Page 105 of Big Daddy Christmas
The After Party
Chapter 1
Killian
Fucking hell, he was exhausted. Being the good guy was turning out to be a lot more work than being the villain ever was.
A hell of a lot bloodier, too, as it happened.
Fuck.
It hadn’t needed to go down that way. Goddamn Russians. Making him miss his friend’s wedding because they’d gotten a sniff of blood in the water and come for his docks.
And despite the rumors, they were indeed still his docks. He hadn’t yet ceded control, mostly because he hadn’t decided exactly how to go about handing over the most powerful part of his criminal empire without starting an all-out war in the city he loved.
He was close, though. After years of planning, brokering deals, shedding the worst bits of said empire as silently as possible, he was so fucking close he could taste it. But there were still the docks to be considered, and he couldn’t simply give those up.
Nature abhors a vacuum. And so do criminals.
He had ideas. Things in motion that might actually make shifting control of the docks with minimal bloodshed possible. But nothing that needed to be decided tonight. Soon, very soon, but not tonight.
The car slowed to a stop in front of an old brick building, pulling him out of his brooding thoughts and into the present. With a nod of thanks to his driver, he pushed open his door and climbed out into the cool December air of downtown Charleston. Already, the exhaustion was fading, and he hadn’t even stepped foot inside the club.
Guilt pricked at him, little needles in his chest as he adjusted the sleeves of his suit and stared at the front door of Club BDE. He was taking advantage of being part of Braden’s inner circle by coming here tonight when he hadn’t even made it to the wedding itself.
But he needed the club. Even if there was no one for him to play with—which was entirely likely since most of the wedding party was paired off with each other—he needed this. Needed the one place where he wasn’t Killian O’Rourke, criminal mastermind, or the head of his family and the person everyone looked to for answers. Needed this one place in his life where he could simply be… Killian.
Or Master O, as many of the club regulars knew him.
Shaking off the guilt as much as possible and promising himself he’d show up for the post-wedding brunch tomorrow with an obscenely expensive gift in tow, he made his way toward the front door of the club. The simple wooden door was innocuous enough, giving away no hints as to the depravity that lay beyond.
Inside was quieter than usual, with no rainbow-haired Vivian at the front desk, flashing her happy smile and waving him up. The sound of leather striking flesh, muffled as it was, met his ears and a smile tugged at his lips when it was followed by a distressed squeal.
Ruby, he was fairly certain, though he couldn’t hear quite well enough to be sure. What trouble had his favorite bartender gotten herself into now?
Curiosity pulled at him, and he paused by the bottom of the stairs. Did he want to go to the pit, where the action was? Pull up a seat and watch pretty Ruby get her bottom strapped by her strict Daddy? Or did he want to go upstairs, pour himself a double of the whisky Braden kept on hand just for him, and find a dark corner to sulk in for a bit?
It was the laughter that decided for him. Loud, happy, and unfamiliar.
Too light. Too happy. With the kind of mood he was in, he had no business being around laughter like that. Spreading his darkness to a woman who sounded so damn… bright.
The laughter was coming from the pit, so he headed upstairs to the bar. A drink was unlikely to make his mood any better, but maybe it would settle his nerves a bit. And if it didn’t, he could still watch the fun from up there, so it wouldn’t be a total loss.
Letting his hand hover over the polished iron of the railing, he made his way up the stairs. To the place he considered home almost as much as the sprawling mansion he’d inherited when his parents died. Half the second floor served as a lounging area of sorts, with a bar and kitchen nearby to serve all your food and drink needs. Constructed in a circle, with the middle entirely missing, one could enjoy a glass of whisky and top-notch appetizers all while watching the action down in the pit.
The other half of the floor housed private rooms that could be rented for a steep fee, for anywhere from an hour to a whole night. Killian hadn’t yet made use of those rooms, even though Braden had given him a tour of each as they’d been constructed.
Perhaps tonight he’d change that, and have Braden bill him when he returned from his honeymoon with the delightful Lottie.
“Killian!”
Turning, he managed to work up a smile for Dr. Naomi Winters as she strode toward him, her dark hair in loose curls down her back rather than the practical ponytail he was used to. She looked… Well, she looked pissed if he was being honest.
As she should. He had stood her up, after all.
“Naomi.” He waited for her to stop in front of him, her pale eyes snapping with fire. “I’m sorry I didn’t call.”
That took the wind out of her sails, her shoulders slumping slightly as she glared up at him. “You could have at least sent a text. I was worried.”
