CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

Icheck my phone for the tenth time since I woke up.

Nothing.

"What's taking him so long?" My eyes roam over the food in the fridge before slamming the door shut. I'm not hungry. Not one fucking bit. "Christopher shouldn't be this hard to find. I'm going to fire Max."

"Calm the fuck down. It's half past six. In the morning." Killian's warm hand lands on my shoulder from behind. "Give it time. He'll find him."

"Time?" I twist to him, taking a step back. His touch is a distraction I can't afford right now. "Every second that passes, I'm closer to losing my mind."

Bare-chested Killian doesn't flinch at my tone. He levels me with his Stop being a brat glare. The same one I've known since I was a kid.

It won't work.

My fists clench, my fingernails bite into my skin. I grind my jaw and revel in the sound my molars make. That of hate.

"I need…" Red seeps into the corners of my vision.

I take a deep breath, inhaling the faint scent of Killian's cologne and the coffee he's holding.

A little better.

Who the fuck am I kidding? I'm nowhere near better.

"I need to slash into that motherfucker's chest. Carve out his heart." My voice is a low, menacing growl. "I need him to suffer. Cut his ear off and feed it to him."

"Carter." Killian's eyes flicker upstairs, where Amara sleeps.

The only person who can calm me long enough for me to fuck her. To love her.

"Only when he's vomiting and having a seizure. When he's crying for his mother," I continue, ignoring the warning in his tone. "That's when I'll let it go. I'll watch him die, and my laugh will be the last thing he hears. That's what I need."

Violating Amara, using my knife on her, it helped for as long as I was inside her. The thrumming anger beneath my skin nipped at me while I was sleeping. Wouldn't let me rest.

By the time I woke up, my homicidal urges reached their peak.

No one threatens my family and gets to keep their life. Fucking no one.

"Cut it out." Killian places his finished coffee on the counter. "For her. You have to calm down for a few more hours. We have the—"

"I will not calm down." Cyclone is still up in our bedroom. I turn, stalk to our knife block, and grab another, inferior knife.

"Carter, we're giving her the—"

Killian continues to try to talk some sense into me.

Truthfully, I don't really hear any of it.

Blood rushes between my ears. The wrath in me seeks an outlet. I spin, spin, spin the knife between my fingers as Killian watches. He doesn't take a step back, as most people would. I'll never hurt Killian, and he knows it.

Three, two, one seconds pass.

Better.

I'm still mad, just not as deafened by the rage. Killian sees through me and prowls forward. One moment I have the knife, the other he steals it from me, slamming it back next to his coffee.

"He could see what she means to us," I growl. "Every second he's breathing means she's in danger."

Killian and I are practically bumping heads. Two bulls ready to fight.

"No one's going to hurt her. Make no mistake, Carter, Christopher is a walking dead man." The violence of Killian's words helps to soothe me further. "We have people on him. Until then, we stick to the plan. We're giving her the"—he whips his head back and then to me again when he doesn't see Amara there—"shop. She deserves this happiness. Christopher won't steal it from her."

"We have a more important gift to give her." I slam my palm at his chest. "Her safety. Her honor. Hand her his head on a motherfucking plate."

"We will." Killian's brown eyes darken into a dangerous shade of black. "Or are you suggesting I don't care for her safety?"

"I'm suggesting you don't look as freaked out as I am about her going to work today."

"Don't I?" He grabs my hand, pinning it over his heart. It beats wildly. Like that of a madman. He releases my hand once he witnesses that I get it. "I care. I care about other things too. She's been stressing over the shop for long enough. Luna's wedding is behind us. We have everything set. This is happening, and it's happening today."

"He killed one of our own, Kill. It took guts." Through my ever-growing cloud of rage, I remember this isn't Killian's fault. One person is responsible. Christopher. "He's got nothing to lose. We have everything."

Killian nods, backing off. I won't apologize for getting in his face. Amara is helpless against the trained hitman. He's stronger than her. More qualified at killing people.

He'll catch and kill her. Unless we catch him first.

"You know as well as I do that he wasn't just threatening us." My brow furrows, my guts churning. "When he said he was coming for us, he meant her. He's coming for us through Amara."

Killian nods again, his expression grim.

"I already talked to Snake." Our head of security, who is still owed a long talk regarding his failure. "He's sending one of his guys to tail Amara. He'll go undercover. But, Carter…"

His lips twist. I can tell it's coming.

Deep breath. Don't go for the knife. Patience, patience, motherfucking patience.

"You have to tell her."

"Tell me what?"

Both our heads whip toward the woman standing on the landing of our second floor. Amara wears one of Killian's plain black T-shirts, her blond hair an adorable tangled mess.

When she leans on the railing, her tits push against it. My eyes drag along her naked legs. Instead of wondering if she has her panties on, I worry how long she's been up there.

She's smiling. She should be mad that we were trying to hide something from her, but no. Our Amara is smiling. Her lips curve into a mesmerizing shape, and I smile back.

"Morning, beautiful girl," Killian breaks the silence, his voice hoarse. He moves to stand next to me but doesn't take his eyes off her.

"Morning." She kicks her foot back, twirling a knotted lock around her finger. "What do you have to tell me?"

There's a new edge to her voice. What did she overhear?

I'll tell her about the blood we shed and the world we live in soon. I make a vow to myself that I'll stop being such a chickenshit and tell her soon.

Just not today.

I'm sick with worry for her safety. I wouldn't be able to handle her leaving us too.

Fuck that.

I'm winging it.

"Why don't you come down here and find out?"

As if sensing what I'm about to tell her, Amara sprints down the stairs. Barrels toward us. We're practiced in her manic runs and brutal hug attacks. We're ready for her, our arms are open, one on each side. Our bodies stay firm when Amara clashes with us.

She tilts her head up to get her kiss from him, then me. She smells of minty toothpaste and us. Her love seeps through. I start thinking I might've imagined the change in her. Our manic little ray of sunshine.

"Well?" She puts some distance between us, bouncing on her toes. Her breasts bounce with the movement.

Tempting.

Later.

"Remember your jerk parents?"

That opening sentence lands me a surprised laugh out of Amara and an elbow to my ribs from Killian.

"He's not wrong." She rubs Killian's shoulder. "They are jerks.

His gaze turns to her, the love in his eyes unmistakable. When neither of us speaks, Amara sniffs out his coffee. She nudges herself between us, grabs his mug, and sips the cold liquid.

"What about them?" Two gulps later, she drains what's left in the mug. "They haven't been taking my calls. Are they dead?"

The way she sounds hopeful. This girl never ceases to amaze me.

"They haven't been available for a reason." Killian cups the side of her cheek. "We warned them against it."

"I—uh—um—what? Why?" Her startled gaze darts frantically between us. Then her lips purse. "I have to talk to them. They haven't evicted me yet. When they find a buyer, though, they will. Killian, I have to know these things. This isn't right. Please, tell them to call me. I need to—I have to—"

I stop her rambling by pinching her pierced nipple. This calms her. She gapes at me, quiet as her cheeks blush.

"You don't need them for anything. You have us, remember?" I twist her nipple, and she shrieks. Beautiful. "We know what's going on with the building. It's been sold. Well, more like a given. As a courtesy gift."

"To us," Killian—who's less emotionally sadistic than I am—rushes to tell her.

"To you?" she starts. "Why would they?"

This wasn't how we planned on telling her. We planned to order takeout. Light candles. Make a big thing of it.

Plans changed the moment she caught us.

"We told them they're assholes. Said giving you the shop would be a nice way to apologize for years of being a poor excuse for parents. They agreed. I forged your signature, and now it's yours, pet." I slide my hand beneath Kill's T-shirt she's wearing, grab her hip, and drag her ass back to us. "The building and hence the shop is all yours."

"I…" She puts away the empty mug.

Killian and I remain quiet. Letting her process the news.

I'm not sure what I expect. For her to run off and call Opal? Be mad at us for throwing money at her? For forging her signature?

"I don't have to talk to them anymore?"

Killian brushes her hair back. "Unless you want to."

"No, she can't." My answer is firm and definite. "They're done. Out of the picture for good."

"For real?" Her face betrays nothing.

She could cry and beg to talk to them for all I care. My reply still would be, "Yes, for real."

Three.

Two.

One.

Her scream pierces our ears. In the best kind of way. Unable to contain her excitement, she jumps into our warm bodies again. Killian recovers fast, gripping her hips, twists her to him, and lifts her in the air. Her bare thighs lock around Killian's waist, her fingers clawing at his scruff.

I'm not jealous. He has her now. I'll get her kinky little ass the next time.

We've got a lifetime of madness together.

"You're happy?" I stroke her hair, and she turns her head to me.

"You made my fucking year." She reaches out to me, and I bite her on her delicious fingers. This makes her smile widen. "Both of you. Thank you."

"You're welcome." Killian carries her to the island, lowering her there. "You won't have to worry about being evicted ever again. The other apartments are also yours to do with what you please."

"I'll pay you back," she promises us, her voice vehement. "For your trouble. How much?"

"No." Killian's no-nonsense voice means it's fucking final.

"Why not? If she insists…"

They both turn to look at me. Killian glowers. Amara's eyebrows shoot up, her eyes focused, ready to memorize the number.

I return them a wicked smile.

"You let us bind you with a chain from the ceiling. Do everything and anything we'd like."

Amara's eyes narrow. And darken. "Still doesn't sound like I'm the one paying you back."

"That's as far as we're willing to go." Killian fixes the hard-on in his sweatpants while checking the clock in the kitchen. "We'll be depositing last month's rent back into your account."

Her brows furl. "I thought my parents cashed it in?"

"We might or might not have persuaded them to wire it back to us." I loop one of her locks around my finger. "Hence, to you. We just held on to it for as long as it was a secret."

"I don't want it. Keep the money. Like an attorney's fee." She pouts when I shake my head. "It's too much. You guys are too much."

"You're ours." Killian grabs her cheek, his fingers pressing into her soft skin. "We take care of what's ours. Besides, we believe in your shop. We know you'll do incredible things with it, and we want to be there when it happens. No more arguing, then. Understood?"

She considers his words. I watch her brain in action, her rapid blinking as she figures out what to do next. While scrunching her nose.

"You're nervous," I note, tugging on her bottom lip. "You shouldn't be. The shop is yours, no strings attached. But it doesn't mean you can ever get away from us. If you'd ever consider leaving us, though, I'm hunting you down, A. You'll be our prisoner until you realize you belong with us."

She wraps her fingers around mine, whispering, "Is that a promise?"

"It's a vow." Killian kisses the top of her head. "We'll talk more this evening. After work."

Work. Christopher.

Amara's joy has erased my earlier worries.

I don't even want to go out there and slaughter Christopher. Just stay here for fucking ever.

But we have a hotel to run. A Christopher to kill.

It hurts to stop touching her. Them. We do it anyway.

"Wait." Her lips pinch together, arms crossed over her chest.

"Yes?" Killian cocks an eyebrow.

"Is that all you have to tell me?"

My heart jackhammers in my chest. The blood drains from my face.

She heard us. Every word.

No. I refuse to believe that. I'm not bringing our hotel up, either. Killian was right, I need my mind clear to handle Christopher.

"You're riding with me today," I fill in the tense silence.

She opens her mouth, then slams it shut. "Okay."

I'll figure out what's going on. Maybe she's trying to gather the courage to tell us something.

Maybe she's pregnant.

Maybe our semen gave her pills a big fuck you.

A son or a stepson slash stepbrother. We could have that. With her.

Fuck, I want that.

I want a ton of those.

We'll have them. A million kids.

Soon. Soon, soon, soon.