My fingers brush against the cool metal just as the spit-slick head of his cock slides between my ass cheeks.
I whirl around, pressing the barrel of the gun against his cock. It’s a fast move that sends him off balance, but the bald shock in his eyes, the way he freezes, tells me he can feel the cold steel.
“Touch me again,” I sneer, flicking off the safety, “and I’ll blow your goddamn dick off.”
Both of his hands dart into the air and he takes a step back. It really takes the steel out of the stern look he gives me. “If you know what’s good for you, you’ll put that gun away.”
I keep it aimed at his pelvis, extending my arms just the way Killian taught me. “Oh, really? Why’s that?”
His dick is still hanging out, hard and pointed right at me. “Daniel has all the dirt he needs to ruin your life. Adding in the assault of a respected school administrator?” He begins lowering his hands, tsking. “No one will believe it’s self-defense. I’m a cornerstone of Forsyth’s community, and what are you? Like I said. Just another whore.”
White hot rage pulses through me, a burning hatred that’s been growing and growing for years, winding itself around my lungs like a sickness. It’s a combination of exhaustion and pain, adrenaline and hurt. Everything he said… it all makes sense. ‘You were always so pure,’ ‘I never forget,’ ‘just another whore,’ ‘four years, Sweet Cherry.’
That’s why I know.
I finally have him in front of me.
Ted.
I cock the hammer, letting the telltale click fill the room. “You’ve terrorized me for years. You’ve abused me, you’ve stalked me, you followed me halfway across the country to fuck with my head, to terrify me, to ruin my fucking life!” His eyes never leave the barrel, but I see the crease appear on his forehead.
Behind him, the door suddenly bursts open, swinging so violently that it bangs against the wall and recoils back.
Killian stops it with his foot.
There’s a moment of awareness as Cartwright turns.
Killian shifts his gaze between my red face, the gun, and Cartwright’s dick.
When I speak, it’s a message. Not just to Cartwright or Killian. To myself. “You won’t control me anymore, Ted. This is done.”
Killian reacts with stunning immediacy, lifting the ten pound crystal award and bashing it into Cartwright’s jaw. The crack of his bone crumbling rings sickeningly in my ears, but despite my flinch, I don’t lower the gun. It’s trained on him like a guided missile, jerking to the left when he rears up to tackle Killian, then to the right when Killian dodges, tackling Cartwright instead.
He takes him to the ground and straddles him, teeth bared as he pulls a fist back and buries it into Cartwright’s cheek. What happens next can only be described as a brutal assault. Punch after punch, Killian red-faced and huffing as his fist rears back only to return, knuckles meeting bone and teeth. The lurching shift of his muscles, the grunts that tear from his chest with each hammering hit, the harsh lines of his face, the lava-bright brilliance of his eyes…
It’s raw, animalistic power, and I’m struck with a thought that takes my breath away.
Killian has never been more gorgeous.
Blood sprays from Cartwright’s mouth, sending droplets all over Killian’s white shirt, and the explosion of hate-hurt-mine-beautiful in my chest gains a new companion. Fear.
Killian has murder in his eyes.
This isn’t how we beat Ted. Not here, with witnesses, in the middle of a plan to take down Daniel. This is sloppy and impulsive, and it’s up to me to salvage it. To approach the feral animal in front of me. To bring him back.
In the end, it only takes two words.
I drag in a shaky inhale, my voice a quiet, jagged whisper. “Big brother…”
Killian swings his fist, but pulls it back a hair’s breadth away from making contact. It trembles, the tattoos over his knuckles almost unreadable through the blood and swelling. I’m worried at first it won’t be enough, but he surprises me, opening his fist and pushing his hair back. There’s a silent moment, Killian breathless and stiff, before he bends to spit in Cartwright’s mangled face.
“That’s for Vivienne, you motherfucker.”
He lumbers to his feet, but wobbles, body solid and almost too much to support when I rush to him. It doesn’t take long for him to find his footing, though, turning to me with a dark, tense expression. Wordlessly, he reaches up to brush his fingertips over my cheek. “He put his fucking hands on you.”