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“None of your fucking business.” I keep going, walking faster as I pull my keys from my pocket.
“We both know it is,” Triston is still behind me.
“I’ll take care of it.”
“No,” Triston grabs my shoulder. “We need?—”
I spin and swing, clipping my brother in the jaw. He stumbles back, not expecting the hit. Good. He needs to understand something. No one is touching Chloe. And I will fight anyone who tries.
That’s when I see Mason standing outside the door, his arms crossed as he assesses us both.
I don’t need to ask to know what he’s thinking. I’m a volatile guy. Mason is a man with unlimited resources. If he decided I was a problem…
But I’m not going to worry about that yet. One issue at a time.
I take the stairs down to the garage two a time, getting into my Pilot and weaving through traffic until I reach the loft.
I can hardly contain my twitching as I step into the elevator.
I barrel through my front door, slamming the door closed again, the sound echoing through the loft. I find Rush standing in the middle of the living room, worry drawing every line of his body tight.
“Chloe,” I call out, walking past him and down the hall, into my room.
Rush follows. “I told her I only meant that you hit him, but I don’t think she believed me.”
“I have too many brothers,” I growl.
His phone rings, and he stops in the hall to answer. I keep going, closing the bedroom door and locking it, before I move to the door to the bathroom, raising my fist and knocking. “Chloe.”
Silence meets my call, and I go from uneasy to fucking frightened. “Open the door or I’ll break it down.”
“Killian,” she cries back. “Don’t make me.”
The sound of her voice calms me. “I just want to know you’re all right.”
“Are…are you…promise you’re not going to touch…”
My skin crawls. Is she really asking if I’d hurt her? I try to remind myself that she’s got history, but it fucking cuts deep inside that she thinks I am the kind of violent that I would hit a woman. “Is that what you think of me?”
The door unlocks and she cracks it open, her eyes red and puffy. “I don’t know what to think.”
“Why? What is it you think I’ve done?” I want to hear her say it.
“I don’t know. I don’t know what you’ve done,” she cries. “That’s the point. We’ve been moving way too quickly. How do I know?—”
My chest caves in. “What do you mean?”
“I thought I could do this because you were honest. Because I knew where I stood. But I don’t know a thing, do I?”
The truth is that she’s right. She has no idea about my past, or even most of what I do in the present. I’m crazy and she’s messed up.
There is no world where we work. I smack my hand against my forehead, letting out a deep cry of frustration.
Because despite all that, she’s the only person who I think might actually see good in me, and I can’t lose her.
Chloe looks at me the way everyone looks at me. Like I’ve lost my mind. Like I’m crazy. “Don’t look at me like that,” I snap.
“Like what?” she asks, her voice just above a whisper.