Page 21 of Cruel When He Smiles (Sinners of Blackthorne U #3)
I hold his gaze, and my heart stutters. Killian knows he’s the only person I won’t outright lie to. I could dodge or sidestep. I could give him enough sarcasm to drown us both in it, but he knows I can’t… Not after everything he’s done for me.
My mother, world-renowned in psychology, had turned my mind into her favorite canvas, while the man who raised me left bruises as proof of ownership.
Lisa Callahan didn’t raise a son—she constructed one. Every emotion measured, every response analyzed. I wasn’t a boy; I was a theory in motion. Elias Callahan made sure any slip outside the model left bruises.
And when I finally understood that I wasn’t supposed to survive it, Killian weaponized me.
He taught me cruelty, manipulation, and how to hide in plain sight—how to hurt first and hit hardest. My loyalty to Killian isn’t sentimental; it’s born from survival.
He’s the only person on this earth I’d ever willingly submit to because he took my broken edges and sharpened them into blades.
“Nate Carter,” I say finally, giving in. “It’s Nate Carter.”
Killian hums, as if he’s rolling the name across his tongue, testing the weight of it. “The Sigma Rho Alpha pup?”
My jaw clenches at his use of my nickname for Nate, and he clocks the flicker of something territorial in my expression immediately. “You call him that again and we’ll have a problem.”
He raises a brow. “So, it’s like that?” he asks, interest now sharpened into concern. He never gets concerned unless he smells rot that he didn’t cause.
Humming again, he lifts one hand and twirls the lighter between his fingers, eyes gleaming. “So, what’s he done? Flinched just right? Cracked in a way that made you want to keep him? Or is it worse?”
I pace once across the room. Just to move. Just to burn some of the restless energy scratching under my skin. Killian watches me, clicking the lighter open again, watching the flame curl for a second before snapping it shut. “Do you want him?”
My silence is the only answer he needs. He leans forward again, elbows on knees, staring up at me with those cold blue eyes that never blink unless he’s trying to hurt someone. “You care.”
“I don’t care. I want .”
“And the difference?”
“I can stop wanting.”
He clicks the lighter once more, and it snaps closed. “Then do it.”
I look at him and see the truth behind the dare. He’s not daring me to stop; he’s daring me to admit I can’t.
He rises in one fluid movement, the lighter still turning over in his hand. The way he moves is never wasted and never soft. There’s menace in the curve of his spine, and how he walks closer without invitation.
“He’s under your skin,” he says quietly. “And I don’t like that you’re letting him get deeper.”
“I didn’t—”
“Yes, you did. You never let anyone close unless you’ve already decided how you’re going to break them. But this one’s different; he’s making you spiral.”
“I’m not spiraling,” I say, sharper than I intend.
Killian circles me once, eyes never leaving mine. “You kissed him, didn’t you?” There’s more silence from me, and he exhales through his nose. “You kissed him, and it wasn’t a calculated move; it was something you wanted.”
I close my eyes for half a breath. “It was a mistake.”
“You have King blood, you don’t make mistakes,” he snaps. “You make choices.”
“Well, I chose wrong,” I say through gritted teeth.
“Or you chose real,” he says coldly. “And that scares you more.”
I glare at him while he looks at me impassively. “Back off, Killian.”
“I can’t,” he replies. “Not when it’s you. You know that.”
There’s no anger in his voice, only that unwavering possession—the same brand of violent protectiveness he’s wielded over me since we were thirteen. The same savage loyalty that burns bridges before I can even get close to them. “I don’t need saving this time.”
“I’m not here to save you, I’m here to remind you who the fuck you are.” I don’t flinch, but I feel the words hit. “You’re Liam Callahan. You don’t chase, and you don’t beg. You sure as shit don’t unravel over a pretty boy with eyes that don’t even see the damage under your skin.”
I shake my head and whisper, “He sees more than you think.”
He tilts his head. “You want him to?”
I stare at the floor, then back at him. “I don’t know what I want.”
He laughs once, a quiet and cruel sound. “Yes, you do. You want to hurt him and keep him, but you can’t decide which instinct is stronger.”
Killian backs me up until we’re chest to chest, but I don’t move. We’re matched in height, weight, and ferocity; the only difference is that I’ve always been better at pretending I don’t care. My brother doesn’t bother pretending.
“He gets one chance,” he says, holding up one finger in the same gesture he hates. “One bruise you didn’t put there, one word that leaves you quieter than usual, and I will end him. Slowly.”
I exhale, my muscles tight. “I don’t need you to protect me anymore.”
“Doesn’t matter,” he says. “I will anyway. Because you’re my brother, and I won’t watch you burn yourself down just to feel wanted.”
His hand rises, and he places his palm flat against my chest for a moment, fingers spread over my heartbeat. It’s a gesture that reminds me he’s still the one who kept me alive when no one else could. That our bond is written in someone else’s sin—half-brothers, bound by atrocity.
“I taught you how to survive. Don’t make me teach you how to let go.” Then he steps back, heading for the door, but he pauses in the frame, hand braced against it. “Figure out what he is to you, Liam. Before I decide for you.”
I stare at him with my heart pounding so loudly, I can hear it everywhere. “You won’t touch him.”
Killian looks at me over his shoulder, his blue eyes cold. “Then prove I don’t have to.” His voice drops again, but it cuts deeper. “But if you let someone else dim what I built in you, I will raze the fucking ground to get you back.”
Then he’s gone, and I stand there for a long time, heart thudding too loudly, breath slower than it should be.