Page 51 of Darkest Sin

He’s trying to give me space. At least that’s what I assume. A man like Killian DeLorenzo isn’t the kind of man who would usually care about giving a woman the space she needs to process, but for some reason, he’s always given me exactly what I needed in his own demanding way.

There’s no doubt he cares for me, and I’m sure the words I spoke to him in his bedroom the other night have penetrated his soul in the worst ways, but I had to be honest with him. How could I not? What I saw in those pictures, on those screens . . . I haven’t been the same since.

How could I ever love someone who’s capable of such brutality? I can only imagine how he tore the woman to pieces in that interrogation room while searching for Monica’s name. I don’t even know who the woman is or which of the DeLorenzo men she’s married to, and yet I feel a responsibility to her. Whatever she went through in that room is on me because I refused to give Killian Monica’s name when I had the chance.

Is this what my life is going to be like? Am I damned to become that cruel and unforgiving? Will there be a point where my soul is so damaged that shit like this will simply roll off my back like water off a duck’s feathers? I don’t want that life. I just want him without all the bullshit that comes along with it. Why does that have to be so hard to ask for?

I was doomed from the moment I met him.

He told me he wasn’t my hero. I should have believed him.

Making my way through this ridiculously ginormous house, I turn into the kitchen to find Krista hidden behind a mountain of boxes with a pair of kitchen scissors in her hands. She happily tears the boxes open like a kid on Christmas morning, and I can’t help the smirk that pulls at my lips.

“What the hell is all this?” I ask, walking deeper into the room and making myself comfortable at the counter as I gaze over the few opened boxes, trying to figure out what’s inside.

“I need help,” Krista says. “The power has gone to my head.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” I laugh, my brows furrowing.

“When you first arrived, Killian gave me his credit card and told me to purchase anything you required, and I haven’t been able to give it back,” she explains. “I can’t stop shopping. Add to cart has become my favorite phrase, and that little rush you get when you click the checkout button . . . Holy shit, girl. I have a sickness. You have to take this card away from me.”

“I don’t want that thing,” I say, horrified by the idea of having access to that much money. Actually, I wonder just how much money it is we’re talking about here. Millions or billions? Surely it’s not billions, right? Because that would be insane. Is this swipe your card and suddenly you’re the owner of an NBA team, or is it more like swipe your card and suddenly you’re the owner of the free world?

I’m willing to bet it’s the second option.

The thought of that much money makes me sweat.

“Are you just going to sit there and look horrified, or are you going to help me open all these boxes?” Krista says as she pulls out a bedazzled dog collar. While it’s absolutely stunning, I’m almost ninety-nine percent sure we don’t have a dog here.

“What the hell is that for?” I ask, getting up and reaching for a box as she hands me a pair of scissors.

“I told you, it’s a sickness,” she says. “Besides, how am I supposed to know if you might need this or not? I was tasked with supplying you with everything you might need. I’m just trying to be efficient at my job.”

“Wait,” I say, my hands pausing on the box before me. “All of this shit is for me?”

“Who else would it be for?” she throws back at me. “I don’t need any of this crap.”

I roll my eyes and gesture toward the bedazzled dog collar. “And I do?” I ask, just as I feel the familiar shift in the air, warning me that Killian has just walked into the room. It’s always the same. I sense him before I see him, and I feel his presence before I smell him.

Those laser eyes lock onto me, and it’s almost a searing pain, but one that belongs only in my imagination as I do everything in my power to focus solely on the box in my hand.

Killian moves around the kitchen, each step bringing him closer and closer and making it harder to breathe. God, I wish I could simply get over it and be okay with this. I need to throw myself into his arms and feel that protection he can offer because when I’m with him, when his strong arms are wrapped around me, I feel as though nothing could ever harm me. I’m safe with him, despite the terror I feel simply being within his presence.

He strides past me, and I can’t help but shift my gaze as I look over him, dragging my hungry stare over his wide shoulders and down his tall frame. He’s so unbelievable.

“What the fuck is all this shit?” he questions, looking over the mountain of boxes.

Krista’s eyes widen in panic. “Uhhhh . . . Just a few things I picked out for Chiara.”

Killian pauses, his gaze shifting over the boxes before reaching toward the table and picking up the bedazzled collar. “Really? This is something she required?”

“Don’t look at me,” Krista says, shrugging her shoulders and glancing toward me. “It’s none of my business what she intends to do with it. Besides, how well do we really know her? She could have a BDSM kink and is just waiting for the day you put her in a collar, and when that day comes, I think it’s important that you’re prepared.”

My jaw drops as I gape at Krista, but before I can get the words out, Killian responds. “I will not be putting my wife in a dog collar. If she so desires to wear such articles, I have a perfectly acceptable collection for her to choose from.”

“Okay, I’m just putting it out there because it’s something I need to make clear—nobody is strapping a collar around my neck.”

Killian nods as though this is normal conversation. “Understood. Collars are out of the question. However, at some point, we should discuss what sexual fantasies you want to explore.”

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