Page 75 of Cruel When He Smiles (Sinners of Blackthorne U #3)

Liam

My phone buzzes on the desk, Killian’s name flashing across the screen. I don’t hesitate—when he calls unannounced, it’s never for something that can wait. I lean back in my chair, stretching my legs out under my desk.

“Tell me you have good news,” I say by way of greeting.

“I have perfect news,” he replies, and I can hear the faint clink of his lighter flipping open and shut. He’s in a good mood, which is either a sign that something has gone exactly according to plan, or it’s exactly the opposite and he’s enjoying the chaos.

“According to Evelyn Carter’s office, she left on Monday and told her PA she’ll be gone for a while.” He pauses as if he’s waiting for me to keep up, but I’m already there. “Her assistant is trying to play it off as a sudden vacation. No itinerary, no calls, nothing. That works for us.”

I hum, the sound low and thoughtful. She hasn’t contacted Nate in four days and hasn’t been seen since. “She didn’t tell anyone? So, that means she didn’t pencil me in at all. That’s good. Gives us a longer window before anyone starts panicking.”

“It’s better than good,” Killian says, the edge in his voice sharpening. “It means we can control the narrative before it gets messy. The problem is—”

“There’s always a problem,” I cut in. He’s never been able to resist dangling bad news like bait.

“She was seen at Nate’s frat.” His tone flattens, all amusement gone. “Two separate people confirmed it. That means she wasn’t just wandering around town playing tourist; she came for him. But we can spin that if need be, since he has a protection order against her. Won’t matter, either way.”

“Because she’s not going to be around long enough for it to matter,” I finish for him.

There’s a faint smile in his voice when he says, “Exactly.”

I shift in my seat, my hand curling loosely around the phone. “I don’t want her near him again. Once was too much.”

“She won’t be,” he says, calm in a way that makes most people trust him right before they realize they shouldn’t.

My knee bounces under the desk, the only outward crack in the facade I’ve been holding onto since the moment Nate sat on my lap in that shirt and told me he wanted her gone. “You’re sure she hasn’t been seen anywhere else?”

“Not a whisper,” Killian says. “The frat sighting was the last. And before you ask—yes, I already made sure the story won’t spread beyond the people we control.”

I nod to myself, though he can’t see it. “You think anyone’s connecting it to me?”

“They wouldn’t dare,” he says without hesitation. “And if they tried, they wouldn’t live long enough to make it a problem. You know I can get Father’s contacts to arrange a scene.”

There’s a pause on the line, long enough for me to hear the faint sound of him exhaling smoke. “You know,” he says finally, “you’ve been wound so tight about this, I wasn’t sure if you’d even let me handle it. Thought you might try to play knight in shining armor yourself.”

I lean forward, bracing my elbows on the table. “I know where my strengths are, and I know where yours are.”

He chuckles, low and humorless. “That’s the thing about us. We’ve always known where to draw the lines.”

“We’ve also known when to cross them,” I say, and he laughs again, warmer this time, the sound curling through the phone in that way only he can make sound both genuine and threatening.

“True, but this isn’t your line to cross. You’ve got him to deal with.” He quickly continues before I can respond. “And don’t start. You’ve been glued to him for days. He’s fine because you’re keeping him that way. So, keep doing it. Let me handle the rest.”

I hum at that. “So, when do we move?”

There’s a pause, not a hesitation—Killian doesn’t hesitate—but a stretch of silence that tells me he’s waiting to deliver the line he’s been sitting on since he called. “We already have,” he says finally.

My fingers tighten around the phone. “What?”

That’s when he chuckles. It’s not loud, not even prolonged, but it’s enough to tell me he’s enjoying this more than he should. “I’ve had her for a few days now.”

The words are simple, but the effect is instant.

Every muscle in my body stops moving for a beat before my mind catches up, calculating what this means, where she might be, how quickly I can get to her without drawing a straight line from me to the outcome we both know is coming. “You’re holding her?”

“In a manner of speaking,” he says, almost idly. “I’ve had her since you asked me if I was in the mood for murder.”

Of course he did.

I stand, pacing to the window with the phone still pressed to my ear. “Don’t touch her until I say so.”

Killian’s voice is unhurried. “You planning on letting Nate have the honors?”

I stare out at the street below, my mind flashing back to Nate begging me to make it go away. “If he wants them.”

“That’s… poetic,” Killian says, and I can hear the smirk even if I can’t see it. “But you know it’s messy when you hand that kind of power to someone who’s still got emotional skin in the game.”

“I don’t care about messy.” My voice comes out harsh, but I don’t dial it back. “She walked into his room, and touched him. That’s already too far.”

“Then maybe you let me take care of it clean,” Killian offers, though I know him well enough to hear the bait in the suggestion.

“No,” I say, quick and absolute. “Not yet. I want him to have the choice. She’s been in his head long enough without him having a say in how it ends.”

There’s another pause, then he laughs under his breath. “You’re getting sentimental.”

“I’m getting protective,” I correct, though I know the line between the two is getting thinner every time Nate looks at me like I’m the only safe thing in the room. “And you’d do the same if it was someone in your space.”

“Fair,” he admits. Then, after a beat, “I’ll hold her. No one will know she’s missing until we want them to. If you change your mind, you know how to reach me.”

I don’t thank him—Killian doesn’t operate on gratitude—but I let the silence stand long enough to mean something before I say, “Keep me updated.”

“Always,” he says, and then the line goes dead.

I lower the phone, staring at the dark screen for a few seconds before slipping it into my pocket. Killian’s chuckle is still ringing in my head, and I can’t tell if that sound is a promise or a warning.

I find Nate in my room later that evening, laid out across the bed in a lazy sprawl that implies he’s comfortable enough here to forget it’s mine and not his. His bare feet are crossed at the ankles, his phone in his hand, the soft gray cotton of his shirt bunched at his waist.

He doesn’t look up when I step inside, but I can feel his awareness shift subtly as he always does when I’m near, like I’ve just taken the air in the room and decided how much he gets to breathe.

I close the door behind me, slow enough that the click is heard, and lean back against it for a second, watching him. I want to walk over and take him into my lap without any preamble, but this conversation needs careful handling.

If I’m too blunt, he’ll dig his heels in. If I skirt it, he’ll feel like I’m keeping something from him. I need him calm and in that space where my voice works like a leash instead of a wall.

“Pup,” I say softly, letting the sound settle between us before I move toward the bed.

He still doesn’t glance up when he asks, “Yes, Lover?”

I walk over and sit on the edge of the bed, close enough that my knee brushes his thigh. “Do you remember what you asked me the other night? When you said you wanted her gone?”

His phone lowers to his lap, his fingers curling loosely around it. “Yeah.” His voice is steady, not defensive, and I take that as my opening.

“I meant it when I said I’d handle it,” I continue, keeping my eyes on his so he knows I’m not offering him an out. “It’s in motion. She won’t come near you again, but I just need you to trust me enough not to overreact when you hear the rest.”

The smallest crease forms between his brows. “What rest?”

“She’s not… accessible to anyone else right now.” I keep the phrasing vague, but knowing he gets my meaning.

His lips curve—not into the bitter, sarcastic smile I half-expected, but into something darker. There’s no fear in it and no hesitation. “Where is she?”

I watch him carefully before I answer. “Killian has her.”

His smile deepens, and I realize it’s not joy, not relief. It’s hunger. “Then I want to be there when it ends.”

The words hit me harder than I’m ready for, enough that I have to take a second before answering. “That’s not what I was expecting you to say,” I admit.

He lets out a long sigh. “I’ve lived with her shadow my whole life. She’s been in every bad thing I’ve ever thought about myself. She’s the reason I—” He cuts himself off, shaking his head once. “If I can take her last breath, then I’ll finally know she’s gone. Not just out of sight. Gone .”

I let my hand slide up his thigh slowly. “You’re sure?” I say, though it’s not a question so much as a final check.

He nods, never breaking eye contact. “I’ve never been more sure about anything.”

There’s a part of me that wants to protect him from this, to keep him clean of the kind of dirt I’ve lived in my whole life. But that part is drowned out by the part that knows this is what he needs to end it. And if I can give him that, I will.

“Then you’ll have it,” I say quietly, letting my voice soften into the cadence I know calms him. “I’ll make sure it’s on your terms. And when it’s over, we’ll walk out, and she’ll never have the chance to touch you again—not even in your head.”

His shoulders drop, the tension leaving him in a way that’s almost imperceptible unless you know him as well as I do. “You promise?”

“I don’t make promises I don’t intend to keep,” I tell him, and it’s the truth. “But until then, you stay close. No disappearing, no taking detours I don’t know about.”

He gives me a mock salute with the hand still holding his phone. “Yes, Lover.”

I smirk despite myself, running my fingers through his hair before standing. “Get your things. We’ll go get some coffee.”

He watches me for a moment longer, that smile still tugging at his mouth like he knows exactly what’s shifted in me and is just choosing not to say it. Then he swings his legs off the bed and follows.

And I know, as sure as I’ve ever known anything, that there’s nothing I wouldn’t do for him now. Not a single thing.

Nate trails after me, dragging his fee. It isn’t sluggish so much as stubborn, like he’s already decided he’s going to make me wait for him just because he can. He’s holding his hoodie by the hood in one hand instead of wearing it, the other hand still wrapped lazily around his phone.

His hair’s a little mussed from the pillow, falling into his eyes, and he doesn’t bother fixing it. There’s this look on his face—half-sleepy, half-smug—that tells me he’s in one of those rare moods where he’s both compliant and defiant in equal measure.

When I reach for my keys on the dresser, I feel his eyes on me. “You’re paying, right?” he asks, all mock-innocent, like we haven’t had this conversation a hundred times.

“Yes, I’m paying,” I say, rolling my eyes but letting the edge soften in my voice. “When have you ever paid for anything with me?”

He grins at that. “So, I’m your spoiled kept boy now?” I freeze for a second, and he clearly catches it because that grin stretches wider. “Don’t look so shocked, Lover. You basically treat me like one already.”

It’s the way he says it, the way he’s standing there with his hoodie bunched in his hand, hair a mess, wearing one of my older shirts that’s stretched a little at the collar from how often he tugs at it—it hits me in the chest in a way that’s so sudden and sharp I almost growl.

An irrational, feral need to bite down on something because he’s so goddamn cute, I don’t know what else to do with it.

It’s not the same kind of hunger I usually feel around him, not the sharp-edged, predatory pull.

This is… worse. Softer and more dangerous in a way that has my hands curling into fists just to keep from grabbing him too hard.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” he asks, tilting his head, strands of hair falling into his eyes again.

I force myself to set the keys down slowly, my fingers curling into my palm. “You’re really trying me right now, Pup.”

His brows lift, and he leans a little closer, the corner of his mouth twitching like he’s trying not to laugh. “What, you gonna punish me for being adorable?”

And that’s it—the last thread of patience snaps, but not in the way he’s expecting.

I hook an arm around his waist and drag him against me so fast he yelps, half laughing and half surprised.

My other hand tangles in the back of his hair, tilting his head to bare the line of his throat.

“You have no idea how close you are to me sinking my teeth into you right now.”

His eyes widen, but the smile stays. “Because I’m cute?”

“Because you’re too fucking cute,” I admit, my voice a little rougher than before. “So cute it’s actually pissing me off.” I press my mouth to his neck and bite softly. “It’s not safe for you to look at me like that.”

He laughs, soft and breathless, leaning into me. “You’re insane.”

“Completely,” I agree, not moving away yet. My grip tightens for a second before I let him go, and he stumbles back with a mock glare that’s ruined by the way his lips keep twitching upward.

“You’ve got issues,” he mutters, but he’s smiling as he finally pulls on his hoodie, the sleeves swallowing his hands.

“And you’re one of them,” I shoot back, snagging my keys again and heading for the door before I actually do end up throwing him over my shoulder just to get the energy out.

He bounces past me toward the hallway, humming some half-formed tune under his breath, and I have to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from smiling too obviously.

Cuteness aggression is a dangerous thing—especially when the person causing it already owns every inch of you.