Page 120 of Cruel When He Smiles
“Killian.”
“Got something at home for you, little brother,” he says, and I can hear the smirk crawling up his throat.
I’m already angling toward the locker room exit, the need to move clawing under my skin. “Oh yeah?”
“Yeah.” The smirk bleeds through his voice now. “Something you really want to see. Better hurry to the wine cellar… it involves your toy.”
I stop walking. The hallway stills around me, like the sound has drained out of it. My grip on the phone tightens until my knuckles ache.
Because if it involves my Pup, then I want to fucking know everything.
“I’m on my way.”
The hidden wine cellar smells of damp concrete and old copper.
Killian is standing off to the side, lit cigarette dangling from his lips, arms crossed, and head tilted slightly. He’s watching me with that lazy smirk that tells me he knows I’m about to lose my fucking mind.
There’s a chair in the center of the room with a guy slumped in it, bound and beaten, his face a patchwork of bruises and split flesh. One eye’s nearly swollen shut, blood is crusted beneath his nose, and his lips are cracked. His wrists are tied behind him, ankles lashed to the chair legs.
I don’t need to ask who it is. It seems like my brother did the dirty work of finding him for me.
“Now, brother,” I glance back at Killian and shake my head with a low scoff. “This is messy.”
He pushes off the wall and strolls toward me. It’s only when he takes the cigarette out of his mouth that I notice how bloody his knuckles are. “And you’re welcome.”
I arch a brow and step closer to the chair, examining Josh without an ounce of sympathy. “You could’ve at least tied a ribbon around him.”
“I considered it. But red clashed with the blood,” he shrugs like he’s doing me a favor. “Thought you’d want to unwrap him yourself.”
I circle the chair slowly, and I crouch in front of him, elbows resting on my thighs, gaze flat and unreadable as I meet his one good eye. “He conscious?”
“Give him a little slap,” Killian says, his voice bored.
“Hello, there, Miller,” I tap his cheek lightly enough to keep his attention. “You remember what you did?”
Josh gives a weak nod, followed by a low groan. “I didn’t mean to—”
“You tackled him,” I interrupt, my voice quieter than it should be. “You aimed for his ribs, and your shoulder drove into his spine. That wasn’t an accident.”
“I—I didn’t have a choice,” he stammers.
Killian folds his arms again, leaning against the edge of the table nearby. “Oh, here we go.”
I don’t take my eyes off Josh. “Everyone has a choice.”
He shakes his head, sweat and blood flicking from his temple. “Not when someone like that threatens you.”
I frown at that statement, because what the fuck? “Who?”
He hesitates, and Killian kicks the chair hard enough that the legs screech against the concrete, and Josh jolts, a strangled cry escaping his throat. “Tell him,” Killian says, his tone as mild as a weather report.
Josh looks at me. Regret drips from every line in his face, but I don’t give a fuck about that. “It was his mother.”
Everything inside me goes still, and my heart feels like it doesn’t beat for a full five seconds. The noise of the world disappears, and all I can hear is the sound of blood pumping behind my ears. A quiet, rhythmic reminder that I haven’t snapped yet.
“Say that again,” I murmur.
He licks his lips, flinches as the split skin stretches, and says it again. “His mother. I think she stalked me because she knew everything about me, and who my parents are,” he says,sucking in a stuttered breath. “She told me she could have my scholarship taken away and, fuck man, I was scared! I can’t lose this scholarship, man!”
