Page 36 of Cruel Debts (Killers of Port Wylde #4)

THIRTY-ONE

LIAM

Slam! Slam! Slam slam!

Punch after punch rocked the bag hanging from the rafters, like a metronome upside down, or one of those pendulum watches the fucking head doctors used to hypnotize you into thinking you were safe, that you could talk to them.

People like that were why this place now housed the true crazies. The ones who should be fit for polite society, but had something broken in them that made them actually enjoy this work.

People like me. Like Asher and Hawke. People like Keehn.

Broken assholes who needed a home, somewhere to fit in where they wouldn't be judged for their particular flavor of justice and bloodthirst.

It was a community. A safe haven.

And now, Trinity fucking McCoy just had to drag her ass into our peaceful haven and muck it all up with her stubborn, relentless, sexy little ass. She just absolutely needed to insert herself into our lives and be a pain in my ass.

And of course I had to feel things for her that weren't decent to be thinking about your best friend's sister in the context of. Too many things that fell in that category, actually.

So I'd just beat the shit out of this punching bag until I didn't want to go back up that set of stairs and throttle her while I fucked some sense into her. Until my rage was under control. Until I could reasonably be around her without wanting things I had no business wanting.

No business whatsoever.

Knuckles, though taped, still cracked each time they landed in the center of the stiff, sand-filled object. My shoulders were sore and tired. I'd been at it for going on an hour.

When would this head full of racing thoughts finally quiet?

When would I feel normal again?

When Trinity McCoy was gone from my life and no longer around as a reminder of all the ways I'd fucked up. Of all the promises I hadn't kept. Of all the people I'd abandoned and all the love I'd rejected from two loving souls who just wanted me to be a part of a family. Their family.

Trinity was too good for all this. She didn't deserve to suffer any more of this life. We had to double down and get this guy, and stop him from breathing any longer?—

—so she could go back to her perfect little life and stop being tainted by our dark ass life.

She didn't belong here. If there was one thing I could do for Keehn, after all this time, it would be to make sure his sister didn't live the kind of life the four of us were destined for from the start.

It would be to not let her fall by the wayside like us.

I—

Ring, ring, pick up, bitch!

I'd have to kill Hawke for the stupid ass ringtone later. I ignored it and kept punching. This wasn't the time or the mood for me to be chatting in. If he wanted to talk, he knew where to find me.

The second the phone stopped ringing, it started right back up again. My fists hit the leather bag harder, trying to drown it out, but all it did was make it worse.

On call number three, I picked up, if only just to shut him the fuck up.

"What the hell do you want, Hawke?" I growled into the receiver, wincing as the punching bag swung back and hit me in the shoulder. "I'm busy."

"Busy, huh? Are you too busy to listen to something?"

I quirked a brow, gripping the bag to stop the swing as I gave him my undivided attention. "Listen to what?"

The line went quiet for a second, and I heard shuffling around on his end. Then, out of nowhere, the quiet was replaced by?—

Moaning. The kind of moaning that could only mean one thing.

Sex.

"You're mine now, Pretty Bird."

"Asherrrrrr, yes, oh yes."

Orgasms. Whining. Growls. Grunts. Bodies slapping together.

"What the hell is going on up there?" I snarled at Hawke, my hand clenching the phone so hard in my fist I was surprised it didn't snap in half yet.

"Fucking, obviously," He said dryly, the eye roll practically audible through the phone though it made no sound. "What does it sound like?"

It sounded like someone was going to die when I got back. It sounded a lot like Asher had fucked up and stuck his dick in a girl whose world isn't fit for the likes of us. It sounded like betrayal, because he was supposed to be the strongest of us.

"Trouble," I said instead, hating the pain and resentment in my tone. "Why did you call me to tell me that Asher was getting his dick wet?"

Silence.

"Hawke."

Silence.

"Hawke, I'm hanging up?—"

"I thought you'd want to know," he said quietly, his tone guarded. "I thought it?—"

"Do me a favor, Hawke, and don't fucking think anymore, okay?

" I didn't usually get snippy with him when he didn't deserve it, but I didn't have it in me now to be kind or patient.

He'd done it to rile me up, knowing damn well I felt the same way Asher did about Trinity McCoy.

The only difference was that I had self-control, and apparently, Asher did not.

"And don't call me to let me listen to that bullshit.

If Asher wants to be stupid and put the mission in jeopardy, well, he's a big boy.

If things go south, he's got only himself to blame. "

I hung up the phone and promptly threw it against the wall, taking satisfaction from the way it shattered into a bunch of twisted chunks of metal and safety glass.

If they had a problem with me not having a phone, then they could just complain about it amongst themselves.

My attention pivoted back to the punching bag, and with a growl, I clenched my teeth and slammed my fists into the leather and sand, working up a sweat.

The bag didn't stand a chance.

How could he just go and—without talking to us—he just?

"You look like you could use a partner, Sentry."

From the door of the gym room, St. Clair's voice carried, the ire and sarcasm dripping from every word. I didn't pay her more than a curt nod as she moved into the room, closing the door behind her.

Her eyes tracked my fists as they pounded sand, observing the moves I made with the gaze of a practiced fighter. Someone who'd had to swing her own fists a time or two in defense, or not.

I saw the lip twitch out of the corner of my eye. "Your swing is unbalanced. If you put more weight on the back foot when you swing, you could put more power into it."

"Can't. Old injury." There wasn't, but I wasn't about to tell her that.

I'd be damned if I took advice from her about my form.

I didn't fight hand-to-hand. It wasn't my style.

I preferred long-distance, so I never had to breathe the same air as a target.

Never had to listen to them whine and beg for their lives.

Never had to see the realization in their gaze that they'd fucked up.

I didn't want to see the weakness in another human, because it hit too close to home.

"Right," she muttered, stepping behind the punching bag to hold it steady. "What brings you down here tonight?"

I stopped swinging, stared at her like she'd gone daft. "I'm always down here."

She had cameras and eyes. If she doubted the validity of that, she could verify the truth easily, instead of interrogating me like this.

"You are, yes," she agreed, flinching just a tad when the meat of my fist caught the center of the bag on a particularly irate swing and sent her a step back.

"But not usually to beat the hell out of my punching bag alone.

" Her head tilted to the side. Something in those eyes told me she knew far too much about everything.

"This is usually my time to exercise. I've never seen you down here at this hour. "

"Things change," I swore, slinging another punch at the bag. "People change."

Boy, did they ever.

"Not you," she remarked, and I stopped then, staring at her blankly.

Because she was right.

I didn't change. I never altered my schedule or adjusted things for anyone if it didn't absolutely need done. I certainly didn't break my own routine just because I could.

I liked things just the way they were.

"Even me," I finally grunted, quieter than anything else I'd said today. "Even me."

"Fine, then, keep your secrets." She'd figure them out if she really wanted to. She always did. "Where's the ward you're watching out for?"

"Upstairs," I snarled, gritting my teeth. In my apartment without me. "With the others." Fucking one of my best friends. "Doing who knows what."

"Why aren't you up there with them?"

I grabbed hold of the bag and stared around it at her.

"Listen, Lilly. If you're here to badger me or something, I'm not going to bite.

I'm not interested in making small talk.

So if that's what you're after, then you're wasting your time.

I'm here to beat the shit out of this punching bag until I can't feel my hands and then leave. "

"Interesting," she mused, walking around me with those too-knowing eyes. She was too perceptive, too nosy. I hated it.

When she left the room without a word, it unnerved me. My hits on the bag were sharper, more concentrated, more forceful. I used the technique she suggested, hating how well it worked.

"Fucking women," I spat to the empty room, wishing just once that things could fucking go my way. That just this time, the job could be easy, uncomplicated, no strings attached.

No. Of course it couldn't. And the biggest string I'd ever gotten tangled with was wrapped all the way around this job, and the next, and the one after that.

Trinity McCoy.

And if we didn't get it untangled with our strings soon, we'd be stuck like this forever.

And I'd be stuck listening to her and Asher rut like animals every night. I'd be stuck with her underfoot. I'd be stuck warring with my own self-interest and my loyalty. My promise to a man I'd left for dead without looking back.

A man whose sister I didn't deserve to even think about, let alone have.

Be realistic, my mind said. Be honest. But the two weren't mutually exclusive.

If I were honest, I knew what I wanted. I wanted to bend Trinity's disobedient, mouthy ass over my knee and swat her until she begged to be let go.

Until she was dripping with need. Until she begged me to fuck her and put her in her place.

I wanted to shove my fingers in her mouth and make her suck her own arousal off them.

I wanted to feed her my cock and fuck her face until she cried.

I wanted to break her of her bratty ways and show her how good it could feel to submit to someone with more power than yourself.

But if I were realistic, I couldn't do any of that. If I were true to my reality and hers, then the only outcome here was to keep my hands off her until she was safe and then send her far, far away from me. To stay in my lane and keep her in hers.

So what was I supposed to do? Should I satisfy myself? Or satisfy the reality of things? Could I live with myself if I ruined her and her perfect little future life?

What would her brother think if he were still here with us?

He'd kick your ass.

But Keehn's not here. Trinity is.

And right there was the problem.

I punched the bag so hard this time that the damn leather split, and sand poured out of it, all over the floor and my shoes.

Great. Now I owed St. Clair another punching bag, too.

I stormed over to the garbage can and started to clean up the mess with my hands. I needed a little reprieve playing in a makeshift zen garden to chill the fuck out.

I wasn't solving any of my problems worked up like this.