Chapter 42

“You should,” he agrees, full lips twitching against the pain. Grabbing the hilt, his hand digs it further against his skin, red beading up at the wound. “If anyone can kill me, it’d be you.”

“Where did you put Bruno?”

His eyes bounce between mine. “Left him with the boys. They’ll make sure he’ll get home.”

“You should’ve let me kill him.” Heat rises from where I’m pressed against him, his hard cock painfully digging into me. I ignore it. “I should kill you instead.”

“I’m not stopping you.” His smirk challenges me. “Feeling bloodthirsty, Princess? I’m not complaining, but I wonder if yourboyfriendwould like this side of you.”

Coldness sweeps over me at the mention of Reese. I saw the disgust in his eyes—directed at me. He thought I couldn’t handle myself in this neighborhood—thought I was weak.

Pulling back, Killian’s hands clamp down on my hips, holding me still. It’s only then I look down and notice how hiscock strains against his jeans. How high my skirt is lifted. How his nails rake into my sides, anchoring me to him.

“You’re going to break him,” he murmurs, pulling me flush to his chest. My hands slip, and more blood seeps from the wound. He doesn’t react. “You’re going to walk all over that sweet puppy with big, soft, brown eyes. He’s too weak for what you need.”

Scoffing, I grab the last dregs of my rage, ignoring how damp I’m growing between my thighs. How Killian’s eyes seem to see it, peering down between our bodies.

“And let me guess. You know what I need?”

That smirk turns dangerous. “You need passion. And lust.” His hands crush my skirt, the stylizedVitaandMors—life and death—daring to rip the fabric from me. “You need someone who would fucking kneel for the chance to taste your pussy, someone who will fuck you against the wall to chase away the bad dreams. You need blood and carnage, and someone who will bask in it with you.”

Licking his bottom lip, he pries a hand from me, lifting my chin. Gooseflesh breaks out over my spine, and my nipples pebble through my shirt.

“Stop.” It’s a plea. I fucking hate it.

Stop making me feel like this—out of control, needy, weak.

“And you need someone who haunts the dark with you. Who will hold you when the demons come for your soul.” His thumb pulls on my bottom lip. “Someone who will battle them back while you rest. Who knows what it took for you to gain them. Someone who isn’t afraid ofyou.”

Ripping away, I look out the window; the glass foggy. Snow drifts around us; the night sky is a canvas of white, swirling clouds, and I exhale.

“I had that,” I mutter, words rough. My throat burns with the emotions I can’t express. “Then you left.”

“You never let me explain.”

“What’s there to explain?” I glare at him, the knife still at his throat. A flash of a thought—plunging it deep, strikes me. I could do it—end this. It’d make life easier.

But I can’t.

“You left.” The knife drops to his chest, stained with his blood. “You promised to stay, I told you I loved you,and you still left. That’s all there is to it.”

A muscle moves, his jaw cracking with pressure. “He doesn’t deserve you.”

“And you do?” I try to pull away, but Linwood still won’t let me move.

“No,” he says, laughing. “I don’t fucking deserve an ounce of attention from your beautiful face, Princess. But I’ll work every single day to earn you. Every singlefuckingday.”

Wrestling with him, I slide away, his arms like steel. Pulling my skirt down, his hand snakes out, vicious and brutal, grabbing my hair. Pain bites into my skull as he wrenches me closer.

“Why are you with him, hmm?” he asks, breath fanning my face, harsh and angry. “We both know you could fuck anyone—men would line up for the opportunity—but instead, you choose that fucking precious accountant. Why?”

Teeth clenched, I mutter, “Maybe I like him?”

His nose brushes my cheek, and he grins. It’s not pretty. “You don’t like anyone. I’ll tell you why you’re with him, Princess. It’s not because he’s handsome or kind. It’s not because he spews poetry as he fucks you to boredom. It’s because somewhere in that delusional heart, you think you can hide from this world with him. You think you can be normal—sweet, precious. You think you can hide your scars in that fantasy and pretend you were never hurt. That you don’t carry these burdens.”

He tugs me closer, and I gasp. “But I’ll let you in on a little secret. You were hurt. You carry these scars. And I fuckingseeyou.” He shakes me. “And so help me, I won’t let you hide. Not from the world and not from fucking me.”

“Stop,” I breathe, heart shattering, falling like fresh snow to the floorboards.