“Listen here, you motherfucker.” Killian’s clipped voice makes my stomach drop. “I have zero fucks to give about all your golden-boy actions, but touch what’s mine and I’ll make sure you pay the price tenfold. You know that, I know that, and your remaining functioning neurons will know that, too, before I knock them the fuck out. I’m well aware of what you’re trying to do and it’s not going to work, so how about you tuck your tail where it belongs, hmm?”
“I’d say it’s working perfectly. Look at all that rage, that fire, that destructive energy. How does it feel to lose the mask, little brother? You want to kill me, don’t you? You’ve fought against your nature for nineteen years—a whole nineteen years of blending in, fooling Mom and Dad, Grandpa, Aunt. Everyone. You did so well and slipped into the crowd effortlessly. You even became a good boy. A fucking social icon who everyone either wants to emulate or fuck, but that holds no meaning if you’re nothing more than a shell, does it?”
My lips part, trembling, and it’s definitely not due to the violence from a few moments ago. That looks like a kid’s game compared to this.
It’s like I’m witnessing two titans warring for a position on the sun. Gareth provoked Killian on purpose, as if he’s waited a long time to say that.
And the worst part is that Gareth shouldn’t be like this. He wasn’t born evil, but years of living with someone like Killian must’ve taught him a thing or two. And right now? He’s using the words he knows will hurt his brother the most.
But at the same time, is it really right to use someone’s weakness against him? How can we become different from manipulators and narcissists if we act the same way?
Killian’s upper lip lifts in a snarl before a cruel smirk takes over. “So what if I am a shell? What’s so grandiose about a core anyway? Should I get one like yours? Easily bruised, broken, and discarded? Easily…forgotten?”
All this time, Gareth has kept his hands by his sides, but now, he clutches Killian’s T-shirt with enough strength to make his biceps bulge. “You’re the one who’s easily forgotten. After all, your girlfriend prefers me.”
“That’s not true,” I say in a clear, surprisingly leveled voice. “I’m neither his girlfriend nor do I prefer either of you.”
In hindsight, I should’ve never gotten between brothers, not even if it’s about Devlin. There’s a lot of bad mojo about getting involved with brothers.
“Are you sure, Glyn?” Gareth is speaking to me, but his entire attention is on Killian. “Didn’t you tell me you wanted to see what my lips tasted like?”
My cheeks heat, but before I can say anything, Killian punches Gareth in the face so hard, blood splatters on the wallpaper.
I shriek, still unable to move, but I search either side of me for the bodyguards from earlier. None of them are in sight, or maybe they know by experience not to get involved in their quarrels.
“Touch her again and I’ll fucking kill you, Gareth. I’ll make it look like an accident and have my hand on Mom’s shoulder while she cries at your funeral. I’ll even become Dad’s golden boy and make him forget you ever existed. A few years from now, no one will visit your grave anymore and I’ll be the only child this time. You’ll be erased so effortlessly that not a memory of you will be left. So think carefully about that bleak ending next time you consider touching what’s fucking mine.”
I want to think this is an empty threat like the ones Remi makes all the time, but there’s no hint of joking in his tone.
There’s no hint of…second thoughts.
The fact that he probably meant every word he said forces me to take an automatic step backward, then another.
I don’t look at what’s behind me, scared that a mere blink will be enough to get me decapitated.
After a few steps, I turn around and run.
I have no clue where I’m going or how, but that doesn’t matter as long as I’m out of here. I run and run, probably looking like a lunatic, but I still can’t get away fast enough.
Or far enough.
I should probably make sure Gareth is okay, but it’s not like he’ll actually kill him. Besides, he survived Killian all these years, surely this one will slide, too.
Right?
My feet come to a halt soon after I round the corner. There’s no way I’m going back in there, but maybe I can find Jeremy or Nikolai and tell them to break the fight apart.
I’m not one step in when a merciless hand wraps around my neck and pushes me back so forcibly, the breath is knocked out of my lungs.
My spine hits a solid edge, a door, before it’s swung back and I’m thrust inside a bedroom.
“Where do you think you’re going, my little rabbit?”
Dark blue eyes crash into mine with the lethality of a natural disaster, a train wreck, and a war. Combined.
There’s no other word to describe Killian other than intense, and I’m right in the middle of his madness. The eye of the storm.
I claw at his wrist with my nails, even though he’s not squeezing. I just don’t want to be at his mercy—or the lack thereof.
“You want to fight? I’ll give you a reason to fight.” His hold tightens and he shoves his knee between my legs, slapping them apart and thrusting his thigh against my core. “I could choke the living fuck out of you right now, and there’s nothing you could do about it. Is that what you want, hmm?”
I try to shake my head, but I don’t know if it moves. The lack of oxygen turns me lightheaded. The good kind. The kind that throbs in my core and against his jeans.
Shit.
Please don’t tell me this is what I think it is.
My senses are heightened to an extent I’ve never felt before. My head thrums in an irregular rhythm causing my eyes to droop, but I can smell him deep in my bones. The woodsy, amber scent is no different than an intoxicating substance. Like alcohol.
Or drugs.
No, probably worse.
My stomach quivers as I inhale every painstaking drag, on and on, my belly drops and fills and empties in a rhythm I can’t keep up with.
But the worst part is that my hands that are clawing at any part I can reach, but I don’t think it’s to push him off me anymore. I just want the pads of my fingers on his skin, my blunt nails leaving marks on him as he does on me.
“Or maybe you’d like that.” He presses his thumb against my pulse point with the brutality of a savage animal. “Maybe being choked turns you the fuck on like it makes me fucking hard.”
I should be appalled by the suggestion, should try to scratch his eyes out, but something entirely different slips from my mouth.
A moan.
I want to find excuses, to say it’s a moan of pain, or discomfort, but I can’t think straight, let alone attempt to trick my brain.
Killian’s lips pull in a cruel smirk. He’s not happy about this, on the contrary, the anger from earlier is slowly gathering in the stormy blues of his eyes.
They’re a shade darker now.