Page 76 of Promise to Break

"I'll be back soon." I kiss the cheek of my now sleeping angel as softly as possible, just to bump into Killian on my way out. Serena's eyes are still on me. Double fuck on a cactus. She disappears from view, saying nothing, leaving us alone in the hallway.

Killian looks different at home, not as carefree as he is in school. There he's the king of the deviants, the all-mighty and powerful god, the one who's worshiped just for existing. Here, however, he seems more real. Even the way he walks here isn't as stiff and regal.

Right now, for instance, his hair is disheveled, and he's wearing only a pair of gray workout pants that sit low on his hips. His bare chest is so enticing I want to rub my hands all over him. His six-pack abs are on display, and the outline of his cock is so clear through the thin fabric that it calls to my fingers. These pants seem to have been made just to torture women all over the world. They should be outlawed.

"You came out to join the living." Killian has noticed and looked in on Connie, but it's like he's afraid to get too close. The big, bad boogie man has a weakness, and she's only a few days old. It's too cute.

"Be nice." The second the words escape my lips, he presses his body to mine. The fresh and luxurious smell of his cologne envelops me like a familiar and loved blanket.

"Make me." He leaves a kiss on my forehead, and I groan with need.

"You promised to be good." A roll of hips is what I get. It feels so good. Everything he does feels amazing.

"It's a promise I'm about to break." He lifts me into his arms as I try not to make any sound while struggling to make him let me go. He takes a turn in the hallway I've never noticed before, coming to the entry of our bedrooms, which are very near each other. Of course, I knew our rooms were down the same hallway, but I had no idea they could be reached so easily from this side of the house.

From the moment we returned, Killian decided to turn the distance I asked of him into torture. For two nights in a row, I could hear him calling my name while I'm sure his hand covered his cock, just like the day he walked into my room.

"Open the door, or I'll fuck you here and now, and I don't care if someone sees us." I do as he asks, and for the first time, I get to see the inside of his bedroom. I didn't know what to expect from the place he calls his own. Maybe that the room would be detached, cold, empty. Instead, luxury is painted all over this place. It's nothing like I imagined. Killian is a secretive dork.

"Look away," he says as he sets me on my feet, and I do, studying every corner of the space in front of me. The room is as vast as any other bedroom in this place, but it's not as minimalistic as the others. No. On the right side of the room, an enormous desk takes center stage, and behind it, a glass-faced cabinet filled with all kinds of expensive and unique guns that he clearly cares for. The other side of the room houses a king-sized bed and the latest flat-screen TV. Above his bed is a huge framed photograph of the ocean.

Why would someone who freezes up in deep water have a picture of it above his head?

I go to the desk first, with its neat and tidy surface. The only things covering it are a laptop, a few miscellaneous office supplies and a stack of textbooks. Next, I turn to the cabinet and survey the intricate weapons in front of me. One piece in particular catches my eye. It looks old and almost fragile. I glance at Killian, who waves a hand, giving me his permission, so I open the glass door and lift the weapon from its shelf, letting the weight of it consume me. The barrel is long and heavy and looks somewhat like the nose of a duck, and the hammer has a tiny spiral on it that I've never seen before. But this is not what makes this gun unique. The grip is covered with honest-to-God art. Tiny flowers adorn the handle, rendering the item beautiful. How many lives has this thing taken from this world? I wonder.

"It's a beautiful piece," I say in earnest.

Killian chuckles. "Not the reaction I expected."

"I know who you are, and I've seen guns before. The daughter of a cop, remember? It's actually kind of dorky. I never pegged you for one."

"I am not a dork," he says with a tone of voice I've never heard him use. Dare I say that Killian Fierro was playful just now?

"Really, it's cliché, even." He smiles big, letting me see those dimples that hide from the world, protecting his untouchable façade. "Where did you get them?"

"From collectors around the world. Franco didn't mind the expense much. He approves of my love for guns. I think it's the only thing about me he approves of."

I don't dare look at him as I mock in a light voice, "Why am I not surprised?"

"Because you're getting to know me. Dangerously so." He comes closer just to take the masterpiece away from me. "This one is from War World I. It was held by the French, and the previous owner claims five hundred soldiers were killed by this weapon alone. He was a general and proud that he could kill so many people."

Is this why he collects them? Does the fact that other people have killed more or less than him—although I don't have a fucking clue how many people the man killed since he was a boy, if the rumors are correct—make him happy or sad? Does he want to kill more than five hundred, or does it remind him that he isn't the only one who does such things?

"And this picture?" I ask as he nuzzles into my neck. "Why are you afraid of the water, Killian?" He just holds me for a long minute and says nothing, letting me kiss his chin, his collarbone, his shoulder, nose, and eyes. It takes me a lot of effort to stand on my tiptoes to reach him, and when I think he has no intention of answering, he does.

"Franco doesn't like weakness, but he does like punishment. When I was five years old, I would walk around the pool. My mother warned me that it was dangerous and that they still hadn't found me a swimming instructor. But the water beckoned me. There was something so quiet and peaceful about it. It drew me in." Even then, Killian thought like an adult.

"One day, I decided to just stand by the pool and look at the water. I knew my new swimming instructor was coming the following week, and I wanted to feel the water on my feet. Stanley, our guard dog, jumped on me from behind, and I fell into the pool. Franco was there. He told me to get out of the water, but I couldn't on my own, and after that day, it became my punishment. He canceled the swimming lessons, and every time I didn't do what he said, he threw me into the water, expecting me to be able to get out on my own."

All I want now is to let my legs take me to Franco and punish him the same way he did Killian. "You look so cute when you're angry." I playfully punch his shoulder, not wanting to admit the images running through my head of Killian drowning in a pool with no way out, scared and helpless.

"I'll teach you to swim if you want." I don't know where that offer came from, but I couldn't stop myself from saying it out loud.

"You'll teach me?"

I nod. "I was the one who pushed your ass in there. Let me help you."

"After you threw me into the water? I don't think that will atone for your actions."

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