Page 31 of Wicked Games

“Depends. Do you want to kill me?”

He blinks a few times, obviously taken aback by my answer, or maybe my attitude.

“I didn’t wake up this morning thinking it’s a great day for my stepbrother to shuffle me off this mortal coil, but you do you, bro.”

He flattens his mouth into a tight line and glares at me. His hands are at his sides, and I can see the muscles in his arms and shoulders quivering from how tight he’s fisting them.

“Get up,” he growls.

Sighing theatrically, I make a big show of putting my feet on the floor and standing. “Now what?”

“Now get the fuck out before I forget you’re family and fucking destroy you.” He grins, but considering he’s still glaring at me like he really wants to make good on his threats, he just looks even more deranged and dangerous. “I’ll do it. And I won’t even feel bad.”

Instead of scaring me or setting off my usual defense of shutting down, more of that weird excitement fills my chest.

“Go ahead,” I say, my voice neutral and unbothered.

A flicker of surprise breaks through his rage.

“Do it.” I lift my hands in front of me like I’m showing him I don’t have a weapon. “Fucking destroy me.”

Killian’s growl is loud and wild and the most exhilarating sound I’ve ever heard, and I’m smiling as he grabs the front of my shirt and hauls me against his body so hard we both rock on our feet.

The impact is jarring enough to partially knock the breath from me, but even that can’t take away from the little thrill that dances up my spine at the move.

What the fuck is wrong with me that having my stepbrother put hands on me feels good? Why is my first instinct to metaphorically poke the bear when I’ve seen exactly what Killian is capable of?

The summer after he started at Silvercrest, I watched him and the twins corner one of the staff behind the pool house and beat him to a bloody pulp after they discovered he was feeding information to one of his dad’s rivals. The sounds of him begging for mercy and choking on his own blood as Jax held him down so Jace could cut off one of his fingers still echo in my mind when I think about that night. So do the cold, impassive expressions on their faces when Killian put a bullet between his eyes.

Killian is dangerous, and I have no doubt he’d happily tear me limb from limb if I push him too far, but for some messed up reason, that excites me like nothing else ever has.

“What’s wrong, big brother?” I ask, not bothering to cover up the wheeze in my voice from almost being winded. “Did you forget how to use your words with all those big feelings you’ve got going on?”

He lets out another growl that’s more animal than human and throws me back onto the couch so hard my feet lift right off the ground.

I crash down on the cushions, landing at an angle so I’m sort of lying across it with one leg hanging off and the other stretched over the arm.

Thankfully the couch is well padded, unlike the settee, and the impact only stuns me instead of knocking me the fuck out.

“Do you have any idea where I was?” he asks in a growly voice that makes my stomach tighten and more of that excitement explode in my chest.

“I’m guessing it wasn’t an anger management class.”

His eyes narrow as he plants one knee on my chest and pushes down, pressing his weight right into my sternum.

I let out a littleoofas the air is forced out of my lungs.

He’s still glaring daggers as he grinds his knee into me, pushing so hard my chest can’t expand, and all I can do is gasp like a fish out of water as I try to breathe.

“It’s Wednesday.” He leans even harder on his knee, his voice eerily quiet. “And I just got back from the library stacks.”

A laugh bubbles up my throat, but all that comes out is a pathetic gurgle since he’s still cutting off my air.

The burning in my chest begs me to breathe, but there’s a strange undercurrent, something that mixes and mingles with the fear and panic that makes me feel alive.

“How?” he demands. “How did you know about them?”

I tap on his knee, reminding him that I can’t talk if I can’t breathe.

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