Page 30 of Cruel When He Smiles (Sinners of Blackthorne U #3)

Liam

The back porch creaks under my feet as I step out, the same scents of grilled meat, chlorine, and sun-warmed beer ride the breeze, but I barely register any of them.

My blood is still running hot from the kitchen when Killian smugly walked away like he hadn’t just unmade me in three calculated movements.

I should give myself time to recalibrate, to shove this spiral back down where it belongs. But I can’t. Not when Killian has that look in his eye—the one that says he’s two steps ahead of everyone in the room and he’s already decided who gets to burn.

He’s leaning over the balcony rail, arms folded, head tilted down at the backyard below like a god surveying a war zone. The soft clink of his Zippo lighter flicks once, twice, but he doesn’t light it. Instead, he beckons me over with one ringed finger.

“Come here.”

I step closer, the old weight of instinct pulling me forward before thought can intervene. My fists are still tight, the adrenaline not fully settled, but Killian’s tone is mild, almost distracted.

“Watch.”

I move beside him, posture tense, and arms crossed as I follow his gaze toward the pool.

I expect to see more of what I hate—Nate laughing with someone that isn’t me, pretending he doesn’t care I’ve stopped watching.

But the person I see first is Sage Blackwell.

The Sigma Rho Alpha legacy is in the pool, hair plastered to his cheeks, muscles tense as Roman grabs him from behind and dunks him underwater.

There’s a ripple of splashes, then shouts from the others watching. Roman’s grin is wide, boyish, teeth white against his tan skin. He pulls Sage up again and immediately dunks him once more, rough enough that Sage squeals but not rough enough to hurt.

I glance sideways at Killian and catch the soft smile playing on his mouth.

It’s not the cruel kind, it’s soft—warmth that tugs at the corner of his mouth, eyes gone slack with quiet affection.

Roman is the sole soft spot my brother has ever let grow roots. His first loyalty, and the one variable in Killian’s equation that breaks the formula. He’s the tether, the reason Killian hasn’t burned this place to the ground. The only person who could gut him without needing a blade.

I watch him now with a different kind of sharpness rising under my ribs because I know he’s not showing me this for free.

Killian straightens, watching the pool with the precision of a sniper. “Three,” he says quietly.

I glance at the pool, then back at him, confused. “What are you—”

“Two.”

My gaze flicks back toward the pool, scanning for the threat, the detonation. Sage is still wrestling with Roman, laughing between coughs as he pushes at Roman’s chest.

“One,” Killian finishes with a breath.

Luca steps into the water, calm and composed, shoulders rolling back as he moves through the shallow end. Roman notices first and pulls away, giving Sage a look before swimming toward the far edge of the pool. Sage turns, confused, just in time for Luca to reach him.

Luca cages him against the wall with both arms, pressing forward until there’s nowhere left to go.

Sage stiffens but doesn’t pull away. And then Luca leans in, mouth catching Sage’s without hesitation, water rippling around them as everyone watching starts whooping and jeering.

I see mouths moving, some cheers, some teasing comments, a few gasps of surprise.

“Now,” Killian murmurs beside me, “watch your pet.”

Nate is across the yard, standing half in shadow by the drinks table, his sunglasses pushed up into his hair.

He was sipping soda a second ago, loose-limbed and trying to blend into the background.

But now, he’s frozen. His jaw clenched too tightly, the color has drained from his face, and there’s something in his expression I don’t see often.

Betrayal.

It’s raw and devastating.

The kind of emotion you can’t fake because it only comes when someone rips something out of you that you didn’t even know was still attached. He’s not blinking. His hand tightens around his can so hard that it warps.

Then Luca grabs Sage’s hand, pulls him close, and Sage follows without resistance, laughter trailing behind them as they disappear inside.

Nate doesn’t look around, doesn’t pretend to play it cool. He just drops the can and takes off toward the side gate, slipping out of the backyard like he can’t escape fast enough.

“Now’s your chance to dig your knife in deeper,” Killian says, turning his head toward me, that cruel fondness sharpening every word. “You wanted him broken enough to trust a monster. That did it.”

He steps away from the railing and heads inside, brushing my shoulder as he passes. At the door, he glances back over his shoulder once and says, “You’re welcome.”

Then he’s gone.

I don’t waste time.

My feet are moving before my mind even catches up. Down the stairs, across the grass, past a few glances and confused faces. I don’t care. I don’t stop to explain. I don’t even bother pretending this isn’t exactly what it is—a pursuit. A hunt. A sprint toward the exact moment I’ve been waiting for.

I reach the side of the house and spot him disappearing down the front path, hands clenched into fists, jaw tight as hell, moving fast but not fast enough to escape me.

“Nate!”

He doesn’t stop.

I catch up and grab his arm, yanking him back hard enough to spin him toward me. He shoves at my chest, wild-eyed and furious.

“Get off me!”

He pushes harder, but I hold him in place. “You don’t get to do this,” he snaps. “You don’t get to fucking—god, don’t pretend you give a shit.”

“I’m not pretending.”

He tries to turn again, but I crowd him back against the hood of a parked car, both hands braced against the metal beside his hips. “Look at me.”

“Fuck you.”

“Nate.” My tone drops to the one he responds to. The kind of tone that burrows under his skin. “Look. At. Me.”

His obedience is instant in spite of himself. His eyes meet mine, and they’re wet at the edges. Furious and red-rimmed, but the betrayal in them guts me more than anything else. It’s not just Sage, it’s everything. It’s the lie Sage must have told. It’s the truth Nate can’t swallow.

“You trusted him,” I say, quieter now.

He jerks his head. “Don’t. Don’t stand here and pretend you understand.”

“I do understand.” I lean in, voice near his ear. “You trusted the wrong person. Again.”

He breathes hard, shakily, teeth bared. “And you’re the right one?”

“No,” I admit. “But I’m the one who sees it. The one who won’t lie to you about what that looked like back there.”

“Then what the fuck do you want from me?” he snaps, slamming both palms against my chest, shoving me back a step. “What do you want, Liam? You want me broken? Congrats. You got it.”

I let the space sit between us for a beat before I close it again. My hand reaches for his jaw, gently this time, fingers pressing behind his ear. His skin is burning, and his bottom lip is trembling. I tilt his head up until he’s forced to meet my eyes.

“No,” I murmur, and his throat bobs. He doesn’t move when I press my forehead to his, doesn’t stop me when I whisper, “Let them hurt you. Let them leave you. Let them lie. I won’t.”

“You will,” he whispers back, voice cracked open. “Eventually, you will. You already fucking did!”

I shake my head. “No, I did that because I thought it would be better that way. But I can’t stay away from you, even when I try.”

His lips part, and for a second, I think he might cry. But then he grabs my shirt, fists it tight, and leans forward until our foreheads knock hard.

“You’re so fucking evil,” he chokes. “You don’t even care what you’re doing to me.”

I breathe him in, slow and deep, before pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth—soft, not demanding. Not yet. “I care more than you want me to, and I notice more than you realize.”

And it’s true. It’s the one truth I can’t weaponize without bleeding myself.

I pull back to look at him properly; his green eyes are glassy, his bottom lip trembling, and the anger still vibrating in his shoulders is now buried under something heavier.

Need.

Loneliness.

Surrender.

And I don’t need him to say it. I don’t need a confession because I already know I have him now.

“You flinch when people speak softly, because you think it means they’re calculating.

You don’t trust soft, because soft hurt you.

” I let my voice drop to a whisper. “So, you prefer rage. You prefer loud. At least then you can see the hit coming and you don’t have to admit that being touched softly leaves deeper bruises. ”

His eyes are blazing—but not with hate, with panic. Real, tangible, I know you’re too close panic. “Stop fucking psychoanalyzing me.”

“Nate,” I say quietly, “when was the last time someone looked at you without asking you to be something else? I’m not asking you for anything but your time.”

Lie.

“I’m not trying to fix you.”

Lie.

“I just see you.”

Truth.

His eyes burn, but he doesn’t look away. He’s unraveling again, and this time, it’s all for me.

“Why are you doing this?” His voice isn’t loud. It’s not even angry. It’s raw and torn straight from a part of him I don’t think he’s ever let anyone see.

And that’s where I sink the knife.

My breath brushes the space between us, close enough that I feel the tremble in his shoulders when I speak. “Because the only thing more beautiful than watching you burn…” I pause, smiling faintly, “is watching you try not to.”

I lower my voice even more. “You think your anger protects you. That if you stay mad enough, no one can get in. But it’s just armor, Nate. And right now, you’re bleeding through the cracks.”

His breath hitches when I lift my hand slowly. I’m giving him time to stop me, to move, to run. But he doesn’t. He stays. My fingers brush his cheek, light as a whisper, but he’s still not pulling away.

“You’re always so busy proving how untouchable you are,” I murmur, “but here you are. Alone. Letting me close to see what you try so hard to bury.”

He inhales sharply, chest expanding with the kind of breath that isn’t for oxygen—it’s for control. But he already lost that the second he let me speak.

“You want to know why I’m doing this, Pup?” I whisper. “Because you let me . Because, no matter how loud you scream that you hate me… you never walk away.”

His hands are balled into fists and shaking at his sides. I just know every instinct is screaming at him to run. Or fight. Or maybe collapse. But he stays, and that tells me everything I need to know.

“You feel it, too,” I say, breath ghosting over his skin. “Every time I get close. That pull. That pressure. You hate it because it’s stronger than your hate. Because it’s me .”

I reach up, two fingers under his chin, guiding his head slightly so he has to face me. “Tell me to fuck off again,” I whisper, but he doesn’t. His throat moves, but no sound comes out. “Say it, Nate.”

Killian was right. Now is my chance, and I’ll thank him later.

Right now, I’ve got a broken boy to ruin.