Page 22 of Pretty Threats

“About the play, it’s nice to know you read Marianne’s texts. She said you never reply, and she wonders if you even open them.”

He says nothing, and his expression never changes. I should be used to this granite hardness from him, but sometimes, it still gets to me.

I climb out of bed. The t-shirt is damp at the bottom. Ugh.

My gaze flicks to the bed. If we were at home, I’d change the sheets. For that brief time when he was visiting me in my room, I always changed them before anyone woke up. Killian and I had the same size bed, so if Marianne noticed anything on them when doing laundry, she wouldn’t have known they were from my bed and not his.

After I scoop up my clothes, I follow Killian out of the room. Now that daylight has taken over the sky, I have a chance to see the converted space properly. The exposed rafters have been stained a honey color and sealed with gloss. The original duct work was probably cleaned but not replaced because it has a dark patina that contrasts starkly with the wood. Because the rafters are at least thirty-feet above, the ceiling almost has a cathedral feel.

I wonder if this is where I’ll be entombed. A grim thought but, despite the sex, I’ve got no assurances I’m safe here now.

When we exit the hall, the space opens into a massive rectangle that runs the entire length of the building. There are wide windows that stretch from the floor to twenty-feet high. The view of the water is gorgeous.

There’s a galley kitchen and table and chairs to the left, a seating area with modern light-colored Scandinavian furniture, and a polished wood bench in front of one of the windows to sit and contemplate life or admire the view. It’s a serene space, which is unexpected for a bachelor pad. Especially this one.

We pass an exterior door to reach the inner staircase.

I hurry down the steps to catch up with Killian. At the bottom, I almost run into War. He grabs my arms, lifts me, and sets me on the floor out of his way and then continues upstairs.

Killian stares at War’s giant back as he ascends. Killian doesn’t like when other people touch me. Normally, I try to ignore it, but if he starts a fight with his dangerous friends and he’s the one who dies, they will definitely kill me, too.

I put my hand on Killian’s arm to distract him. “Which way?”

His gaze drops to my hand for a second. You wouldn’t know by his expression that he likes my touching him, but I know he does.

The distraction works. He doesn’t answer, but he leads me through a large kitchen with black cabinets and white stone counter tops. There are dozens of windows facing the water, and I’m sure some must have been added. They look almost liked framed pictures.

The main floor has an open concept, and there’s so much room they have two seating areas. I follow Killian past a living room to a back area where there are no windows. The dark windowless west side of the building is the opposite of the east.

He takes me into a large bathroom and nods at the massive shower. “Throw your clothes on the floor. I’ve got clean ones for you.”

My body stills, and it’s as if I can feel every molecule of air brushing across my skin like a million pinpricks. He’s had a girl here whose clothes will fit me? Is it someone he’s using to get over his obsession? That shouldn’t leave me breathless with shock, but it does.

I don’t want to wear her clothes. Even though it would be so much better if he moved on and found someone to have a normal relationship with, in the moment, the thought makes me feel uncomfortable. We were just in bed together… touching each other and having orgasms.

Killian doesn’t close the door when he walks out, which is standard for him. Apparently, some things haven’t changed because he never wanted me to shut doors at home, either, even before we started messing around.

It began as a battle between us. I locked my bedroom door at night but would wake to the feeling I wasn’t alone. At first, I didn’t catch him in the room. The only evidence would be snow falling in the snow globe. I always wondered why he shook it. That made it seem as if he wanted me to know he’d been there. Maybe he was testing me to see if I’d say something to Marianne or my dad. I never did.

Later, Killian became more brazen. I’d wake to find him standing at my dresser or—more unsettling—standing over me, watching me sleep. A locked door meant nothing. Warnings that he’d better stop, also accomplished nothing. He escalated to the point of getting into bed with me. And then… things went farther.

I push the bathroom door closed but don’t lock it. What would be the point?

As I pull off War’s graphic tee, I realize the letters aren’t part of our alphabet. There’s a logo in the middle, but I don’t recognize it. A souvenir from someplace like Russia, I guess.

When I step in the shower, I’m in for another shock. All the products we had in the bathroom shower at our parents’ home are in this shower. Killian’s Rebel’s Creed body wash and cedar-scented shampoo, my shower gel from Body Store, and the shampoo and conditioner I get from a hair salon in Boston. I stiffen. He bought my favorite products for his new girlfriend? Why? So she would smell like me? That feels gross to me. I kinda don’t want to use them now.

As I turn on the water, I try to coach myself out of feeling surly. It’s good that he’s trying to move on. I’ve told him tons of times we both need to. Except, maybe that’s why he said last night he wouldn’t have unlocked my cuff and taken me out of the house even if he could’ve. Does Killian consider me expendable now?

No. At least not completely, I tell myself. Or he wouldn’t have been angry about finding my picture on a hookup dating app.

Warm water blasts down at me. I step back and turn around, letting the water pound the tight muscles of my back. Gradually, the hot water helps ease some of the tension.

I step out and wrap a towel around me. When I emerge from the bathroom, Killian’s leaning against the wall right outside the door, checking his phone.

Standing in bare feet, I’m struck by his size. Even leaning in a casual posture, he’s tall and powerfully built. His biceps are like soft balls.

“This way,” he says.

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