Page 29 of Cruel When He Smiles (Sinners of Blackthorne U #3)

Liam

The second Nate smiles at Killian, I want to rip my fucking skin off.

It’s not a grin—nothing broad or sweet. It’s barely more than a twitch of his lips, a small upturn that most people wouldn’t notice. But I noticed. I clock it so hard my vision tunnels.

I’ve spent weeks dissecting that mouth, mapping every muscle in it, learning how far I can push before it snaps shut around some venom-laced insult meant only for me. He doesn’t smile easily, and when he does, it’s never clean. There’s always a cost or a reason.

So, what the fuck did Killian say to earn it?

Killian—of all people. The one person in this house I’ve never had to worry about when it comes to Nate, because Killian doesn’t like anyone enough to talk.

I can’t hear what they’re saying, not from this distance, but I don’t need the audio when I can read the body language as if it’s being broadcast in neon across the lawn.

Killian tilts his head.

Nate responds.

A sip of soda.

A narrowed gaze.

Then the smile.

That’s it. That’s all it takes to black out a part of my mind.

I put the beer down with too much force, the sound sharp against the table.

No one around me reacts. Ryan’s still mid-story, Adrian’s half-listening, and no one has noticed the fucking fire beginning to crawl up the inside of my ribs.

I stand slowly, roll my shoulders, and excuse myself with a nod that doesn’t invite questions.

Killian turns and walks toward the back door of the house and slips inside with that relaxed, slow gait of his.

He doesn’t rush because people don’t bother him.

And maybe that’s what makes the pressure behind my teeth throb harder—because for the first time, Killian fucking King bothered .

He looked at Nate and didn’t treat him like a nuisance, and Nate responded.

I’m in the house before I fully register the decision.

The kitchen’s quiet, with the faint hum of the fridge filling the silence. My brother stands near the sink with his back turned, rinsing his hands under the tap like he hasn’t just shattered the last of my composure without even trying.

I move faster than I’ve moved all week.

My hand clamps around his throat when he turns, and I slam him into the nearest wall, the thud of the impact echoing through the tiled room.

He doesn’t make a sound. Doesn’t gasp or flinch.

His eyes flick to mine, while I press the inside of my forearm against his collarbone and hiss the words before I even realize they’re coming out.

“What the fuck did you say to him?”

Killian blinks once, then his hand latches onto my wrist hard enough to remind me that I forgot who the fuck I’m touching.

“I’m gonna give you three seconds to let go,” he says, his voice so calm that it cuts deeper than any shout.

But I don’t back off and lean closer instead. “He smiled at you.”

Killian’s mouth twitches. Not into a smirk—into something colder. “Yeah. He did.”

A breath shoves itself out of me, too hot to feel good. “What did you say to get that out of him?”

Killian doesn’t answer with words.

One twist of his arm, and I’m the one getting spun.

My chest slams against the edge of the counter, and the sharp line of the granite digs into my ribs while his forearm presses across the back of my neck.

His weight pins me, and right now, he’s reminding me just how well he knows where all my weak points are.

“I’m going to let you up,” he says, tone still maddeningly casual, “because if I don’t, we’ll break the kitchen. And I like this fucking kitchen.”

I growl low in my throat, the sound more feral than I meant for it to be. “Don’t go near him again.”

Killian lets that sit there. His breath is steady behind me, too close for comfort. “You really wanna give me orders right now, little brother?” he murmurs. “You touch me like that again, and I will remind you who taught you where to draw the line between dominance and desperation.”

The air between us thickens until it’s almost suffocating. Then his forearm lifts, the pressure loosens, and I’m free to move—but I don’t. I stay right where I am, breathing through clenched teeth, staring at the wall.

Killian steps back and gives me space, footsteps measured as he crosses to the opposite side of the kitchen. He doesn’t look at me again right away. He grabs a towel, dries his hands, then tosses it on the counter like we didn’t just almost tear each other apart.

“What the fuck is going on with you?” he asks, his voice quieter now.

I finally turn, shoulders tight, and glare at him. “Don’t play dumb.”

“I’m not,” he says. “I know you’re obsessed, that’s not new. But attacking me ? Really, Liam?”

“He smiled at you,” I say again, the words hitting the air like an accusation. “You don’t deserve that.”

Killian narrows his eyes. “Neither do you.”

My jaw ticks, and I look away because if I keep looking at him, I might say something I can’t take back. Something about how long it’s been since Nate smiled at me—really smiled. Not a cruel twist of lips. Not a forced expression meant to prove a point. A genuine smile. And he gave it to Killian.

He folds his arms across his chest, watching me. “You don’t get to police who sees him. You don’t own him.”

I meet his gaze again, my voice ragged when I say, “But I will.”

Killian’s brows lift slightly. “That a promise?”

“It’s a fucking guarantee.”

He studies me for a long moment, then pushes off the counter and steps closer, not enough to threaten, but enough to make it clear he’s not backing down.

“Then don’t waste your energy on me. You want him to smile at you?

Earn it. Stop acting like a brat who lost his toy and start acting like the manipulative bastard I raised. ”

A bitter sound escapes me, caught between a laugh and a growl. “You didn’t raise me.”

Killian shrugs. “No, but I made you useful. And right now, you’re the fucking opposite.”

He walks past me, brushing my shoulder with calculated ease. “Figure your shit out before you torch everything you care about.”

The door slides shut behind him with no more sound than a whisper, but it echoes in my head for minutes after he’s gone.

I stay rooted in place, fists clenched, pulse punching at my throat, because he’s right. I am spiraling. I am losing it. And all it took was one smile.

That’s what Nate fucking Carter does to me. He breaks me open, whether he’s trying to or not.

I drag a hand down my face, exhaling through my nose. Then I straighten, grab the edge of the counter, and force myself to breathe.

I’ll let Killian think he made his point. But the next time Nate smiles at anyone else, I’m not going to be this controlled.

Next time, I won’t use words at all.