Page 49 of Beautiful Liar

I inhaled and turned to face Kieran at the doorway. The first time I had met Kieran, he’d been pissed. Every moment after that, he’d had this anger simmering just beneath the surface. As if it had been my fault that he had wanted me. As if it had been my fault that he killed Cillian. My fault that his life had been upturned.

But now, the expression he wore was nothing more than a block of ice. Even the light in his eyes had darkened. The muscles on his face revealed nothing. A solid piece of wood. Hollow on the inside because he couldn’t even fill it with feelings.

So why did I feel so fucking guilty for putting that look there? Why did I feel as if it’d been my fault that Luca had literally thrown his collar at me? None of it was my fucking fault!

He walked into the room, perusing the artwork, though I knew he’d already seen them all. He’d changed into tactical gear. Sweat stained some pieces of his shirt. He’d been practicing withthe others, and now he was here.

“So, River told you,” I said, because I hated silence. I tracked Kieran inside the room, eyes in front of him, moving away from the door, while I circled closer to the door. I didn’t wait for him to speak. Once I was close to the door, I did what I did best. I ran. Out the door, down the stairs, to the exit.

I had figured that he’d save face and not follow me. I’d been so wrong.

Chapter Twenty

Kieran

He ran from me. The shock of it had me immovable for a second before I sped after him. He was at the door and managed to pull it open when I reached him and slammed it closed with his head.

Rage was a potent thing. I’d never felt such rage before. Killing was never about anger or rage. It was about the mission. The target. This emotion bursting through me was unfiltered, raw, rage.

I gripped the back of his hoodie and yanked him away from the door, tossing him into the living room where the others were parrying. He fell on all fours, sliding deeper in the room. Everyone, even Tor, pulled back, giving me space.

“You fucking crazy fucker!” Tomás yelled, trying to crawl away.

I pushed him flat against the floor with my knee against his back and pulled his hands behind him. Someone handed me a zip tie. Not sure who. I used it to secure his hands behind his back, then I lifted him up.

“You can’t do this.”

I ignored him.

“Here we go again,” Wren commented.

I ignored that too.

“Walk up, or for the fucking love of the gods, I will carry you.”

He squared his shoulders. I slammed my shoulder into his stomach, and he bent over, as I lifted him off his feet.

“Are you fucking crazy! Put me down!”

I didn’t. I climbed the stairs, walked the few paces to my room, and dropped him onto my bed. Tomás watched me from the bed as I dragged my chair across the room to the foot of thebed and sat down. “Now,” I said as calmly as fuck. “Why the fuck do you have Luca’s collar?”

“Why do you care? You’re leaving! When were you planning on telling me that truth?”

I inhaled deeply but couldn’t answer that question because I had no response that would satisfy him.

He snorted, dropping his head on the bed. “Doesn’t matter, does it,” he said. “You never intended on trying. Telling me to wait was all bullshit.”

“I came out for you.”

He gave a nasty chuckle. “Bullshit. You came out because your lies were showing. You came out for you. Don’t fucking use me as your scapegoat.”

“Why not? You like being the scapegoat. The martyr.”

“At least that’s my choice. Did it ever occur to you that I’m trying to protect you.”

“I told you. I don’t need your protection.”

“What I do or don’t do is not for you to decide.”

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