Page 32 of Pretty Threats

He nods.

The small act gives me hope. “Can you tell them?” I inch closer in my seat. “Convince them to trust me?”

“I told them.” He runs his hand along a back cushion, stopping when he reaches a strand of my hair. His index finger curls the hair around itself and tugs gently, like a cat playing with a piece of yarn. “They need time to be sure, especially since we kidnapped you.”

That makes me exhale a small laugh. I think most guys would try to spin it as something other than a straight-up kidnapping. I’d bet a thousand dollars Jamie wouldn’t use that word. “Detained,” maybe. Or the phrase, “convinced you to stay.”

The upside of Killian not concerning himself with other people’s feelings is that he can be brutally honest without blinking an eye. He does not care what I or anyone else thinks of him. In some ways, having an antisocial personality must be very liberating.

Personally, I worry too much about what people think. That’s the tough part of being a content creator. When I post to my channel, I’m practically holding my breath until I have a lot of Likes and no Thumbs-Downs. I spend hours editing to be sure a video will have good aesthetics, in addition to being useful to my viewers.

“So, for now, you’ll stay here, Raine.” Killian cracks his knuckles, looking far more comfortable issuing orders than he had trying to understand where I was coming from. “And this time, when I deal with things, I won’t give it to you. I’ll keep it instead.”

Keep it? As if secrets are tangible objects?

Staring at him, I say, “You mean you won’t tell me? You’ll just say, what? That it’s safe for me to go home?”

“Yeah, that, I guess.”

“Killian, in the past, why did you tell me things it was dangerous for me to know?”

He shrugs his broad shoulders. “You said you needed to know what happened to you at Alicia’s. That not knowing was worse.” He licks his lips and cocks his head. “You were frantic. If you had a breakdown, your dad might’ve put you in a psych hospital like one of his patients.” He shakes his head. “Unacceptable.”

Just as my heart warms, he cools it.

“If that happened, I wouldn’t be able to get to you.” His rational tone belies his dangerous thought process. “Plus,”—for the first time since we sat down he looks intent “—it connected us.”

I frown, more confused over his hesitation than the words. “Connected us?”

“Yeah.” His hand flips mine over so he can thread our fingers together.

We have never held hands before. Ever. Warmth spreads up my arm and into my chest.

“I’ve been thinking.” His fingers stroke my skin, and small tingles erupt even where he’s not touching. “We have enough dark memories connecting us. We could use other ones. Ones you’ll think are good. It’ll balance things out.” Killian’s hand squeezes mine gently, then more firmly.

“It doesn’t work that way,” I say, echoing what my therapist dad would say. Deep down, though, a part of me likes that he’d even suggest trying to make up for the bad memories. Without meaning to, I lean in his direction. Even so, I’m careful to add, “People can have a lifetime of wonderful memories, but one really horror-filled moment still haunts them.”

“Yeah, but we’re different.” He nods, emphasizing his conviction that we’re both somehow special and immune to trauma. I’m sure that’s true of him, but it’s not true for me.

“Besides, does Killian Callahan even know what it takes to create a good memory for someone else?” My tone is teasing, but the question is valid.

“I’ve got some ideas. Plus, IQ 180. If I want to figure something out, I do.”

16

KILLIAN

She wants her own room.

I thought our talk earlier went all right. She didn’t put up a fight when I said she needed to stay with me. That surprised me.

In a show of good faith, I followed the rules and waited in her dorm’s lobby as she packed instead of going in. I just had her keep the door open, so I could see her moving around. But that was more because I like to watch her than because I expected her to climb out her little window.

On the drive back, though, she hits me with wanting her own bedroom. One that’s got a door.

Looking at Raine’s determined face, I resist the urge to force her to share mine. It’s counter to the mission. Instead, I offer to show her Jamie’s, which is the only one she hasn’t seen, so she can choose whichever bedroom she wants.

She stares at me like I’ve said I’m going to kill him to give it to her. “Killian, I can’t take one of the other guys’ rooms. I was thinking I could set up in the media room.”

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