Page 59 of Cruel When He Smiles (Sinners of Blackthorne U #3)

Liam

I’m still on my knees when it hits me that I’m not the one in control anymore.

Not here. Not now.

My muscles are tight, my pulse loud in my ears, and I hate that I’m the one waiting for his words. I hate that he can make me feel the absence of them like a noose tightening around my neck.

When he finally does speak again, his voice is quiet but steady, the kind of tone that makes you stop breathing because you know you’re about to hear something you’re not ready for.

He leans forward, his face close enough that I can feel his breath on my skin. “So, if you want me, Liam, then you better fucking work for me. Because I’m not going to hand myself over to someone who thinks I’m a disposable convenience.”

Every part of me wants to fight him on it.

To twist it back in my favor. To grab the reins again and remind him that I don’t beg.

But the truth is, I already am. My knees ache against the floor, my head’s lowered without realizing it, my body still angled toward him like I’m the one waiting for permission.

I hurt him. I hurt him and hated doing it.

I reach for him without thinking, my hand resting on his knee.

“I don’t want you to feel disposable. I don’t want you thinking you’re just…

there for me to fuck when I can’t handle myself.

You’re not… You stopped being that long before I even realized it.

” The truth catches in my throat, but I let it come out anyway.

“You’re the only thing that makes sense when I can’t stand being in my own head. ”

My body moves forward, and instead of staying on my knees alone, Nate lowers himself onto his knees in front of me. We’re face to face now, both of us grounded on the same level, both breathing in each other’s air.

The tension doesn’t break—it deepens—but it’s different this time. Neither a game nor a war. I can see every detail in his face, the small lines near his eyes, the faint flush along his cheekbones. His hand comes up, cupping the back of my neck, and then his mouth is on mine.

The relief that crashes through me is instantaneous. Our kiss isn’t rushed or desperate. It’s steady, as if he’s sealing something between us that I didn’t realize remained open before.

When we finally pull back, I rest my forehead against his. “Fuck, I’ve missed you,” I breathe.

Nate’s thumb brushes the side of my neck, a slow stroke that makes my pulse kick harder. “You didn’t lose me,” he says quietly, but his eyes stay locked on mine. “You pushed me away. That’s different.”

I swallow hard as I force myself to hold his gaze. “I know.” The admission cuts on as I say it, but it’s the truth. “And I hated every second of it.”

He tilts his head, studying me like he’s deciding whether to believe that or not. “You’re not used to having to pull someone back, are you?”

I let out a rough laugh, but it lacks humor. “No. People usually… stay.” I pause, smirking faintly at my own hypocrisy. “Or they do exactly what I want and don’t even realize it.”

“And I’m not one of those people,” he says.

“Not even close.”

“Good.” The word is a line drawn in the dirt. His grip on my neck tightens—not in warning, but to keep me right here. “Because I’m not going to be the thing you pick up when it’s convenient and drop the second it’s not. I don’t care how you’re wired, Liam. I won’t do it.”

The words dig in deep, but he’s right—he isn’t one of those people. That’s why I’ve been circling him like this for months. That’s why losing even a piece of him felt like being gutted.

I drag my tongue across my teeth, my pulse starting to climb again, but not from anger. From the fact that he’s right, and I hate that he’s right. “Tell me what you want from me, Pup.”

He shakes his head, thumb brushing the line of my jaw. “Not telling you. You figure it out. If you want me, if you really fucking mean what you just said, you’ll know.”

He refuses to hand me an easy out, and it’s infuriating and intoxicating at the same time.

Normally, I’d press and corner him until he gave me something to work with, but there’s a different kind of power in the way he’s holding himself right now.

He’s finally learned how to make me chase without even moving.

I lean in to close the last inch between us, my voice low against his mouth. “Then don’t go anywhere.”

His lips twitch into the faintest smirk, but he doesn’t kiss me this time. “Show me I shouldn’t.”

And that’s when it hits me—he’s not asking for some grand gesture. He’s asking for consistency. For me to stop fucking with the one thing I can’t seem to leave alone.

His fingers slide through my hair slowly, his touch so fucking gentle it makes my stomach twist. When his palm slides lower, his fingers brush my pec, and I can’t stop the flinch that rips through me. His hand freezes instantly, his eyes snapping to mine.

“You never take your shirt off,” he says quietly, almost to himself.

“No.” My voice is hoarse as I say it. “I… I can’t.”

I expect him to push. Expect him to prod at the wound like I would if our roles were reversed. But he doesn’t. He just hums softly, his fingers tracing slow, meaningless patterns along my arm, the steady rise and fall of his chest grounding me in a way I hate.

“When we were at the lookout and you were… spiraling, you mentioned something,” he says and swallows deeply. “Something about… being locked in a freezer?”

I drag a hand over my face, exhaling hard through my nose.

Might as well be honest if I want my Pup back.

“My mother used to lock me in a broken walk-in freezer that was in our basement. She called it conditioning.” My voice stays even, but my throat feels tight, the old cold creeping in at the edges of the memory.

His eyes are locked on mine, steady, not pitying. “Conditioning for what ?”

“To stop feeling fear.” The words land flat between us. “She thought fear was just another indulgence, something you could strip out if you worked at it hard enough. She’d lock me in and leave me there until my breathing leveled out and I stopped shaking.”

Nate doesn’t look away, and he doesn’t try to soften it.

“I learned quick,” I add, voice dropping, “because the alternative was worse. If I didn’t pass her little tests, my father took over. He believed in different methods.”

“Meaning?” Nate’s voice is careful, but there’s steel under it.

I hold his gaze. “Meaning he didn’t care about the mind. He thought physical pain was the fastest way to erase a weakness.”

Nate’s hand rests on my jaw now, grounding me without force.

I should stop talking. I’ve said enough, more than enough, but it’s like the second I start, I can’t turn it off.

“Every bruise, every cut, every time I couldn’t stand for days—it was either a lesson or a punishment.

My mother built me to manipulate, my father built me to survive. ”

His thumb drags along my cheekbone, the motion almost absent-minded but enough to keep me here, in this moment, instead of there . “You’re wondering why I’m telling you this,” I say, and I can hear the edge in my own voice.

“I’m wondering why you’ve never told anyone,” he corrects quietly.

“Because it’s mine,” I say simply. “The one thing no one gets to use against me. You tell people where the cracks are, and they’ll make it their job to split you open.”

His grip tightens enough to make sure I’m looking at him. “I’m not them.”

That’s the dangerous thing about Nate—he gets inside without forcing his way in, makes me want to give him the parts of me I’ve buried so deep they stopped feeling real.

The silence stretches again, but it isn’t the kind that pushes me toward the edge; it’s the kind that lets me breathe.

And that’s when I fully realize he’s on his knees in front of me, too. We’re both here, neither of us higher than the other, no power tipped in one direction. For someone like me, that’s rare. For someone like me, it’s almost unthinkable.

I get to my feet and pull him up, before lying down on his bed and pulling him down with me. We’re on our sides facing each other when I take a deep breath and start.

“Even though my father used his fists, my mother was worse. She was a psychologist and taught me how to be this way.” I don’t know why I’m saying it.

I don’t talk about her—I never talk about her.

But now, with Nate in front of me, his skin warm against mine, his fingers moving in slow, steady strokes that I hate how much I like—it just falls out. “She taught me how to pretend.”

Nate stays quiet, waiting, his fingers slipping into my hair.

So, I keep going.

“She taught me how to smile the right way, how to say the right words, how to convince people to do what I wanted them to.” My fingers tighten on his hip. “She called it an experiment. Called me an experiment.”

His breath hitches, but I can’t look him in the eye. “She said feelings were distractions and weaknesses. That they made you vulnerable.” My jaw clenches. “She said I was supposed to be better than that.”

Nate’s fingers still in my hair, and I close my eyes. “And then you happened.”

It’s barely a whisper, but Nate hears it. His grip tightens, his breath stutters, his whole body reacts, and I hate that he knows—that he sees. That I’ve let him in this much. I don’t know what the fuck I’m supposed to do with that. I don’t know what the fuck he’s going to do with it either.

And I don’t know why I keep talking.

“You don’t fucking break, Nate. I’ve tried. I’ve pushed you away. I’ve twisted you up and fucked with your head and made you doubt everything you are, and you still—” I shake my head. “You still fucking fight me. You keep making me lose control.”

My voice is quieter now, almost a whisper. “I don’t know how to fucking handle that, and that’s the real problem. That’s the thing that’s been eating at me. Because I don’t know how to be this person. I don’t know how to be Liam Callahan when he’s not in control.”