Page 7 of Only for You
Chapter Three
He was in hell.
And Gabriella James was his horned, devilish tormentor.
Killian curled his fingers into fists, his knuckles grazing the thick, black strands that waved around her flushed, gorgeous face. Soft blasts of her fruity-scented breath puffed against his mouth, and he fought not to swipe his tongue over his bottom lip to taste it. Struggled not to lower his head and gorge on her.
That greedy need urged him to raise his head, demanded he insert distance between them before he surrendered to that craving. Clenching his jaw, he stepped back enough to take her arm and whip her around. Her palms flattened against the wall, her long fall of silken hair hiding her face. Good. He didn’t want to stare at her red-painted, lush lips that tempted him with memories of how they’d molded to his, been so pliant for him, so eagerly parted for his tongue, fingers, and cock. He didn’t want to peer into those soft lilac eyes that pleaded with him for…what? Forgiveness? He closed his own eyes, his fingers curling into tight fists. At one time, he’d only needed one glance in that beautiful gaze to give her anything. His body. His protection. His heart. Now?
He had nothing to give.
“Do you know what I thought about the seven hundred and sixteen days I spent in that cage?” More specifically, the thirty days he’d suffered and damn near lost his mind while in solitary confinement. “Every kiss. Every time you let me in your bed, let me slide under the covers and suck those gorgeous tits and tongue that pretty pussy. Every time you let me put you on your hands and knees and take you before having that tight ass. Every time you let me fuck you like an animal, but you never looked at me like one.” He forced his arms to his sides but allowed his mouth the small touch he refused his hands. Inhaling her familiar—and resented—wildflower and rain scent, he leaned forward, his lips grazing the shell of her ear. “Every time you smiled when I walked through the bar door, your face lighting up like I alone made you happy. Every time you took my hand in front of everyone, unashamed to claim me. Every time you said you loved me,” he whispered. “And then you know what I thought of?” he asked, forcing steel into his voice. Her black strands brushed his mouth in a pseudo-kiss as she gave her head an almost infinitesimal shake. “Then I thought of payback. How I could make you pay for each lie you said with your mouth, your eyes, your body. Make you pay for the betrayal that stole two years of my life.” He paused. Then, “Turn around.”
After a long hesitation, she slowly pivoted, but he didn’t move back. Common sense and his anger ordered him to shift away, insert space. Sex had always been their flashpoint—the first night he’d seen her at her uncle’s bar, he waited until her shift ended and followed her out. An hour later, they’d ended up in his truck, with his face buried between her thighs. So yeah, wisdom argued that touching her would be a monumental mistake. But as she turned, and her hip nudged his dick, and her arm stroked his chest, lust momentarily hijacked reason, and he just checked the primal urge to shove her to her knees, cover her, plaster his chest to her back, bracket her thighs with his, and plunge balls-deep inside her. His flesh hardened to the consistency of a steel beam, totally on board with the idea.
But then he remembered.
Remembered the bite of the cuffs around his wrists for the first time in his life.
Remembered the taunts of the detectives of how “she’d” given them every detail of where to find him and the rest of the “thugs”. Remembered, as the realization of who “she” was dawned, how the grief, desolation, and rage had imploded inside him and painted the bland walls of the interrogation room until they resembled an emotional abstract art piece.
Remembered the clang of the jail cell doors closing behind him. And how the first black-tipped claws of hysteria had sank into his psyche, tearing his mind apart with panic and an animal’s desperate, wild fear.
Could still feel the blaze of the first scream over his vocal cords as it ripped from his throat when that door shut behind him, sealing him in that tiny 6 x 9 hole for twenty-three hours of every day.
He stared down into her beautiful, deceitful face…and remembered.
Rion had once asked him if he’d known the agony Gabriella would bring, would he have still loved her. His answer had been yes then, and it was yes now. Because if he hadn’t experienced the joy and freedom of loving her, the pain wouldn’t have shredded him. And then he might be standing here, looking down into her lovely face, considering lowering his guard, contemplating forgiveness.
So no, he had no regrets. Because regrets meant being a fool again. Gabriella’s fool. And that he couldn’t stomach.
“What do you want, Gabriella?” The words rolled from him on a dark, edgy rumble as he backed away from her.
Her thick fringe of lashes fell, hiding her gaze from him. “That night, I was so afraid to come to you with what I’d overheard. But the alternative—hiding it from you…I couldn’t do that no matter how much your possible reaction terrified me. And what I feared did happen. You ran right over there, and all I could think of, all I could see, was you hurt, bleeding. Or worse.”
She inhaled, the hushed sound echoing in the silent room. “Yes, I called the police. But my one thought was saving your life. I believed it was myonly choice; otherwise, you could’ve died. I’d counted on—hoped—the cops’ unexpected arrival would bust up the meeting before anyone—you—was hurt. I never imagined you would be charged with or convicted of resisting arrest, and assault and battery on a police officer. My intention wasn’t for you to lose two years of your life in jail.” She lifted a hand toward him, but after a hesitation, lowered it, shaking her head.“For five years, I’ve gone over and over that night, trying different scenarios to see what I could’ve done different. Gone after you myself, maybe called Rion or Sasha. But I panicked. If what I did saved your life, I’m not sorry. But everything else—jail, your pain, your suffering—I am sorry. I wanted you to know that even though it doesn’t change anything.”
Doesn’t change anything? Anger rolled through him like a back draft of fire. He wasn’t who he used to be before the night the cops showed up at that meeting and hauled him off to jail. And God, did he mourn that man. That man could love, could enjoy an entire night’s sleep without nightmares. That man could enter a closet to select his clothes for the day and not break out into a cold sweat. Doesn’t change anything? He’d been altered beyond fixing. And it was her fault.
“Look at me,” he ordered, voice soft. When her lashes lifted, her lilac eyes dark with shadows, he steeled himself against shifting closer. Against feeling anything except the anger. The anger was safe. “I get the ‘why.’ I get you were scared. But instead of trusting me not to jeopardize what we had by being foolish, you turned me in. Other than Rion and Sasha, you knew me the best. No way in hell would I have rushed into that ambush, guns blazing. Not when that would’ve meant losing my life instead of spending it with you. But you didn’t give me that chance. You didn’t giveus that chance.”
“I did it because I wanted us to have that chance,” she whispered. “I—”
“You involved the law—the cops and district attorney that had been trying to destroy the O’Bannons for years. What did you think would happen when they got their chance to haul me to the station? When I didn’t play ball with them, they trumped up charges of assault on a police officer and resisting arrest, even though I didn’t do either. They sent me to hell for two years.”
And as horrifying as that had been, that hadn’t been her ultimate sin…
She’d abandoned him.
She hadn’t come to the jail to explain why she’d betrayed him. Hell, she hadn’t come to see if he still existed. And then, after he’d finally been allowed visitation, Rion and Sasha had informed him why she hadn’t been to see him: She’d left Boston. Disappeared. And if her uncle knew where she’d gone, he wasn’t telling. Even if the old adage about time healing all wounds was true, and Killian could’ve somehow absolved her for calling the police, she’d still tossed him aside like their love—like he—hadn’t mattered. And that he couldn’t excuse. Couldn’t forgive.
And he trusted her as far as he could see her with Stevie Wonder’s eyes.
“You ever been to jail?” He didn’t wait for her answer but pressed ahead, the pressure building and swirling inside his chest forcing the words up and out. He’d never discussed his time in lockup with anyone—not even Rion and Sasha. The irony that she was the first person to hear him talk about it wasn’t lost on him. “When that cell door closes behind you the first time, it’s like a bullet to the head. Because your soul dies. You can actually feel it curl up and die. And then, when you’re in solitary confinement for the first month of your sentence, your mind goes. The darkness, the walls, the smell of piss, shit, and fucking despair closes in on you, crushing you until you can’t breathe. Until you start seeing things, losing your sanity with each slow, endless hour that passes. And then there’s the noise.”
He ground his teeth together, his jaw aching in protest. For a moment, he paused, driving back the avalanche of memories that threatened to bury him under its weight.
“It’s never quiet, never any peace. Twenty-four hours of yelling, cursing, laughing. Ever hear a man scream as he’s shanked, Gabriella? Scream for his life and for the CO who may or may not make it to him in time? Ever hear a grown man cry out as he’s raped?” He ignored her gasp and the tremble of her bottom lip. Just continued, letting the bitterness pour out of him like a twisted faucet. “For two years, that was my life. Always on my guard, never relaxing, sleeping the bare minimum. Ready to fight. I had to become an animal to survive. So yeah, you’re right. Your ‘I’m sorry’ changes nothing. It means nothing,” he growled.
