Page 163 of Cruel When He Smiles

His eyes darken, lips pressed into a thin line. “You remember Josh Miller?”

“The guy who tackled me at practice? Yeah, how could I forget?” I say, my heart thudding. “Wait… are you saying—?”

“She got to him.”

Liam doesn’t look away from me, doesn’t soften the blow. “I didn’t know until after. Until Killian found out why Josh, who never really bothered with you, suddenly injured you during a drill. It didn’t make sense.”

A sick weight anchors itself in my gut. “What did you find?”

Liam’s voice is steady, but cold. “She threatened his family, scholarship, and his place at Blackthorne.”

My stomach flips, because that sounds just like her.

“She threatened his future here,” Liam continues “And in exchange, he gave her an incident bad enough to hurt you so you’d need care. I don’t think she expected you to remove her from your next of kin list.”

“Jesus.” My voice is barely a whisper. I feel sick.

There’s a pause. He exhales, then leans back to look at me better. “I’m not going to apologize for reaching out to her. I needed to know what I was fighting. I needed to see her, hear her voice, and study her. And now that I have… she won’t get near you again.”

My chest feels tight, but I don’t pull away. I stay on his lap, my body pressed into his, and I let the words sink in. Remembering her touch and cruelty, I see his point.

She doesn’t need weapons; she is one. And Liam… Liam’s not asking for permission to protect me. He’s already started.

I finally let myself sag against his chest, heart still racing but not spiraling. “I don’t hate you for it,” I whisper, pressing my face into his throat. “I probably should be angry you reached out to her, but I’m not.”

“Why?” he asks, surprised.

“Because I know you, and I know you did it to keep me safe.” My voice wavers a little. “I’ve never let anyone protect me before, Liam. No one’s ever tried, not really. So even if I’m pissed off later… I’m still glad you’re the one who did it. Thank you.”

He doesn’t speak for a few moments. Then, in that soft voice that cuts deeper than his cruelty ever could, he murmurs, “You don’t have to thank me for protecting what’s mine.”

I nod into his shirt, eyes stinging.

I want to tell him everything. About how I used to think I’d always belong to her, even when I hated her. How her voice lived in my head, even in the quiet. How I was scared that if I ever found something real, she’d find a way to take it from me.

But I don’t need to say it. Liam already knows, and that’s what makes him dangerous. That’s what makes me feel safe. Not because he’s soft, but because he’s sharp enough to cut down every monster that ever thought I’d stay theirs.

And this time, I’m not fighting alone.

Liam

Nate’sweighthasgoneslack against me, his breathing soft and even, and his head tucked under my chin. I can still feel the tension threaded through him, but it’s fading with every slow inhale he takes. He doesn’t fight the way I’m holding him. His legs are curled up over me again, his fingers loose against my shirt, and I know he’s not going anywhere—not tonight.

I don’t move for a while. I just sit there, letting him rest against me, keeping my hand on the back of his neck, thumb brushing idly over the hair at his nape. He doesn’t stir when I move slightly to test his weight, so I take my time easing him into my arms. He’s lighter than he should be. It makes me think about all the ways I could fix that—ways she wouldn’t like—and I file those thoughts away for later.

I settle him in bed, guiding him onto his side before tucking the blanket up over his shoulders. He shivers once, chasing my heat, and I pull the blanket tighter around him untilhe’s cocooned. He always sleeps better when he’s warm and surrounded by something that smells like me.

When I lean back, his face is turned toward me, lashes fanned against his cheek. He’s out. Not restless, not tense—just sleeping. That’s good enough for me.

I linger, watching him for a long minute. His lashes are ridiculously long against his skin, and his mouth has lost that tight, defensive line. He’s not smiling, but he’s peaceful. That’s better. That’s mine. I brush my thumb over the edge of his cheekbone before pulling back and making sure the room’s dim enough to keep him under.

When I finally step out, the house is quiet in that late-night way, but there’s a hum in the air I can’t ignore. I cross the hall, pushing open Killian’s door without knocking. He’s sprawled on the leather chair by the window, long legs stretched out, Zippo lighter flipping open and shut in one hand like he’s been waiting for me.

“Are you in the mood for murder?” I ask as I lean against the doorframe.

His mouth curves into that wicked smile of his, and he flips the lighter closed with a snap. “Always. What’s the occasion?”

I step inside, shutting the door behind me. “She was in his room today.”