Chapter 10

CHAPTER

TEN

Noah

There was no TV in the cabin, and Killian had smashed my phone. I'd have gone crazy if I'd had to stare at the walls any longer, so I'd dug up some pens and a sheet of old paper from the kitchen drawers. I preferred to work with paints, but I could make pens work in an emergency, which this was. I needed to draw Killian, like I needed to breathe him in, to taste him, to wrap myself around him and absorb him into my veins.

The grumpy asshole had gotten into my head, and my heart. But as tonight would be our last night together, I needed something of him to take with me.

The sketches started out rough. I tried to capture his ridiculously pretty eyes, then that snarling mouth and his lopsided smile, as though his face would crack if he managed a full, genuine smile.

With my head down, pen scribbling, the hours evaporated until it was dark again outside. The whole fold-out kitchen table was covered in pieces of Killian. Now, all I had to do was put all I'd learned together in his final portrait.

I leaned back and frowned at the black window. How long did it take to ask my father a question?

He could have called him, but Killian did everything face-to-face, said it was the only way to get the truth. What if my father hadn't liked how he'd asked, what if Killian was face down in the dirt somewhere? No, my father trusted him. He wouldn't turn on him so fast. Even if Killian had his own motives for everything .

I fixed a pot of coffee, gearing up to start the final drawing, and leaned against the kitchen counter.

He hadn't said what had happened to his lover, but it seemed pretty clear his man had gotten caught up in my father's crossfire—wrong place, wrong time. The Back Bay Mafia didn't give a shit for collateral damage. But they'd killed the wrong bystander in Killian's man. Because I knew that look in Killian's eyes now. He'd kill them all. It was a shame I wouldn't be around to see him drop my father to his knees and make him eat his gun.

The yard outside shimmered silver in the moonlight. No snowfall. Just clear skies.

Something glinted out there in the gloom between the trees, where the light didn't reach. I leaned over the sink—the same position Killian had me in last night. Goddamn, he'd fucked me like a jackhammer. I could still feel his hands on me, the twinge of soreness behind my balls. Damn, I wanted more, wanted forever?—

A short, sharp sound split the air. I spun sideways by someone or something grabbing my shoulder. Only there wasn't anyone in the kitchen. The coffee mug slipped from my hands and shattered. Heat, like boiling water, scorched down my left arm. I stumbled against the table, gasping. What—why was my shirt wet? I touched its dark gleam. My fingers came away glistening red. Blood . My blood.

The window—I saw it then, the hole. A shot.

I'd been shot.

Fuck!

The rifle… Where was the pedo's hunting rifle?!

I bolted toward the living room, heard the door blow open and slam against the wall, heard the thwump of a muffled gunshot. The cabin's wood walls splintered to my left, too close to my head. I veered right, flew into the bathroom, then slammed the door and locked it. "Fuck, fuck, fuck…" I hadn't even gotten a look at the guy.

"You're supposed to be dead, kid."

Simon? Fucking Simon?! I spun on the spot, searching for something to use as a weapon, something heavy I could swing, anything. Towels, soap, toilet paper—fuck, my arm throbbed.

"That flimsy door isn't going to stop me, so save us both some time and get out here."

The window! I flicked the latches, heaved it open, and shivered in a blast of cold. What was it Killian had said, I'd freeze to death in under an hour? My odds outside were better than in.

"Why are you doing this?" I called, sounding weak as the words stuttered between chattering teeth.

I grasped the window frame and heaved my upper body through. Fuck, it was cold, and the window gap was real small…

"It's not personal, I needed your father distracted and you were an easy target. But see, the whole Southie lie started to unravel. They got wind of it, told your father it was bullshit. Imagine that, Southies and Back Bays fucking talking, like we aren't enemies now?" He laughed. "I was supposed to make a shit-ton of cash, but this bullshit with you made them twitchy, made them think I was setting 'em up. Then I got to wondering if Val was onto me. So, where the fuck was Killian, right? He's the attack dog, was he about to tear into me? And you know what I find out? Nobody had seen Killian for days, not since he was given the kill order for Noah King. Then I'm thinking, what if Killian was always onto me from the get-go, and he didn't kill you? What if he was setting me up? And here we are. Killian's got you hidden away up here while he comes after me. He figured it out and told you all of it, didn't he? You and him think you're so fucking smart. Except, I got you now, and when he comes back, I'll finish him too."

It hadn't been like that. Killian would have killed me, if he hadn't wanted to fuck me instead. We hadn't known anything until we'd started talking. But now the whole kill Noah King shit made sense.

The bathroom door rattled. Stuck half out of the window, I wiggled my hips through, inch by inch. At least Simon liked the sound of his own voice. He could tell me his whole fucking life story, just so long as he stayed behind that door to tell it.

"Fucking open up!"

Just a bit more… I dangled upside down, reaching toward the ground. Blood dripped from my fingers. That was bad, wasn't it? It was a lot of blood. And I couldn't feel my left arm so much now.

The door banged again. Fuck, fuck, fuck. The window let go of my hips. I fell and crumpled in the snow, then scrambled to my feet and dashed for the tree line. It didn't seem all that cold. It would be fine. I'd run for the road, and someone would pick me up.

Several inches of crushed snow cover hid divots and tree roots, trying to trip my every step. I stumbled on, wincing as pain twinged my arm. It was fine, just had to get to the road… Just find the road…

"You dumb fuck!" Simon hollered.

A shot pinged off a tree somewhere close by. I ran into the gloom, veering left and right around stark tree trunks. Snow clung to my shoes, my legs, weighing me down. Where was the fucking road?! It had to be here somewhere. Trees stood upright, like prison bars. Trees in every direction. No road.

It was here. It had to be.

"You're dying out here, Noah! Like the piece of worthless shit you are. Give up now. Save us both this bullshit."

His voice bounced through the trees, coming from all around. I didn't know which way the cabin was, just knew to keep moving away from my own tracks in the snow. Tracks he'd follow. Fucking snow. My trail couldn't have been more obvious if I were wearing a fucking neon sign.

Hurrying on, I stumbled around trees, fell over hidden divots, and dropped down a bank that had rushed up out of nowhere, coming to rest under a fallen tree by a half-frozen brook.

Fuck, everything felt heavy. I shivered so damn hard all my bones ached. But I needed to move, to walk down the brook, to hide my tracks.

I pushed off my ass, to my feet, and lurched into water so cold my ankles burned. It was fine, it was all fucking fine… I had to keep moving, just keep moving, and find the road.

Just find the road.

Just run.