51: Let The Bitch In
SERAPHINA
The IV pole slipped from my fingers with a clatter, but I barely heard it. The man lay crumpled on the floor, blood pooling around his head like a crimson halo. My pulse thundered in my ears, drowning out everything but the rising static in my skull.
Then the door jerked open. I didn't need to turn to know that it was him because it was easy to sense the hurricane of his presence.
The love of my life.
Killian.
My heart lurched, crashing hard against my ribs.
He stood in the doorway with his gun drawn, his eyes blazing intensely. And what undid me wasn't the power in his stance or the threat rippling beneath his tailored suit.
It was the look in his eyes.
Those impossibly blue eyes. Eyes that I had memorized once. They were locked onto mine.
And for a breathless second, the entire world went still.
We just... stared.
His gaze dragged over me, down my trembling body, the blood splattered on my hospital gown, the bruise blooming on my jaw, and the tension in my fists. He was terrifyingly calm.
A lump formed in my throat.
God, he'd always looked so unreal.
That midnight blue dress shirt outlined his muscular physique in a sexy way. The sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, revealing veins and sinew and the lethal strength beneath. His dark, nape-length hair was tousled and wild, a little longer than usual. And fuck, it suited him.
And those eyes...weren't filled with hatred towards me. It was him being merciful. Even though I didn't deserve it.
I forced out a shaky breath, my voice hoarse and rough from almost being suffocated to death. "He tried to kill me."
A weak smile tugged at my lips, but it didn't reach my eyes. I gestured at the body. "So I killed him first."
I watched for a reaction or a spark of the man I used to know. The one who used to call me his 'angel.'
But Killian didn't speak.
Instead, his jaw tightened.
He pressed two fingers to his earpiece and murmured something into it.
Then everything kicked into motion.
He stepped further into the room, glancing once at the body before snapping into command mode because for him, it was second nature.
"Secure the perimeter. Lock the floor. I want a full blackout. No media, no cops, no cameras. Send in cleanup and get rid of the goddamn security footage."
My chest tightened as grief and relief braided together into something painful.
He was alive.
And still so beautiful, it hurt to look at him.
A tear slipped down my cheek. I didn't bother to wipe it away.
He didn't notice.
But even as he barked orders, his body positioned itself protectively between me and the door.
He might not have said it.
But I saw it in the way he stood. He'd always protect me.
…
The ride was awkwardly silent. The city bled past the tinted windows in a blur of gold and neon, but I barely saw it. My eyes were glued to the man beside me.
Killian.
He sat like a statue, his legs slightly parted. His fingers were still stained faintly with blood. My blood?
I gulped.
Every breath I drew filled my lungs with his intoxicating scent, and it did nothing to soothe the storm inside me.
He hadn't looked at me once since we left the hospital.
I shifted in the seat. My hospital gown had been replaced with a soft black sweater and sweatpants someone had shoved at me. The fabric clung to my skin in all the wrong ways. I felt like I was drowning in my own body. There were too many memories, too many feelings, and Killian was just sitting there as if he didn't remember every time I used to ride him in this very backseat, moaning his name.
My fingers twisted in my lap, fresh tears stinging my eyes. I tried not to look at him. But I failed.
His jaw twitched. The muscle there flexed with a repressed emotion. Maybe anger, pain, or desire. I didn't know. I couldn't read him anymore.
"You hate me, don't you?" I asked with a shaky voice.
His head turned slightly. Not fully. Just enough to see me from the corner of his eye.
But he stayed silent.
"I'll tell you everything," I whispered, my voice breaking. "Just... please. You have to believe me. You have to believe I never wanted to hurt you. I—"
He still didn't speak. But his jaw clenched so tightly it looked painful.
I turned away, humiliated, brushing away the tear that slid down my cheek. I hated this.
The car finally halted. I moved to get out... and my knees buckled the moment I stood.
"Shit—"
The world tilted sideways. My body folded like paper. I was still loopy from the medications.
Strong arms caught me mid-fall.
His arms.
He pulled me against his chest with ease, one arm beneath my thighs, the other wrapped around my back. I gasped as his scent swallowed me whole, and for a second, I forgot how to breathe.
His heartbeat thudded against my cheek. I clutched at the front of his shirt instinctively.
Killian carried me into the house without hesitation.
I should've said something.
But his chest was warm beneath my cheek, and for the first time in what felt like forever, I didn't feel like I was about to break in half.
When we reached the sitting room, Killian's stride faltered.
Ethan was already there, dressed in an immaculate black suit.
The moment he looked up and saw us, something in his face shifted.
Killian lowered me gently onto the velvet couch before stepping back. I instantly missed his heat.
Ethan cleared his throat, but it wasn't just manners.
I had a feeling he had bad news to share.
"Boss..." he started.
Killian's posture straightened.
Ethan continued. "Vincent released a press statement. It's spreading like wildfire."
Killian's eyes narrowed. "What kind of statement?"
Ethan walked to the side table and grabbed the remote. "You'll want to see it yourself."
The flat screen flickered to life.
There he was.
Vincent fucking Storm.
Standing at a podium, flanked by bodyguards, displaying a false grief. His face was bruised, and there was a small bandage on his cheek. He looked like a man who had just survived a monster.
"My estranged wife, Alexa," he said solemnly, "attempted to murder me a few days ago. She stabbed me in cold blood and fled. I'm heartbroken. I don't know what changed her. But I want the public to know that I forgive her. I only hope she turns herself in."
I sat frozen on the couch. My hands clenched into tight fists, my nails digging into my palms.
Liar.
Fucking liar.
"I'm going to rip his tongue out through his throat," Killian murmured.
The news anchor's voice came on next, confirming the police were "investigating" and security footage from Vincent's estate had been mysteriously destroyed.
Ethan muted the TV.
"The press is eating it up," he said grimly. "Your face is everywhere, Alexa."
No.
Seraphina.
I wasn't Alexa anymore. And I wasn't running anymore, either.
"I want his fucking head," I snapped coldly. "I want to watch him bleed."
Killian turned to look at me, and he gave me a single nod, as though he understood without needing to speak.
But before he could say anything, the doorbell rang.
Ethan's head snapped toward the door. He moved over to the security monitor, his fingers ghosting over the console.
He froze.
Then he stepped back slowly.
His wide eyes met Killian's, and unease curled in my guts."
"Who is it?" Killian asked.
"It's...Arabella..."
My spine stiffened.
That cursed name.
The last time I’d seen her, she'd sworn she would bury me.
And now she was at our freaking door?
Rage detonated inside of me. "Let the bitch in."