CHAPTER FOUR

BATMAN’S NOT MAD, HE’S JUST DISAPPOINTED

KILLIAN

“HE’S DEAD.”

Yeah, I wasn’t surprised. Had I found the bastard, I’d have killed him. And, if not me, his dad for sure. I’d bet there’d be a lengthy line of people ready to kill Ayden.

The twat.

“Didya hear me?” Dair asked.

“Yeah,” I said into my cell, “I heard. How’s his dad spinning it?”

“Tragic story, that. The innocent and angelic wee lad was taken by his enemies, aye? It’s his cross to bear for all he’s doing to protect the people.”

“Gotta respect his way of weaving a tale.”

“That ya do.” He paused for a minute, and I could hear him light a smoke. “Any word on our entrepreneur?”

I gripped my glass so hard, it was a testament to its craftsmanship that it didn’t shatter. I’d still have side armed the fooker against the brick wall of the balcony, but I didn’t want to risk waking Gus.

“Not a damn thing, and it’s pissing me off,” I growled.

A member of my team—well-compensated and trusted—had decided to expand my business efforts without my knowledge. He’d pyramid-schemed it, linking me to filth I had no interest in working with.

I had zero tolerance for lies, greed, or betrayal. Rick had managed to do all three in a short time.

That meant his time walking the earth was even shorter.

“We’ll get ‘im.” Before I lost my hold on my temper, Dair changed the subject. “Conor said there may be another job coming up.”

I thought about Gus.

Like she was a fookin’ snake charmer, just the quick visual of her sleeping in my bed hardened my dick, bending it along my thigh painfully. And since I’d been jerking it in the shower every damn chance I got, the thing was already used and abused. If I didn’t get away from Gus soon, I’d end up with permanent calluses and a right arm that was twice the size of my left.

If I was a smart man, I’d jump at the chance to put some distance between us.

But I wasn’t a smart man when it came to Gus.

“I’m not—”

“It’s local,” Dair interrupted.

“Have him send me the info. I’ll decide,” I lied.

That was the advantage of what I did. I took the jobs I wanted and left the rest. Since I only had Gus for another week, I knew I wouldn’t be taking it, local or not.

Plus, if the info was coming from Uncle Conor, it involved the Irish. We may have shared a nationality, but I held no loyalty to them. They knew I wouldn’t lie, cover anyone’s ass, or be swayed.

That’s what made me in demand.

I only cared about myself and my crew.

And Gus.

Beyond that, every job was about the money and whether it fit my beliefs.

My moral compass may be skewed to hell and back, but it was what I lived by. That meant that, Irish or not, if the job didn’t line up correctly with it, they could fook themselves with their own balls for all I cared.

Dair chuckled. “Aye, right. So tell him to ask yer bullocks?”

Since that was the Irish equivalent of telling someone to shut up, it was exactly what I’d say to my uncle. Lucky for Conor, Dair had more tact than I did, but the message would be the same.

I wasn’t interested.

“I’ll be in touch,” he said. “And I’ll aim for later than three in the morning next time.”

“I was up.”

“Aye, I’m sure you were. How’s the dote?”

Cute wasn’t the right word for Gus.

Gorgeous. Beautiful. Smart. Funny as hell. Messy. Maddening. Tempting.

A walking wet dream.

Since sharing any of that with Dair would’ve had his ass on the next flight to see for himself, my answer was to hang up on him.

Taking a drink of scotch, I absentmindedly tapped my phone against the arm of my chair. My mind should’ve been on catching Rick before he fooked me over any worse. Instead, it kept wandering to who was in my bed.

And the best way to keep her there.

Nolan moving caught my attention, and I looked over to see the subject of my thoughts standing on the balcony like I’d fookin’ conjured her there with my need.

Her feet and shapely legs were both bare. I wasn’t sure if she was wearing any bottoms, but if she were, they were small enough to be hidden under the hem of her thin tee. Her tits pressed against the practically nonexistent material, her nipples hardened by the cool night’s air.

Wide-eyed, her blond hair blowing in the wind, she looked wild.

A wet dream.

My wet dream.

She took a step forward, giving me a better look at her in the light. Her eyes may have been wild, but they were also panicked.

Seeing it wasn’t insomnia that’d brought her outside like me, I set my shit down and stood. I wasn’t sure what to do, but I didn’t need to make that decision.

Gus made it for me.

Moving without hesitation, she rushed forward, slamming into my front. Her face pressed against my chest, her thin arms wrapping around my waist.

I curled my own arms around her, rubbing her back and cupping her head. “What’s wrong, mo chuisle?”

“Nightmare.”

“What happened?”

She shrugged. “Dunno. Woke up freaked and needed air. Like the walls were closing in. Does that make sense?”

Being caged in was a feeling I knew too fookin’ well.

“Yeah,” I muttered.

We stood like that for a while, me selfishly soaking in the feel of her. When I felt her shiver, I shifted her body away so she didn’t feel what that shiver had done to me.

I was sick.

I didn’t fookin’ care.

Hoarsely, I whispered, “You should get back inside, lass. You’ll freeze out here.”

Tilting her head, Gus looked up at me, her mouth opening slightly so her tongue could dart out and swipe across her full bottom lip. My control was close to snapping, but before it could, she pressed her lips together and nodded. With a muttered goodnight, she headed back inside.

To sleep, nearly naked, in my bed.

I went inside, too.

Climbing into my bed after her, I stripped her bare, ate her pussy like I was starving, and slammed into paradise.

At least in my mind.

In reality, I took my spot on the couch, stroked my dick, and shot my load into my tee, trying to ease the need so I could sleep.

It didn’t work.

Nothing but Gus would.

GUS

Living with Killian was fucking—or as he said, fookin’—hard.

Not for the reasons I’d been expecting, though.

Sure, picking up after myself and not letting my garbage person instincts take over was a full-time job. And coming up with an appropriate thank you gift was near impossible, especially since my sixty dollars of wine hardly scratched the surface of what I owed him.

All of that was tolerable. But what wasn’t?

Killian Nox.

A man who was as unreal as his name.

First of all, he smelled amazing. His soap and cologne were manly and crisp. Adding in the scent of his occasionally smoked cigar—woodsy with a hint of honey—made the combination all the more appealing.

And I may have known him for almost two weeks, but I still hadn’t gotten used to how attractive he was. The height, the muscles, the beard, the tattoos… It was all working for him. And, creepy admirer I was, it was very much working for me, too.

On top of his many physical attributes, I’d been forced to deal with his thoughtfulness. He’d given me his bed, crossing his arms and not budging on the issue. Almost every morning, he’d made me a travel mug of coffee the way I liked. Every night, whether he was there or not, he’d ordered and paid for dinner to be delivered. Twice it’d been Mexican, which was my favorite—something he’d quickly picked up on.

Just that morning, he’d texted to tell me he’d be making Thursday night dinner. After the hellish week I’d had, there was literally not one thing that sounded better than a home-cooked meal.

Especially when I wasn’t the home-cooker, only the home-eater.

When he’d gotten home that afternoon, he’d been carrying bags holding everything we needed for a steak and potato dinner. Plus, the ingredients for chocolate chip cookies—something I’d mentioned in passing I’d been craving.

There was only so much perfection one woman could put up with. Killian was smart. He was sweet. He was dangerous, imposing, intimidating, funny, soft, tender.

Intense.

He was the kind of guy who’d rip a heart to shreds, taking some pieces so it could never be whole again.

Not on purpose, of course, but the outcome would be the same.

Which was why, as I stood in his kitchen, I contemplated starting a small fire and fleeing from the building. It may have been extreme, but compared to the other urges in my head, it was actually the most reasonable.

I wanted to climb the man like a tree.

And, if his hand touched my lower back one more time, I might lose my head and try.

To be fair, his touches had been innocent. A light graze as he’d passed to grab something or another.

But that didn’t mean my lust-fueled mind didn’t do its thing. It bent. It twisted. It turned the innocuous touches into strip teases followed by Cirque du Soleil level kinkiness.

I was a dirty perv.

When Killian moved in close behind me, his muscular arm reaching past to refill my wine, I went rigid so I wouldn’t do something stupid.

Like, lean into him.

Or turn and beg him to kiss me.

Or offer myself up for dinner.

“You okay, little one?” he rumbled in my ear.

That was something else new.

Little one.

I was short, but compared to him, I was downright tiny. My height, or lack thereof, seemed to make people think jokes were okay. Like, did I use a booster seat when I drove, or was the weather different down here. It also gave the impression I’d enjoy the top of my head being used as an arm rest or constant comments about how ‘cute’ I was.

Except for some self-doubt a couple weeks ago—courtesy of the face-to-face with the leggy beauty—people’s comments didn’t make me dislike my size.

They made me dislike people.

With Killian, it was different. He wasn’t mocking or teasing me. It was an endearment, like honey or sweetheart were. Casual niceties.

I liked hearing it from him, especially rumbled in his thick accent.

But it wasn’t my favorite.

The night before, I’d jolted awake from a bad dream. It’d been the type that made my heart clench, the vague pieces of the nightmare quickly fading from my mind, but the panic it’d brought had held me hostage. I’d slipped out onto the balcony to get some fresh air, and Killian had already been there. Too tired to think, I’d gone to him and gratefully accepted the comfort he’d offered in his hug. I didn’t remember much more than the feel of his arms and what he’d called me.

Mo chuisle.

I had no clue what it meant. Googling for a translation had offered up nothing, likely because I’d butchered the spelling. I’d considered asking but had decided against it. I liked the way it’d sounded. The way he’d said it. I’d rather keep the mystery than find out it meant something as simple as chick.

Or messy garbage person.

Trying to play it cool, I began stirring the mashed potatoes. “I’m fine. Just don’t want these to burn.”

“Well, you know how serious us Irish take potatoes, but I’d say we’re safe.” When I looked at him, he added, “I turned that burner off a few minutes ago.”

“Oh. Right.” Left with a massive amount of nervous energy, I was about to do something desperate… clean. Luckily, the timer for the cookies went off. I pulled them from the oven and was transferring them to the cooling rack when Killian’s phone rang.

“Aye?” he answered. There were a few beats of silence followed by a low, annoyed grunt. “You’ve gotta be shittin’ me. Aye. Aye. Hell. I’ll be right there.”

I tried not to let my disappointment show. “Maybe, if you’re lucky, I’ll save you some leftovers.”

His body was tight, his jaw clenched, but at my words, he smiled. It was small, but it was there. “Sorry, lass. If it wasn’t—”

I waved my hand to brush off his apology. “It’s fine. Nolan and I will eat like kings and get caught up on our shows.”

Killian took a step toward me before his phone started ringing again. “Fookin’ hell,” he growled, answering it as he stalked to his room.

My mind wandered as I packed away most of the food. I wondered where Killian was going. I wondered what sort of freelance situation had called him away. I also selfishly hoped it was easily resolved so Killian would return quickly.

Grabbing a Ziploc bag, I tossed most of the cookies in and walked to the bedroom to offer them to him. My words died in my throat when I saw what he was holding.

That’s a really big freaking gun.

Why does he have a big gun?

And why does he have a gun holder thingy at the small of his back?

Well, duh, to hold his really big freaking gun.

Why does he have such a big gun?

After sliding his gun in the holder at his back, he put his left foot onto the bed and pulled up his pant leg. He strapped a smaller one in its holder on the inside of his leg.

I should’ve backed away or made a lot of ruckus to make it seem like I’d just arrived. I should’ve done something more than stand there frozen, staring in mesmerized silence.

When Killian put his foot down and turned toward me, I was ready to lie and say I hadn’t seen anything. However, one look at his expression told me he’d known I was there the whole time. It was guarded yet expectant, like a blank mask had been slipped on as he waited for my reaction.

What is my reaction?

I have no clue how I’m feeling right now.

Holding up the bag, I blurted, “I packed you some cookies. I know I said I’d save you leftovers, but I can’t guarantee it’d include the cookies because I love them, and I have zero willpower. So I packed them for you to take.” I tossed the bag at him before spinning around. “Okay, enjoy.”

“Gus.”

At my name, I stopped but didn’t look back. “Hmm?”

“You gotta give me more than that, mo chuisle.”

“Okay, I’ll pack another bag of cookies if you’re gonna be so greedy.”

“That’s not what I mean, and you know it.”

Inhaling, I looked back at him. “What’re the chances you’re a cop or a government agent or James Bond?”

He shook his head.

“Right,” I murmured. “Are you at least a good guy?”

He shook his head, and my stomach sank.

“Rosie calls you ‘Mr. Bigger and Badder’ which is even more fitting now,” I shared.

“Your best friend?” At my nod, there was a definite curve to his lips. “You told your best friend about me?”

My eyes widened as I realized the—very true—implications of that. “Briefly. In passing. Hardly anything.”

“Enough for her to give me a nickname.” Before I could think up an excuse, he continued. “I may not be a good guy, but I’m not the bad guy.” He paused for a second before amending, “Not the baddest.”

“So you’re in the gray area? That sounds pretty Batman-ish to me. Do you have a secret underground fortress, a butler, and a Batmobile? Because if you have a butler, you’ve totally been holding out on me.”

“I have a converted warehouse, Nolan, and a Harley.”

“That actually sounds better.” I glanced at the bed to see another big gun and what I guessed were bullet holder thingies next to it. “If you have two big guns, how come you don’t wear a…” I gestured from my shoulders to my armpits, “whatever that thing is? A gun bra?”

“Shoulder holster?” he offered, fighting a smile.

“Yeah. That.”

“Because I’m not a stereotype of a detective from the fifties.”

“Oh. So people don’t actually wear those? They look badass.”

“For short times, aye, they’re worn. Usually for show. But they get uncomfortable.”

“Just like with the tie on the door, TV and movies have lied to me.”

There was a beep from his phone seconds before the doorbell buzzed.

As he started throwing the rest of his things in his bag, I went out into the living room and paced. My mind worked through the bullet points.

Literally.

He had guns.

He may not have been a bad guy, but he wasn’t a good one, either.

Whatever he was off to do, it must’ve been dangerous to require the weaponry he had.

Wrapped up in my thoughts, I didn’t notice him behind me until I turned and almost slammed into his chest. As it was, I was thrown off balance and would’ve fallen had his hands not spanned my hips.

Keeping hold of me, Killian whispered, “I’ve gotta go, little one.” His expression was filled with regret and anger, though I was pretty sure only one had to do with me.

“Okay,” I whispered back.

“We’ll talk when I get home. About this. About… everything. Aye?”

I nodded.

Like he was a human lie detector, Killian searched my eyes—my soul. Seeming to accept my answer, he let me go, grabbed his bag, and left.

I stood like that for a while, curiosity and worry fighting for my attention. Since my thoughts could only stay circular for so long, they eventually shut down, leaving me numb.

On autopilot, I sat down to watch Netflix with Nolan while I ate my weight in cookies.

I fell asleep on the couch, surrounded by Killian’s scent. My dreams were filled with him—alternating between nightmares of his death and erotic ones where he possessed me so fully, I woke up panting and writhing with need.

It wasn’t until the next morning, when I exhaustedly plopped down in my first class, that I realized it hadn’t even occurred to me to call the police.

Batman would be so disappointed in me.