Chapter 57

“If you’re not going to bed, I assume you’re going to check files and run the dates. Look for a connection. See who might be in bed with the Board.”

My body vibrates—pissed off and fucking dripping. “And if I am?”

Killian stops, smirking back at me. “I’ll help.”

Fisting my hands at my side, I wince with the pain. But it’s welcomed. It clears the fog, and I carefully pack up all those emotions. The walls build back up, and I ignore how utterly messed up he makes me.

Killian Linwood is the only man I’ve ever loved who understands this darkness inside me. Who doesn’t run from my demons, but embraces them as if they’re a piece of himself.

But if I give in, he’ll leave me a bloody mess of broken shards, too jagged to be put back together again. I can’t afford that attack.

“Don’t get in my way.”

KILLIAN

Her dark brown locks spill over my lap like shadowy hands, reaching for my soul.

I’d give it to her. Slice into my chest and pluck the dead organ from the gaping wound, and drop it at her feet like a good pet.

My fingers twirl the ends, smoothing them against my jeans. She doesn’t stir. Taking in her small nose, the wrinkled brow, I count how many lashes dust her pale cheek.

One hundred-forty-seven lashes, long and curled, flutter with each roll of her eye. A nightmare—they rarely leave her. I’ve spent more nights by her side as she fought back the demons that tried to take her to their bleakest depths. This is no different.

Gently, I wrap my hand into hers, squeezing once. A silent warning to her demons that she isn’t alone—that though I might not be inside her mind, sludging through the darkness, I am here. I will fightforher, lend her strength, and help her keep them at bay.

Her breaths slow, and those eyes still. Affectionately, I tap her nose and smirk as she snorts, annoyed. She hasn’t slept inmonths, and finally, after a fitful slumber, I can still get under her skin.

Picking up a folder, I scan the page, looking for the dates. We both agreed that a leak must be coming from someone with a connection to the men behind the Board—whether a cousin, a friend, or given a role out of a favor—and it’s likely someone who has been in the clan as long as us. Maybe longer.

Someone with a vendetta, whom the Board could exploit. Once we find them, we can focus on taking out Doyle and the Board. Maeve won’t be safe until all of them are dead.

Searching through the stack of papers meant too many names and not enough time. The clan is vast, with all kinds of players lurking in the shadows, ready to be called on for a favor. Some are runners, others enforcers. Some are simple soldiers, sent to give messages or protect a drop.

It could be anyone.

It took some convincing to get the folders from the woman on my lap. She doesn’t want to rely on me—she doesn’t want my help. Maeve’s always been independent—doing what she can to make things happen—but it’s the same bullshit from when we were kids. She’d hide her wounds, hide where they came from, and pray she could do it alone.

I had to fight to heal her. Weaker men might be annoyed with it—toss in the towel, give up. But that’s what makes Maeve special. She’s not some delicate mob wife, waiting for the knight to save her. She’s the warrior—and I’ll do whatever it takes for her to see that I’m on her side.

It could take the rest of my life, but I’ll make the stubborn woman see. I’ll still be here.

Fuck, at the end of the day, it’s the only thing she’s wanted. Someone to be there when the day ends, someone to see the scars and hold back the terrors, and to remind her of the strength inside of her heart.

I might fucking kill her before that happens. Nothing about Maeve and me is easy. But I’ll resurrect her to have her once more. Or she might kill me—that seems more pleasurable.

The phone on the coffee table vibrates, and I snatch it, expecting to see her genius brother. The bastard is a pain in the ass on a good day, but if he thinks his eldest sister is in trouble, he’ll move heaven and hell to help.

But it’s not Briar’s name I see. It’s fuckingReese’s.

Reese: Just thinking about you.

White-hot anger courses through my veins.

Another text comes in.

Reese: I haven’t heard from you in a few days. Are we still on for our lunch date?