Page 127 of Princes of Carnage

My breath catches as new emotions rise up in me from hearing that. Nico knows Killian best, so I believe what he says about it, and the assertion that our hookups meant something deeper to Killian makes my heart squeeze in my chest. Because they meant something to me too. For a while, it sometimes felt like the only person who truly understood me was Phantom.

When I glance at Killian, there’s no denial or confirmation on his face, but he stares at me intently in a way that proves nothing about it—about him, about us—was ever casual.

“You know, you were lying too,” Nico says, drawing my attention back to him.

“What?” I blink, startled. “Lying about what?”

“You didn’t tell me the truth about what had happened as soon as you found out.”

“That’s not a lie,” I insist, shaking my head as my heart thuds against my ribs. “I just didn’t bring it up. It’s not like you asked me and I lied to your face.”

“A lie by omission is still a lie.” He runs a hand over his jaw and smirks. “You’ll have to make it up to me.”

His voice shifts subtly as he says that last part, but it’s enough for me to realize that he’s not talking about business or the alliance right now. He means something else entirely.

I swallow again, my mouth suddenly dry. “What do you want me to do?”

His smirk grows sharper, hungry and predatory. “You can start by being a good little wife and getting on your hands and knees.”

My stomach flips over itself. Blood rushes in my ears, and I can feel the rapid thrum of my pulse in my throat, my heart beating so hard that I’m convinced all three of them can hear it. They’re all still watching me, the combined weight of their gazes so palpable that it’s like a physical thing.

I could tell Nico to go fuck himself. I don’t owe him anything for lying, and Killian’s lie was much bigger than mine was.

For some reason, though, I don’t.

Instead, following an impulse that’s almost more of an animal instinct, something primal and base, I slowly get up from the couch and then sink down onto my hands and knees. I can feel the Princes track every movement with their eyes, and when I look up at Nico, he’s leaning back in the large chair, his head tipped languidly in a way that makes him look like a king on a throne.

I automatically start to move toward him, but he shakes his head, holding up a hand to stop me in my tracks.

“No. Don’t crawl to me,” he says, his voice low and even. “Crawl to him.”

He gestures to Killian, who’s still leaning against the wall off to one side.

The surge of heat inside me that follows that command is intense and all-encompassing. I can feel my pussy throb with it, my skin prickling as all of my nerve endings seem to wake up at once.

But still, I hesitate.

There’s a part of me that wants to hold on to my anger at Killian. He lied to me, betrayed me, and it’s hard to get over that easily. But at the same time, it’s becoming even harder to cling to the anger and ignore all of the other feelings he brings out in me. Especially considering he hunted down those men just because of what they did to me.

And then there’s the fact that he’s Phantom, and the truth is, I miss him. But he’s standing right in front of me, unmasked and honest for the first time. He’s just a different person than I initially thought he was.

Killian watches me as I stay rooted in place for a long moment, and although his expression is as difficult to interpret as always, his eyes are easier to read than they’ve ever been.

And even if I didn’t realize it until recently, I know those eyes.

The pull that I’ve always felt toward Phantom—toward Killian—finally wins out, snapping me out of my stasis. I lick my lips and start to move, crawling over to him slowly.

Both Atlas and Nico have a good view of my ass as I move, and I can feel their eyes on me, taking in every sway of my hips. My pussy responds, getting wetter and wetter as I go.

Killian hasn’t looked away from me for a second. His dark green eyes sear into me as I move toward him, and he barely even seems to blink or breathe.

He’s still as a statue, but there’s a subtle shift in him. As I reach him on my hands and knees, I swear I can see more of the man I know from the club in him. In the dominant way he looks at me, the way he suddenly seems to command the room, even though he hasn’t moved or spoken for several minutes.

It sets my heart racing, and a familiar feeling settles over me. It’s the way I always felt when I would finally see Phantom at the club. Relief and anticipation mixed in with a bit of nerves, a heady cocktail of emotion.

When he speaks at last, his voice is raspy, and the sound of it goes straight to my core. It brings back visceral memories of him at the club, pressed tight against me, growling low in my ear.

“You look good on your knees,” he says, his gaze sweeping over me. “Very good. Like you belong there.”

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