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I didn’t think Killian was either. My mistake because Killian has decided that Chloe is the woman he wants to fight for and if he thinks I’m Chloe’s enemy, there isn’t anything he won’t do, any length he won’t go.
Here is the thing, Mason can outmaneuver us all in business. He’s smart and savvy and even more motivated to conquer the world now that he’s married.
But Killian, with his disregard of the rules, his emotional simplicity, and his ability to stay in the shadows, he could take Mason down with a single stroke of his hand. The Kincaids topple, just like that.
I’ve always known that Killian is the most dangerous of us all. And what he needs right now is my allegiance. I get it.
I leave his bedroom and cross the living room, shaking my head at the damage. It’s insane. Glass is everywhere, holes littering the walls, cabinets, and tile.
In the corner stands Chloe’s easel. The painting is turned away from me, but I can see that the right side of the canvas now has six or seven holes. Tentatively I move toward it, swallowing as I grab the canvas and turn the painting around.
I suck in a deep gulp of air at the sight. It’s a painting of Killian, and it steals my breath. Did I call Gris the god of war? In this piece Killian is God himself, holding within him the entire universe, his strength keeping it all together.
It’s beautiful and powerful, and if I had any doubt that Chloe returned Killian’s feelings, I can’t deny what I see. Killian isn’t just her world, he’s her universe, her God.
This ache hits me square in the chest and I realize…I’m jealous.
No woman has ever looked at me the way she does him.
I grab the painting and follow Killian and Chloe down the stairs. I know they’re long gone. I shouldn’t have dallied in the apartment so long, for all I know, whoever attacked has a follow-up coming.
But I make it down the stairs and out to my car. Revving the engine, I peel out of the garage, heading home.
On the way, I do as Killian asked, and I call our mother.
It’s three in the morning in Derbyshire, England but she still picks up. “Triston?”
“Did I wake you, mum?”
“No. Couldn’t sleep. But the fact you’re calling so late worries me. What’s wrong?”
I don’t even pretend it’s nothing. I’m thirty-six years old, I don’t make a habit of calling my mother unless it’s a family matter. “It’s Killian.”
I hear her gasp. “Tell me he’s alive.”
“He’s alive,” I grimace. “It’s worse than death. He’s fallen in love.”
“Triston Thadius Smith, don’t you dare joke like that. You nearly gave me a heart attack.”
Middle name. Fuck. “I’m not joking. He’s…he’s gone off the deep end.”
“How deep?”
“Like quit the whole family. Wage war on us to protect her.”
“You’d better explain.”
I do. All of it. From my speculations about his change in personality, to how he met Chloe, to how she seems to return his feelings, and how I think I made it worse. She listens silently, the way mothers do, and then when it’s all out, she whispers into the phone. “Who attacked?”
“I think the Russians.”
“And Mason?”
“It’s possible, but I doubt it. Gris is his brother-in-law, and he mostly operates on the right side of the law. I’ve only seen him step over the line when his family was under direct attack and Killian does not pose that threat. Yet. But honestly…” I don’t want to say it. Killian knows how to cut off the head of a snake. He’ll do just that if he’s pushed.
“Mmm,” she says, clearly considering. We get all of our savvy from our mother, so I give her the space she needs to work it out. “Call Mason. But first make sure you’re not being followed.”
“All right.”