Page 90 of Princess of Vengeance

I pay the driver quickly when we arrive at the drop-off point and wait until the cab disappears around the corner before changing direction and heading toward the safe house. My steps are quick but measured—too casual might draw attention, too hurried might look suspicious.

Fuck, I miss my men. I miss them every second I’m away from them. The thought of seeing them again, of being able to share the first good news I’ve had in days, makes my pulse quicken.

I pause at the corner, checking one last time for any signs that I’m being watched, then approach the door. There’s a pause after I knock, and then the sound of heavy footsteps approaching. The door swings open, and Killian fills the frame, one hand hidden behind his back where I know he’s holding a gun.

His expression shifts from caution to disbelief, then to excitement, all in the same instant. Then his eyes drop to the cat in my arms, and something I can only describe as boyish joy crosses his face.

“Look who I brought,” I say, lifting Princess a little higher. “And we’ve both missed you.”

For a tough-as-nails psychopath, the way Killian’s eyes light up at the sight of his cat is almost comical. In one smooth motion, he holsters his gun, leans in and crushes his mouth against mine in a hard, hungry kiss. His free hand cups the back of my head, fingers tangling in my hair as he devours me.

We’re both being careful of the cat, but I still kiss him back just as fiercely, unwilling to break contact even for a second. When we finally part, both breathless, there’s a wild look in his eyes that makes heat pool low in my belly.

“Missed you too, siren,” he growls against my lips before stepping back to let me in.

30

ATLAS

I’min my bedroom cleaning my gun when I hear the familiar pattern of knocks at the front door. Three distinct, two quick.

That’s Quinn’s code.

My heart rate spikes, and I set the weapon down to reach for my shirt. Before I can even get it over my head, I hear Killian’s heavy footsteps moving through the living room toward the entrance.

The door creaks open, and there’s a moment of silence. Then Killian’s voice, soft and surprised in a way I rarely hear it.

“Fuck.”

I tense, pulling my shirt down and moving toward the hallway. We’re all on edge these days, waiting for the other shoe to drop, for Malcolm to figure out we’re still seeing Quinn and burst through the door with his men.

But as I round the corner, what I see isn’t trouble. It’s Killian hauling Quinn against his chest, his mouth crushing against hers like he’s a dying man and she’s his last breath. Something in my chest loosens at the sight of her safe, here, with us where she belongs.

My relief is cut with a twinge of jealousy. Not because she’s kissing Killian—that’s never bothered me—but because he got toher first. It’s only been a day since I last touched her, but I’m fucking greedy and she’s addictive as hell.

Killian pulls her inside, and I frown as I see her hand him something small and fuzzy. What the hell? My eyes widen as I realize it’s the cat—Princess, or whatever the fuck Killian insists on calling it. The one we left behind when everything went to shit.

I stare as Killian cradles the animal to his chest, his expression softening in a way that would shock anyone who has ever been on his bad side. He murmurs soft words I can’t quite catch as he scratches the cat under its chin.

“Fucking Christ,” I say, leaning against the wall with a smirk. “A man who would put a knife through another man’s heart without a second thought, and he turns into a goddamn marshmallow for a ten-pound ball of fur.”

Killian looks up and immediately schools his features back into the usual unreadable mask, but his hands seem to still be extra-gentle with the cat. “I didn’t see you there.”

“Clearly,” I smirk. “Or you might have held back on the baby talk.”

“I wasn’t—” he starts, then shakes his head, giving me a deadpan look. “You know what? Animals deserve that kind of talk. They aren’t shitty, like people tend to be. They deserve better.”

I shrug because I can’t really argue with that. After the shit I’ve seen people do to each other—along with all the shit I’ve done myself—it’s hard to disagree.

Quinn smiles as she looks back and forth between the two of us. “I think it’s sweet.”

“Sweet?” I echo. “Killian Graves, world-renowned for his ability to make grown men piss themselves with a single look, and you’re calling him sweet?”

“Careful,” Killian warns, but there’s no real threat in his voice.

It’s a good thing, because I’m enjoying this way too much to stop now. “Has anyone ever called you sweet before?”

Killian flips me off, but there’s the faintest quirk at the corner of his mouth. “Seriously, fuck off.”

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