has someone else.” I throw my hands up in a vague gesture. “Like that Cherry.”
He’s going to fuck her, as he promised, and I’m never allowing him near me again.
Not even if I have to suffer for it.
Not even if I have to unleash Lan on him.
Actually, both Lan and Eli, and Creighton if I’m in the mood. I didn’t want to get them involved before, because I was genuinely scared to cause them trouble, but I’ll go against my nature and ask for their help this time.
Gareth unhooks the mask from around his neck and strokes the creepy neon smile. “I wouldn’t be so sure if I were you. I’ve known Kill all my life and I still can’t figure out what the hell he’s thinking about most of the time.”
My interest perks up. “How…do you deal with him? If you don’t mind me asking, of course.”
A sad smile pulls his lips, resembling the shades of autumn. That’s what fits him—a mixture of warm, dying colors. “My way of dealing with him is nowhere near impressive. Are you sure you want to hear it?”
“Yes, please.”
“I just avoid being the subject of his entertainment.”
“Are you scared of him?”
“No, but I’m scared of his lack of empathy. I’m also scared he’ll end up hurting our parents in an irrevocable way, which is why I try to monitor him as much as possible—while staying out of his way.”
“You mean like a big brother.”
“No, like a lawyer.” He releases a sigh. “He’s a criminal in the making, and just because our parents refuse to see that doesn’t mean I don’t. Killian started by killing mice, then scaled up to hurting his classmates, then me. Then he got himself in mafia business just so he could witness the brutality firsthand. Not to mention these initiations that he keeps escalating in intensity with each season. At some point, all these stimulants won’t be enough for his mind and he’ll end up killing. It’s a matter of when, not if. And when that happens, he won’t be able to get enough of the taste of finishing a life. He’ll keep doing it again and again, just to experience that intoxicating thrill, until he’ll eventually get caught. So I’m just waiting for him to fall into that hole.”
I frown. “That’s not true.”
“What isn’t?”
“The fact that he’ll surely become a criminal. He has more control than anyone I know.”
“Or that’s what he wants everyone to think. Kill is not completely in control—he’s merely suppressing his true desires, and one day, they’ll rule him.”
No.
Gareth is only seeing him in a dark light, probably because of their history. There’s more to Killian than his violent intent.
And no, I’m not defending him. I’m just thinking of it as I would about Lan.
Though my brother is a bit different. I think. He loves our parents and us. Or maybe he fakes it so well that we’re blinded to it.
“You be careful out there.” Gareth points at the door.
And I take that as my cue to go.
Once I’m outside, I can’t help stealing a look behind me. Gareth has both hands in his pockets as he watches me with a blank expression that somehow makes me uneasy.
I leave with images of Cherry and Killian assaulting my head. Even as I make myself think that I absolutely do not care.
I don’t.
Right?
Maybe I do care a little.
Or a lot.
Considering I haven’t been able to sleep.
After I sneak into the flat, I think I hear moans of pain. But after close inspection, it’s only Ava’s cello. Cecily’s light is out, so she must be asleep.
Me? I toss and turn in bed for half an hour, picturing Killian on top of that blonde. In my imagination, he’s thrusting inside her and roughening her up as she likes it and—
I stuff my face with a pillow in an attempt to shoo the image away.
Then I roll onto my back and open my Instagram app. The first image that comes up is a selfie of Annika, pouting while leaning on one hand as the sun glows from the tall French doors behind her.
There’s beautiful and then there’s photogenic beauty like Anni’s.
She captioned her picture ‘Bored. Tell me something about yourself.’
The first comment that appears is from lord-remington-astor.
My lack of knowledge on Greek literature has always been my Achilles' elbow.
Annika answers with a line of laughing-out-loud emojis. Then she and Remi keep talking back and forth for like twenty comments in the midst of which they tag Creigh five times, but he doesn’t honor them with a response.
Wait. Did these two actually make an Instagram account for Creighton?
I scroll down to find another comment from a familiar name.
nikolai_sokolov: Might want to delete this before Jeremy does his night patrol.
I click on his profile and find that he has tens of thousands of followers. No kidding.
Nikolai’s profile has a whole dark grungy mood. It’s full of smoky pictures, fighting pictures, and among them are weird family ones that don’t fit. In one, he’s surrounded by two stunning identical blondes who are laughing at the camera as he frowns.
Still trying to deceive me, but I know the one on the left is Maya… Right?
There’s a screenshot from what looks to be a group chat with an interesting caption.
Surrounded by idiots.
Gareth: Group study?
Nikolai: I have a better idea. Group sex.
Gareth: Gross.
Jeremy: Try again in a hundred years.
Killian: I’m blocking you.
I can almost hear Killian’s monotone voice as he says that, and my stomach flips, but I exit the screenshot and continue scrolling through Nikolai’s account.
In the last picture he posted, Nikolai is grabbing a struggling Gareth and a bored-looking Killian in chokeholds.
Stuck with these motherfuckers for life. Not that I’m complaining…okay, maybe a little.
I tap on the tag section, my finger trembling as I click on killian.carson.
My heart nearly leaps out of my throat when I find the Follow Back button.
Just when the hell did he follow me?
Though he did mention that he saw my Inception-inspired painting and my stories earlier.
I run back to my notifications and find he liked a lot of my pictures. I scroll down and down, and holy hell, the crazy bastard liked all five hundred pictures I posted on Instagram.
Every single one.
An hour ago.
Isn’t that around the time I came back to the flat? Does that mean he didn’t continue his plan or am I just looking for excuses?
I return to his profile.
If I expected him to have about the same following as Nikolai, I’m terribly mistaken—it’s way more. Like two hundred thousand more.
Of course the prick is popular. No surprise there.