Page 4

FOUR

Killian

The morning after the fire that had killed John Mitchell, I stepped through the doorway into Redcars and was faced with a welcoming committee.

There was no sign of Logan or his new partner, Gray, which was a relief because Gray being a documentary maker freaked me out.

If he put me in his crosshairs—stand-up member of the community, lawyer, blah blah—then he’d find out about the other parts of my life and that wouldn’t hold up to the scrutiny.

Rio Villareal was the first one I saw—a fighter, quiet, stoic.

His posture was relaxed until he noticed me, but I’d seen him fight; he was the kind of man who could strike fast and hard.

From how he stood between me and the rest of the garage, it was clear he was already weighing me up as a threat.

Arms crossed, feet planted—a man braced for impact, reading me like a puzzle he couldn’t solve.

That kind of silent tension didn’t need fists to speak.

I knew it too well. I’d worn it myself, threading rage through every courtroom exchange and every backroom deal made with men who could end lives without ever lifting a finger.

He looked defensive. Worried. Because he had to know I’d figured it out—he’d been part of what had happened to Mitchell.

And the last time we’d crossed paths, he’d just come back from handling Vinnie with Enzo.

He had too many secrets, and I knew too many of them.

That was why his stare felt more calculated than hostile. This wasn’t only anger, he was nervous.

“Enzo. Jamie,” Rio called.

Jamie Maddox stepped in, wiping oil from his hands with a rag.

Jaw locked tight, glare loaded for war. He was shorter than me, all fire and fury, opposite in every way—and magnetic as hell.

I couldn’t look away. Every line of him was wound tight, one spark from detonation.

He didn’t need words. His presence said enough.

And yeah, he was sexy. Blue eyes, sharp edges, and that undercurrent of something broken beneath his skin .

“What do you want?” Jamie asked.

“Easy there, Pretty ,” I drawled, low whistle and a grin to match, just to make him bristle. I didn’t know why I thought of him like that. Sure, he was gorgeous—blond hair, eyes like cut glass—but behind all that shine was something dangerous. Quiet danger. Patient, coiled, waiting.

It made no sense. He was the last person I should’ve been attracted to—volatile, closed-off, an ex-con with a past, complete with trauma all stitched together—but there I was, wanting to push him.

Not because it was smart. Because I needed to know what he looked like coming apart—how the fire in him burned when it wasn’t rage but something else.

I imagined it hot and unyielding in his kiss, reckless in a way that matched everything about him.

And I hated myself for it. For wanting the chaos.

For craving the exact kind of hurt I should’ve known better than to chase.

Not that I’d go there for real. Redcars had been my home once. Tudor didn’t need me fucking up the balance. I respected him too much for that.

I adjusted the cuffs of my suit jacket with the ease of someone long used to walking into rooms full of predators.

This wasn’t the first time I’d stepped into a space like this, and it wouldn’t be the last. These men didn’t know me much past my law degree and a moral compass prone to breaking when it came to Redcars.

But I didn’t miss the looks that were much more than a hatred for lawyers—maybe it was fear?

I couldn’t get a read on either of them.

“Heard there was a tragic fire,” I said, and with those six words, the energy in the room shifted. I held my hands as if I were scrolling a phone. “Yeah, local businessman John Mitchell, dead in a house fire. Arson suspected.” I waited for one of them to crack a smile of satisfaction.

“Shame,” Rio murmured.

I gestured at Jamie. “That’s your MO, right Pretty ?”

Nothing. Rio stoic, Jamie silent. Tough crowd.

“Okay, then, we got enough from Robbie’s data for tomorrow’s headlines to shift from tragic arson to ‘murdered businessman with ties to organized crime.’”

“So job done,” I widened my arms, stepping closer to Jamie, almost within touching distance. “Group hug?”

Jamie took half a step back before reining himself in. “Touch me, and I’ll kill you.”

His whole body buzzed like a live wire, every nerve sharp and ready to snap.

There was a current between us, a charge that made the air taste like static.

He wasn’t loud, didn’t need to be. That threat, that promise of violence, sat under the surface—quiet, deliberate, simmering. It made my skin prickle.

And fuck, it made him hot.

That tension in his stance, the tight coil of restraint in every movement—he was precision wrapped around a fuse, and I wanted to see what happened when it blew. Not smart. Not safe. But Jesus, he was the danger that got under my skin. Not my type at all. And yet, I couldn’t stop watching him.

Fucking an ex con would mess with my straight-laced lawyer cover, which had taken years to build. A bad decision, yes, but a one-and-done taste would be nice.

I removed my jacket and placed my briefcase on a familiar stack of tires.

“Who wants to start?”

“Start what?” Enzo asked as he joined us and we exchanged nods as Rio pressed a button to roll down the shutter doors.

“What happened last night?”

“Why do you need to know? I thought you wanted plausible deniability, Mr. Lawyer ,” Jamie said with enough sarcasm to make the air sting.

I ignored him, but secretly enjoyed that flicker of personality slipping through his mask. Just a spark—but it made him real in a way that caught me off guard.

“Did he give up the names of people he answered to.”

Rio, Enzo, and Jamie exchanged brief glances—silent, guarded, as if they were about to clam up—and I wasn’t about to let that happen. Not when they’d made me part of this by pulling me in.

“Back the fuck off, Suit—we got this,” Jamie said, and no one corrected him.

“Awww, you gave me a nickname, Pretty ? I like it.”

Jamie rolled his eyes with a scoff, muttering something that sounded a lot like “prick,” but there was heat in it.

I caught the flash of something he didn’t mean to show—something tangled and charged.

I’d gotten Caleb to dig into all the people at Redcars, watching out for Tudor, and for Jamie, there was a sealed juvenile record that Caleb had cracked.

Parents buried in an unmarked grave. Then, the murder of an uncle and psychological jargon pretending to diagnose Jamie as if he were a case study, as if any label could ever contain someone like him.

He was an intriguing fucking maze, all dead ends and razor wire, and the more I learned, the more I wanted in.

I chuckled low in my throat, unable to help it. “God, you’re fun when you’re mad, Pretty.”

Jamie stepped forward then. “I swear?—”

“Hi, Killian,” Robbie joined us then, and I blinked—the surgery he’d had was enough for me to take a second look, enough to fool most people. “Is everything okay,” he asked and smiled as Enzo collected him under his arm and held him close.

“Hi, Robbie,” I said. “How are you doing? I love the new face.”

I turned up the charm to see if I could get a reaction, and he blushed—so damn cute I couldn’t help but stare. Enzo growled under his breath.

“Down boy,” I snarked, shooting him a grin, but it wasn’t only Enzo looking ready to snap. Jamie stepped between us, all sharp edges and stormy eyes. “Getting jealous of me checking out other guys, Pretty?” I deadpanned, reaching out to chuck him under the chin.

He didn’t flinch. Didn’t jerk away.

Just let me touch him.

His skin was baby soft, like expensive lotion and sin, and for one stupid moment, I forgot how dangerous he was.

I let my hand drift, fingers brushing along his jaw, thumb lingering a breath too long at the edge of his lower lip.

His mouth parted enough to tempt, and that was when I knew I’d pushed it too far.

His hand came up fast— crack! —knocking mine away like I’d burned him.

The look in his eyes was all fire and ice.

“Bold of you to assume it’s jealousy and not me fitting you for a coffin,” he said coolly.

“Flirting and threats in the same breath. You really know how to keep a guy interested,” I smirked.

Jamie snorted. “The day I flirt with you is the day Hell freezes over, and I stop lighting matches.”

I leaned in close enough to make him twitch. “Well, if you ever get cold, I’ll keep you warm, sweetheart.”

Jamie’s eyes narrowed, a flash of irritation blooming into something almost predatory.

His tongue darted out to wet his lower lip—slow and deliberate, as if he knew exactly what he was doing.

A flicker of unconscious temptation? No.

This was intentional. Teasing. My breath hitched.

All I could think about was what he’d taste like, how he’d sound if I pushed him against a wall and kissed the fight right out of him .

“You wanna take whatever this is, outside?” Rio’s voice was dry and unimpressed from behind us.

“Outside?” Jamie raised an eyebrow. “We’re killing him. Can I go first?”

I snorted, couldn’t help it. “Nice to know I’m on your kill list, Pretty.”

Jamie’s glare could’ve stopped traffic.

Rio rolled his eyes, “the fuck is going on?”

“So, names?” I asked Rio, ignoring Jamie’s mumbled, “And I said we’ve got this,” as if I hadn’t heard it the first time.

“We need to take a beat on this, J,” Rio said first, low and even.

Jamie’s jaw tensed. “Rio?—”

“Too much too soon,” Rio said, and Jamie subsided.

The shift was instant. No argument, no protest—just that tight flare of frustration in Jamie’s eyes before he swallowed it. That kind of obedience wasn’t fear or submission. It was history. Trust, maybe. Something deep. And I hated how easily Rio could calm him with a look and a few words.

For a second, I wondered if they’d ever been a thing. There was something about how Rio touched him—firm but not forceful, as if he knew how to defuse him without lighting the fuse further. And the way Jamie reacted… Respect. Familiarity. Longing?

Or maybe I was projecting. Because if I had that kind of influence over Jamie, I wouldn’t waste it on calming him down.

“First name is Marcus Kessler,” Rio said.

“Short, blond, always angry, and so much aftershave,” Robbie scratched his arms at the sense memory. “He liked to… he watched, and he would cut me.”

Enzo held him close, and Robbie closed his eyes.

“Kessler is a billionaire,” I said. “Invisible when it matters. Difficult to pin that fucker down.” He was on the list, but way down past the ones we could get to. It looked as if we would be pushing him up if he were in any way responsible for what had happened to Robbie.

“Second is Edward Lassiter.”

“Gruff voice, tall, dark hair, skinny, old,” Robbie said, his voice steadier, “He used to push things inside me, tear me up, he’d laugh and he would…” He stopped, his voice choked.

“I’ve crossed paths with Lassiter before,” I said into the sudden silence, keeping it vague.

“District of Nevada, Federal prosecutor, takes on high-profile trafficking cases. Vegas-based. We’ve worked in parallel before, but not recently.

” I kept my expression neutral, but Jamie was already watching me as if he knew I was only giving half the story.

There’d been whispers after the one case I’d worked with him.

Nights I couldn’t sleep because I kept playing over and over what we’d done.

A file that had disappeared too fast. I didn’t want to believe Lassiter could be worse than I’d thought. But fuck.

I knew Lassiter—knew him well enough that his name on this list made me want to vomit. He wasn’t just a name in a file; he was someone my team had flagged months ago on much lesser issues than trafficking, abuse, and what else he had his hands into. But I couldn’t say that here, not yet.

Jamie’s eyes narrowed, cool and dissecting. He looked at me as if he could peel me open and catalog the truth in my lies. It made me shift where I stood, my throat dry. He didn’t trust me—and damn it, he was right not to.

“I’ll dig into both names.”

“I find them, I kill them, Robbie is safe from ever being found,” Jamie blasted, his expression murderous, his fingers flexing as if he were already holding a lighter. He wanted fire and vengeance, and only Enzo’s steadiness restrained him. I was almost grateful for it .

“Robbie is safe here with us,” Enzo said.

“He won’t be safe until every last one of them is dead!” Jamie snarled.

Rio stepped between him and Enzo, who dropped his hold on Robbie and clenched his fists.

“Settle down, Jamie,” Rio said, placing a steadying hand on his arm.

“Yeah, settle down, Pretty ,” I added because he was beautiful when he was all fired up.

“Fuck you,” Jamie snapped, his voice a razor-edged growl.

“Fuck you too,” I shot back, all bite and zero apology.

I wanted his anger, and I saw Rio’s hand still on him, fingers curled lightly around Jamie’s arm, and something sharp and possessive flared in my chest. I didn’t like it.

Didn’t like Rio touching him. God knows why, but I wanted it to be me with my hands on Jamie.

What the actual hell? I blinked, heart kicking into overdrive.

Lassiter’s name short-circuited my brain, sent warning bells clanging loud enough to drown out reason.

That had to be why some deep, reckless part of me suddenly wanted to stake a claim—because nothing else explained why my instincts veered from legal strategy to territorial craving.

“They need to die,” he repeated. Murderous .

I fought the urge to step into his space and confront him, chest to chest, to see how far I could push before he bit. To inhale his scent—smoke, oil, and something sweet beneath it all. Maybe grab him by the collar and kiss the anger out of him.

“No. More. Killing.” I snapped, and then, held up a hand when Jamie began to talk. “Not yet.”