Page 21 of Pretty Threats

Killian sits up, and I grab the blanket to keep myself covered. The cum-stained t-shirt has ridden up and I’d rather not flash it or my panties.

“Just got word that your meeting’s moved to three o’clock,” Jamie says to Killian. “Check your phone. I’ll put some food on.”

Killian has a meeting outside the house? Am I going with him? My heartbeat kicks up a notch.

Killian clears his throat. “Is War up?”

“No. Figured I’d give you a warning that he’ll be coming to reclaim his room soon.” Jamie doesn’t look at me, and as he leaves, I wonder if that means something.

Killian rises from the bed and circles it to stand near me. “By the way, I took the post down. If you want to play out some fantasy, you do it with me.”

“What?”

“The mask didn’t fool me. I knew it was you. And yeah, I saw the picture. Don’t ever post on Side again.”

My brows crinkle, and I tilt my head. The words are in English, but I’m completely confused. “What’s Side? I don’t—what are you talking about?”

His eyes narrow, and his stare hardens. “Tell me the truth. Have you been sneaking around? Breaking the rules?”

I clench my teeth. Killian promised not to interfere in my life as along as I didn’t date anyone. He claimed he couldn’t stand to see it. I broke the rule once, and bloody mayhem ensued. But that can’t go on forever. Lately, I’ve been too preoccupied with school to think about other boys, but eventually I want to move on.

“High school is over, Killian.”

“Doesn’t matter.”

“Yes, it does. To me,” I say tersely. “My life was so much better during the summer while you were gone. Don’t I deserve to live a normal life?”

“You swear you don’t know what the WildSide app is? Because if I find out you’re lying?—”

“I don’t lie to you. I know better.”

Killian is brilliant with computers. Once he sets his mind to finding something out online, he does. I notice he didn’t answer my question about whether I deserve a normal life. Prick.

He grabs his phone from the dresser and brings it over. When he sits on my side of the bed, his leg touches my arm, and warmth spreads through me. He has such a beautiful body. And such a gorgeous face. It’s tragic that they’re attached to his black hole of a soul.

Even the light pressure of skin against skin twists me into knots. It makes me want to reach out and touch him. Which is so fucking stupid. I slide my arm closer to my side to break the contact.

There’s a tiny, secret ache between my legs. He didn’t even ask before he pushed his big fingers into me. It did feel really good, though. At the time.

He moves his phone to just above my face. There’s a picture on the screen of a girl in a black mask and underwear.

“That’s you,” he accuses.

It takes a couple of seconds for me to realize he’s right. And a couple more to figure out when the picture was taken.

“That’s part of my Cabaret costume. I did community theatre with one of the really small theaters over the summer. I got to be AD, which was awesome. There weren’t enough actors for the show, so I joined the cast to help out.”

Killian withdraws his phone and turns it to face him, so he can study the image. “I remember Marianne saying she and Peter were going to watch your play. Stonewall Theater. I couldn’t make it back for that.”

He’d wanted to come? Would he have sat with Marianne and my dad? Or would he have lurked in the shadows where no one could see him? Lurking is much more his style.

“Cabaret,” he murmurs. The wheels in his head are grinding.

I know he’ll dig until he confirms what I’m telling him, but I can see that, for now, he believes me. And there’s nothing to worry about because I’m telling the truth.

“I don’t know who would have taken a picture of me backstage and posted it on a dating app.”

“I’ll find out who did it.” He stands. “Grab your clothes. You’re coming downstairs to use my shower, not the one up here.”

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