Page 73 of Cruel When He Smiles (Sinners of Blackthorne U #3)

Liam

Nate’s weight has gone slack against me, his breathing soft and even, and his head tucked under my chin.

I can still feel the tension threaded through him, but it’s fading with every slow inhale he takes.

He doesn’t fight the way I’m holding him.

His legs are curled up over me again, his fingers loose against my shirt, and I know he’s not going anywhere—not tonight.

I don’t move for a while. I just sit there, letting him rest against me, keeping my hand on the back of his neck, thumb brushing idly over the hair at his nape.

He doesn’t stir when I move slightly to test his weight, so I take my time easing him into my arms. He’s lighter than he should be.

It makes me think about all the ways I could fix that—ways she wouldn’t like—and I file those thoughts away for later.

I settle him in bed, guiding him onto his side before tucking the blanket up over his shoulders. He shivers once, chasing my heat, and I pull the blanket tighter around him until he’s cocooned. He always sleeps better when he’s warm and surrounded by something that smells like me.

When I lean back, his face is turned toward me, lashes fanned against his cheek. He’s out. Not restless, not tense—just sleeping. That’s good enough for me.

I linger, watching him for a long minute.

His lashes are ridiculously long against his skin, and his mouth has lost that tight, defensive line.

He’s not smiling, but he’s peaceful. That’s better.

That’s mine. I brush my thumb over the edge of his cheekbone before pulling back and making sure the room’s dim enough to keep him under.

When I finally step out, the house is quiet in that late-night way, but there’s a hum in the air I can’t ignore.

I cross the hall, pushing open Killian’s door without knocking.

He’s sprawled on the leather chair by the window, long legs stretched out, Zippo lighter flipping open and shut in one hand like he’s been waiting for me.

“Are you in the mood for murder?” I ask as I lean against the doorframe.

His mouth curves into that wicked smile of his, and he flips the lighter closed with a snap. “Always. What’s the occasion?”

I step inside, shutting the door behind me. “She was in his room today.”

His expression doesn’t change much, but the way his eyes sharpen tells me exactly where his head is going. “Bold.”

“Stupid,” I correct. “He was fine this morning. Happy. Then she touched him, and it was gone. Just… gone. I barely got him back. He begged me to make it go away.”

Killian’s thumb flicks the Zippo closed with a snap. “So, we make sure she doesn’t get the chance to touch him again.”

I step further in, leaning against the wall, arms folded. “I could end her in a way that never comes back to us.”

“You could,” he says, nodding slowly, “but you’d lose something in the process.”

“Like what?”

“That look on his face when he gets his hands on something that’s been hurting him,” Killian says, almost casual but not quite. “Let him do the honors.”

I raise a brow. “You think that’s a good idea?”

“I think,” Killian says, leaning back, “you’ve been working hard to make him yours. Letting him put her down would burn the last bridge between them. He’d be yours in a way that even she couldn’t touch.”

I cross my arms, considering it. The thought of Nate facing her, of seeing the look in her eyes when she realizes he’s not hers anymore—that’s tempting. But the other part of me wants to handle it myself, to make sure she never gets within breathing distance again.

Killian watches me, reading the hesitation. “You’re not worried about him freezing up. You’re worried you won’t get to do it yourself.”

I give him a flat look. “You’re not wrong.”

He flashes me a knowing grin. “Then make it a joint effort. I’ll set it up, you control the space, and you let him finish it. You’re right there if he falters. Either way, she doesn’t walk out.”

I drag a hand over my jaw, picturing it. Nate with a blade in his hand, no tremor, no hesitation. Her realizing too late that she had built something she couldn’t control. It’s poetic.

“You’d help set it up?” I ask.

Killian’s expression turns mock-offended. “You really need to ask?”

I shake my head. “You’ve been waiting for me to say the word.”

He shrugs, unapologetic. “I’ve been waiting for you to stop thinking you need to shield him from what he’s already survived. Let him burn her out of his life for good. Besides, you should know the satisfaction of cutting your own strings.”

The image is there again, sharper this time. Nate’s steady hand, his eyes fixed on mine as he makes her bleed. And when it’s over, he’ll know exactly who gave him that freedom.

I can’t help but smile. “You might be right.”

Killian flips the lighter open again, flame catching for a second before he snaps it shut. “Of course I’m right.”

I push off the wall, heading for the door. “We’ll talk details tomorrow. He’s asleep now.”

Killian doesn’t move, but his voice follows me out. “Don’t wait too long, little brother. The longer she’s breathing, the longer she’s a problem.”

I don’t answer.

When I step back into the hall, I glance toward my room. The door’s still cracked, and I can hear Nate’s slow breathing. I’m not spiraling. I’m not restless. I’m just… ready.

And when the time comes, she won’t be.