Page 25 of Cruel When He Smiles (Sinners of Blackthorne U #3)

Nate

By the time I reach the Sin Bin, I hesitate for the first time. My hand’s on the front door, my heart’s banging in my chest, and part of me wonders what the hell I’m doing by going to him to thank him in person.

I lift my hand to knock anyway and my teammate, Adrian Hart, answers the door, surprised to see me.

“Hey,” I mutter, keeping my voice even, not entirely sure why I’m suddenly self-conscious.

“Nate?” he says, like he’s double-checking that I’m real and standing here. “Everything good?”

“Yeah, I—uh… I’m here to see Liam?”

That makes his eyebrows go even higher since everyone knows we kind of hate each other. For a second, he doesn’t say anything as he looks at me like I’ve told him I want to fight Luca Devereaux with a toothpick.

But then he nods, steps aside, and waves me in. “His room’s upstairs. Last door on the right.”

“Thanks,” I say, and my voice sounds too quiet in the weird silence of the house. The Sin Bin is massive—every hallway lined with expensive finishes and masculine energy practically baked into the wood and glass. Everything in here hums like it belongs to them, and I don’t.

As I start up the stairs, the sound of my footsteps is too loud, and I realize I’ve only been here twice for parties, both times with Sage. Both times avoiding eye contact with everyone who lives here. Tonight, I don’t have Sage. Tonight, it’s just me and the gnawing ache in my chest.

When I hit the top landing, I slow down. The hallway is darker up here, with one long strip of soft lighting running along the wall. Liam’s room is where Adrian said—the last door on the right, but it’s not the door that makes me stop.

A shiver runs up my spine, and I turn my head to find Killian King staring at me.

He’s leaning against the door directly across from Liam’s, one shoulder propped lazily against the frame, a lit cigarette dangling from his fingers.

He’s in gray joggers and a fitted white shirt that does absolutely nothing to make him look less terrifying.

If anything, it makes the tension in his forearms stand out more.

He flicks ash off the end of the cigarette and tilts his head to the side. “You lost, Carter?”

His voice is smooth but cold, the kind that makes it hard to tell if it’s a real question or the start of something worse. I recognize the tone—guys like him weaponize civility. I’m not welcome here.

I shake my head once. “No.”

His eyes flick toward Liam’s door, then back to me. “Didn’t realize you two were on friendly terms.”

“We’re not.”

He finally smiles, but it’s not friendly. “Sure, you’re not.”

My stomach twists. I don’t know what this weird, loaded tension is about.

I don’t even know Killian outside of him being captain of the hockey team, and the few times I’ve seen him practically maul people in games.

But the way he looks at me now isn’t like a stranger.

It’s like a handler inspecting a weapon that might go off in his house.

I take a breath and nod toward Liam’s door. “I’m just here to say thank you.”

Killian hums under his breath, tapping the cigarette once more. “Be careful,” he says, and this time the softness in his tone is terrifying. “Liam’s not the kind of guy you thank with words alone.”

My hand freezes inches from the wood.

What the hell do you say to that? Thanks for the warning? I already know?

Instead, I look at him again. Maybe he’s protective, or maybe he’s just curious. Maybe this is his way of saying back off before you get yourself cut.

I narrow my eyes at him, and his mouth lifts slightly, a tilt of the head like he’s watching a mouse try to bluff its way past a snake. Then, just as suddenly, he turns and walks back into his room, the door clicking softly behind him. I stand there for a moment, my pulse screaming in my ears.

What the fuck was that all about?

Shaking my head at that fucked-up interaction, I look back at Liam’s door and remember why I came.

I lift my hand and knock twice. The sound is louder than I meant it to be, but I don’t flinch. I wait. The door opens slower than I expect, like he’s taking his time on purpose, or like he was standing just beyond it and wanted me to sit in my nerves for a second longer.

Then, there he is.

Liam Callahan in sweats and a white tee, barefoot on the dark wood floor. His skin looks flushed, and when his eyes land on mine, they widen in surprise.

He leans against the doorframe with the kind of casual confidence that makes it feel rehearsed, arms loose at his sides, chest rising in slow, measured breaths. His gaze drags across my face without a word.

It’s unsettling how much he reminds me of Killian—the same posture, same dangerous look in his eye, and that same cold amusement that doesn’t need words to make you feel naked.

I swallow once and clear my throat. “I didn’t know how else to say thank you,” I manage, and it comes out more broken than I intended. My voice cracks slightly on the last word, and I hate how weak I sound.

Liam’s head tilts slightly, and a slow, soft smile curves his lips. “So, you came all the way here?” he murmurs.

I nod once. “Better than a text. Can I come in?”

“You already made it this far, Pup,” he says with a smile and steps back, holding the door open. I enter slowly, eyes adjusting to the low light of his room. It’s clean, as I expected—organized chaos rather than pure filth that some athletes live in.

And then the scent hits me.

Jesus.

I suck in a breath without meaning to, and it burns in my throat. Creed Aventus. Of fucking course he’d wear something like that. It’s the cologne of men who know what power smells like. Masculine without trying too hard.

“You can sit,” he says casually, as he shuts the door behind me with a soft click. “Unless this was just a drive-by thank you and you plan to flee again.”

I stop near the middle of the room, suddenly unsure where to put myself. My fingers twitch in my hoodie pocket, and I exhale slowly through my nose, trying to focus on anything that isn’t him.

“I figured…” I start, then trail off.

He watches me carefully, and I can’t tell if he’s amused or suspicious. Maybe both. Probably both. “I’m glad you came,” he says finally, and it doesn’t sound like a line. It sounds… real.

I nod, unsure of what else to do. “Are you always like that?” I ask before I can stop myself. “The way you were earlier.”

His brow lifts, and he looks confused. “What do you mean?”

I hesitate because I don’t really know how to put it into words, so I look away. “Uhm… Calm, in control. I don’t know. It’s like you… knew exactly what to say to pull me out of it.”

When I glance at him again, Liam’s still watching me.

He doesn’t smile this time, and he doesn’t tease.

His expression is unreadable in that way that always makes me feel like I’m behind, like I’m playing chess with someone who’s already stolen all the pawns and just left the king standing there, exposed and pathetic.

“I know what it feels like to drown and not have anyone notice,” he says. “So, when I see it happening to someone else, I do something about it.”

My throat tightens. “Thank you,” I whisper, and it costs me. I hate how raw I sound.

His expression softens, and it looks so fucking weird. “You don’t have to thank me, Nate. Especially not after how I’ve been treating you.”

“I do,” I insist, my voice barely holding steady. “I’ve never… no one’s ever done that. Sage is my best friend, but he’s never seen that part of me. I don’t let people see it.”

Liam’s eyes darken at that, and I think he likes it. “But you let me.” It’s not a question.

I nod, even though it scares me. He moves closer, reaches up, and tucks a strand of hair behind my ear, the motion slow and gentle. I should move and shut this down before it gets worse, but I stay still and let him touch me. I let him look at me the way no one ever has.

“You okay?” he asks, and his voice is so gentle it cuts.

I laugh, hollow and thin. “Not even close.”

“I didn’t think so,” he says with that same soft smile that pins me in place more than anything else ever has.

“I don’t want to talk about it, though,” I say, and the words sting because I do want to talk about it, but I don’t know how .

“You don’t have to,” he murmurs.

I nod once, grateful that he’s giving me this out.

And then he does something that completely undoes me.

His hands slide around my waist, not possessive or demanding, just…

holding me. My composure splinters, and I press my face against his chest before I close my eyes and pretend— for just a second —that I’m not a fucking disaster barely stitched together.

I let myself be quiet in his arms, let myself sink against him and drown in his scent for just a breath, just a second too long.

“I should go,” I murmur against his chest, and I can feel him nodding.

“Okay,” he says, but he doesn’t let go right away and neither do I.

When I finally step back, I feel the loss of his body like a chill. I turn toward the door and open it slowly before glancing back at him. “Goodnight, Liam.”

He smiles, soft and warm, and so fucking dangerous. “Goodnight, Pup.”

And I leave, heart pounding, wondering which part of me he’s already claimed without me knowing.