Chapter 17 Chapter Seventeen
Kian.
FEW MINUTES BACK.
I stormed out of the office like the door had personally offended me, letting it slam so hard the frame rattled. The sound bounced down the hallway and I kept walking really fast, with my boots hitting tile like I was trying to outrun my own fucking head.
Anger wasn’t just pulsing through me; it was living in my chest, clawing at my ribs every time I inhaled. I hated every single thing about the last twenty minutes.
I hated the way Fianna could look at me like I was dirt under her nail and still make my pulse kick like I had just sprinted ten blocks.
I hated that razor tongue of hers. Every one of her words hit so deep. How the fuck did she manage to do that everytime?!
I hated that I couldn’t stop replaying the way her breath hitched when I caged her against the wall, the way her pupils blew wide even while she was spitting venom.
I hated, most of all, that I had turned the goddamn car around last night instead of walking up Sasha’s stairs, kicking her door in, and burying every ounce of this confusion between someone else’s thighs.
Drama. I fucking loathe drama. Always have. My life used to be clean lines. Business, blood, sleep, repeat. No feelings. No second-guessing. No woman who could unravel me with one glare and one lie about Finn seeing her half-naked.
And yet here I was, my heart still hammering from a fight that wasn’t even physical, my throat tight from words I never should have said, and my cock half-hard just from the memory of her skin under my palm when I had held her throat.
I shoved through the stairwell door, took the steps down two and three at a time until I hit the basement level. The air down here always smelled like motor oil, stale beer, and gunpowder residue.
Finn was there, leaning against the blacked-out Range Rover, with phone to his ear, murmuring low into it. He didn’t see me coming.
I didn’t give him time to.
My hand fisted the back of his jacket, I spun him and drove him back into the cinderblock wall so hard the air punched out of his lungs in a sharp grunt. Before he could suck in another breath my right hand punched him hard right across the cheekbone. His head snapped sideways.
He clutched his face, blood welling fast from the split skin. “What the fuck is your problem?!”
I grabbed his collar with both hands, yanked him forward until our noses almost touched.
“What the fuck is your problem?” My voice came out low, dangerous, shaking with the effort not to hit him again. “Why the hell would you run your mouth to Fianna about where I went last night?”
He shoved at my chest, but I didn’t budge an inch.
“So this is about her?” Disbelief twisted his features, blood trickling down to his lip. “Jesus Christ, Kian. Did I lie to her? I told her the fucking truth! You left. You went to see someone. That’s it. End of story.”
I let go of his collar like it burned. He stumbled back half a step, wiping blood off his mouth with the back of his hand.
I pointed one rigid finger at the center of his chest. “I’m so fucking tired of this, Finn. You need to stop acting like a crazy motherfucker. Let Fianna be. She doesn’t want anything to do with us, with you, and every time you open your mouth you are just handing her more reasons to hate us. I’m done. Mind your goddamn business and get your head straight for tonight. We’ve got actual problems bigger than your bruised fucking ego.”
I turned on my heel and walked away. Didn’t look back. Didn’t wait for whatever comeback he was swallowing.
He was protecting me, I knew that. Deep down I knew. Finn had taken knives for me, caught bullets that were meant for my chest, lied to cops with my name in his mouth. Loyalty like that doesn’t come with an off switch.
But this?
This wasn’t protection.
This was fueling some stupid drama.
And the worst, most pathetic part? I had felt the urge to explain myself to her. To watch those wide eyes soften for half a second when I told her I hadn’t fucked anyone else last night. We weren’t anything. Forced proximity. A bad arrangement. She didn’t deserve a single word from me.
So why the hell had I given them?
Why the hell had I turned the car around outside Sasha’s building, sat there gripping the wheel until my knuckles went white, and driven back to the club like some lovesick idiot?
I dragged both hands down my face as I hit the main corridor again. My life two weeks ago had been simple. No one lived rent-free in my head. No one made my chest feel like it was caving in every time they walked out of a room.
PRESENT.
The door creaked open maybe ten minutes later after Fianna left.
Finn.
His eye was already purpling, lid swelling shut, lip fat and crusted with drying blood. He looked like roadkill that had been dragged a few extra miles for fun.
I stared blankly at him.
He sighed heavily, and sank onto the couch across from me. His head was bowed for a second like he was gathering pieces of himself.
“Fine,” he muttered eventually. “I get it. I’ve been pushing too fucking hard lately.”
I didn’t speak.
He rubbed the back of his neck, careful not to touch the bruising. “You know I have never had a single problem with any woman you’ve taken to bed. Never said a word. Never cared. But Fianna…” He shook his head once. “She gets under my skin in a way I can’t explain. Riles me up. Makes me want to push until something breaks.”
“Ignore her,” I said.
He nodded slowly. “I’m sorry, man. For real. I will step back. No more comments. No more stirring shit.”
“I would appreciate that.”
Finn lifted his head, gingerly touched the swelling under his eye and winced. “Did you really have to hit me that fucking hard? You damn near destroy my face.”
I shrugged one shoulder. “You clearly needed the reminder to behave. I’ve got enough shit on my plate without adding Fianna drama to the fucking equation.”
He huffed a laugh, and half grimace. “Fair.”
I pushed back from the desk. “We should get moving. I need a fucking break after tonight.”
“Yeah,” he muttered, standing. “Let’s go.”
Half an hour later we were cutting through the city, windows cracked, smoke curling out into the night. I lit another cigarette, took a long drag, let the burn settle in my lungs.
“I will handle this one myself,” I told him as he killed the engine outside the ten-story shit-box apartment block.
Finn frowned, glancing up at the building. “You sure? Matt is a runner and a slippery fucker.”
I exhaled smoke in a slow stream. “I’ve got it. Stay here and inform me if anything looks suspicious from out here.”
He nodded once. “Be careful.”
I stepped out, flicked the cigarette to the pavement, crushed it under my boot. The building stared down at me, peeling paint, flickering entry light, the kind of place that smelled like despair before you even crossed the threshold.
The elevator was dead.
I took the stairs since it was just the fourth floor. Halfway up the last flight I heard a door open and then a lady’s laugh. Matt stepped into the hallway, his arm slung around a girl in a dress so short it was basically a belt.
He saw me.
Color drained from his face like someone who had seen death. But he wasn’t wrong.
I kept walking. When I reached them I stopped, looked at the girl.
“Leave,” I said quietly. “Unless you want this to be your last fuck.”
Her eyes went wide. She clutched her purse to her chest like it could shield her, then bolted past me, her heels clacking frantically down the hall.
Matt tried to back up, but I closed the distance in one stride, fisted his collar, and shoved him backward through his own open door. He stumbled, hit the floor hard on his ass, already whimpering.
“Please—Kian—man, I can explain—”
I crouched in front of him, my forearms resting on my thighs. The apartment stank of sweat, cheap body spray, sex, spilled beer. My stomach turned.
“What do people call me?” I asked, voice soft.
He swallowed really hard. “D-Diabhal.”
I nodded like I was impressed. “You know my number-one rule, yeah?”
He nodded so fast his head looked like it might fall off. “You don’t joke about your money.”
A slow, dark smile curled my mouth. “I love when people know me… and still fuck with me anyway.”
I stood, looking around for a quick weapon.
There, I saw a metal baseball bat leaning against the wall by the couch like it had been waiting for me. I walked over slowly. One step. Two. Let him hear the boots. Let him feel the seconds stretch.
He tried to scramble backward.
I turned, with the bat already in hand. He opened his mouth, probably to beg but I didn’t let him as I swung hard. The crack of aluminum on his skull was loud, and wet. He screamed, his hands flying to his head. Blood streamed from his ear immediately and it made me happy.
I stepped forward, planted my boot on his right hand, twisted until I felt the small bones grind and snap.
“You had the fucking audacity to run with my money?” I snarled, my voice dropping low, lethal. “How dare you? Don’t you want your mother to have a son to bury her?”
He sobbed loudly. “I’m sorry—I’ll get it—I swear—please—”
I laughed so cold and empty.
“On a normal day?” I said, twirling the bat once, lazily. “I would take my time. I would enjoy it. Peel you apart slowly. Listen to you beg until your voice gives out. Watch the light leave your eyes inch by inch.”
His whole body shook.
“But I’m not in a good mood tonight.”
His eyes went wide, screaming fear. “Second chance—please.”
I raised the bat.
“I don’t do second chances.”
I loved that look. The way pupils blow black. The way the bladder lets go sometimes. The way they finally understand there is no out. I loved killing. I loved the smell of blood. I loved watching life drain out of her eyes. It made my night so fucking good.
I brought the bat down.
Once.
The sound was of wet meat and breaking bone.
Twice.
His skull gave with a sickening crunch.
Again.
Blood sprayed as warm flecks hitting my cheek, my jacket.
Again.
And again.
Until the wet, meaty thuds replaced screams.
Until his hair and scalp parted and white bone showed through blood.
Until his head split open like overripe fruit and gray-pink brain matter glistened on cheap carpet.
I stood over what used to be Matt Kelly, my chest heaving, bat dripping with blood in my hand.
For the first time in hours the noise in my skull went quiet.
I let the bat fall with a clatter of metal on the floor.
I wiped my face with the sleeve of my jacket and smiled at my work of art.