Page 22 of Only for You
Heat flashed in his eyes before darkening once more.
“You didn’t trust me,” he said, stating a fact. She opened her mouth, but couldn’t push a sound out. “No,” Killian insisted, a hollow note in his voice. “You didn’t trust me. Again. Back then, you didn’t give me a chance to prove that dying for the mob wasn’t worth living without you. And if I hadn’t pushed the subject tonight, you would’ve walked out holding the same secret.”
“Killian,” she breathed. But the truth of his accusation struck her in the chest like a closed fist. He was right. Part of her hadn’t trusted him. She could wrap it up in wanting to protect him, but now, with his stark observation shoved in her face, she could no longer deny the truth. She hadn’t trusted him. She lifted her gaze to him. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.
He didn’t placate her with a false “it’s okay” or a meaningless “what’s done is done.” Instead, he fixed his shuttered stare on her and added, “It turns out you don’t have to worry, Gabriella. Michael is dead.”
The words reverberated through her, gaining power and volume. Shock, relief, even anger flooded her in a crushing deluge. Stumbling, she placed a hand on one of the bed’s posters, steadying herself. Dead? For how long? Had it been that night? Had she fled Boston for no reason? Had she lost years with Killian for nothing?
“How?” she croaked. “How long?”
Instead of replying, he grasped her elbow and guided her to the side of the bed. “Sit,” he softly ordered, not waiting for her acquiescence and seating her on the mattress and the tangled covers their bodies had just occupied.
“Two years ago.” He blew out a breath, and scrubbed a palm down his face. “We, me and Rion, decided to leave the O’Bannons. Sasha had just been shot, and he was down with starting over with us. Given how long we’d been in the gang, we thought Jamie would be okay with our decision.” He barked out a cutting crack of laughter. “Apparently, we were incredibly optimistic and naive. Jamie said no. And if we tried to leave anyway, he would kill our fathers and Sasha’s family since he still needed Sasha to earn money for him.”
Jamie Hughes had visited her uncle’s bar several times, and she could easily imagine the older man with his salt-and-pepper hair, leather skin, and booming, deep voice telling them they had no way out of the mob.
Bastard.
“We started talking about how to get out. And the only plan we could come up with was killing Jamie.” A bleakness entered his eyes, and it called out to her. She twisted her fingers, clenching them on her lap so she wouldn’t reach for him, offer him comfort she wasn’t certain he would accept. “By taking him out, it would throw the gang in chaos. Between people trying to find the shooter and jockeying for boss, they might not care if Rion and I left, or if Sasha was no longer doing jobs for them. That would just be two less men aiming for Jamie’s position or two less men to kill for it. That’s what we hoped anyway.”
He shoved his hands in the front pockets of his pants, his wide shoulders straightening, as if bracing himself for the rest of his story.
“We set the hit for a night when we knew Jamie would be at his office late, and he’d called in prostitutes for the boys. I volunteered to actually kill him. Rion and Sasha argued, but I’d already been to jail. Had already known that hell, and I couldn’t let them suffer that. If any of us were caught, I would go back before they would. Neither of them agreed, but I was adamant. So Sasha stayed in the club for backup while Rion and I went to the office. But…” His voice trailed off, before returning harder, rougher. “But Michael had already beat us to it. When we walked in that room, Jamie was on the floor, bleeding from a chest wound, and his son stood over him, about to deliver a head shot. When he swung toward us, I didn’t think. Didn’t hesitate. Even though we had come there with the same goal in mind, I shot Michael.” He shook his head. “So maybe what you said about my loyalty to Jamie was right. And in the end, he let us out. Either that or lose the respect of his men by not honoring the request of the men who’d saved his life.”
“You wouldn’t have been able to do it,” she murmured. His head jerked up, that incisive hazel gaze pinning her in her place. But she met it, challenged it. “You’re not an assassin, Killian. Yeah, you’ve done some things in your life, but it was never out of malice or just for the hell of it. You’re not a monster, and only a monster would’ve been able to kill in cold blood.”
“But I did kill. I murdered someone,” he whispered. And the pain, the lingering horror in that low, hoarse voice, had her launching off the bed and crossing the short distance between them.
She wrapped her arms around him, locking her fingers behind his back, and pressing her cheek to his chest.
“Yousaved a man—a man you loved and resented. And from a son who was ready to murder his own father out of greed and hate.” She tipped her head back, stared up at him, making sure he looked down at her. Really looked and saw the truth. “You were my everything,” she breathed. “But I never looked at you through rose-colored glasses. And you never had to hide who you were from me. I saw the Killian who would leave out of the bar, ready to go on the errand his boss had sent him on. Then I saw the Killian who would later return, struggling against the darkness closing in on him. And all I wanted to do was pull you out. That was the man I fell in love with—and the one who stands in front of me now.”
Her words seemed to echo between them, “love” the loudest and most jarring. Jesus. Why had she thrownthatword in there? It mocked her, and taunted her with everything she’d had—and lost. Including Killian.
As if he would ever want her in his life again. Yes, she’d finally explained the why of her actions, but that didn’t mean a what now existed for them.
Fear cascaded through her. God, she was afraid to think of a possiblewhat nowwith Killian. At one time, he’d consumed her every waking moment—she risen in the morning, anxious to see him, ached to have him beside her when she fell asleep, was always hungry to have him deep inside her. Now, with the distance of time, she could see how her world had revolved around Killian. And that had been her fault, not his. But the thought of losing herself in him again terrified her. The circumstances behind her move to L.A. had been tragic, but in some ways it had been the best thing for her. She’d grown. She’d claimed her own identity. She’d become her own woman. Could she sacrifice everything—her home, her bar—for him?
Yes.
The answer resounded in her, rattling her in its strength and certainty.
She wasn’t the young woman anymore. And if it meant seeing the glow of love and not just lust in his eyes again? If it meant sharing her life with him? Then hell yes.
But…
Swallowing, she dropped her hands from him and shifted back. Killian watched her, tension entering his body.
“Can you…” She paused, gathered her courage and tried again. “Can you forgive me?”
“Yes.”
She blinked. Rocked back on her heels.Okay.The man didn’t mince words. Then…relief so sweet, so profound soared through her, and the weight that had sat on her chest for five long years shattered. For the first time in so long, she dragged in a deep, guilt-free breath. His hawk’s gaze studied her without flinching, and she read the truth in the hazel depths.
“Thank you,” she rasped. “I—thank you.”
She thrust her fingers through her hair and glanced away from him.Let it go, a cautious voice whispered.Be grateful, and let it go.His forgiveness was more than she imagined she would leave here with.Leave it…
