Page 121 of Cruel When He Smiles
I breathe out a sigh, count to ten in my mind, then face the idiot again. “What exactly were you supposed to do?”
He looks at Killian, who is currently busy twirling a knife around, then back at me. “She told me to make sure he got hurt bad enough to need care. That’s all I know, I swear.”
“Liam,” Killian says my name in that steady voice he only uses when I’m too far under. But I barely register his voice. My vision tunnels, zeroed in on the piece of shit in front of me.
Something isn’t right. I already checked Nate’s admission records, and his mother’s name wasn’t anywhere on them. She wasn’t listed as a contact, nor was she the next of kin whom they contacted. She wasn’t even supposed to know he was in the hospital, per the request from his father.
My fingers flex against my thighs, and my body is buzzing with something lethal. Killian must see it because he steps back, arms crossing again and watching me like he’s waiting to see what I’ll do.
I inhale slowly through my nose, pushing down the rage, shoving it into a tight, controlled box—because I can’t afford to let it loose. Not yet. I tilt my head, my eyes locked onto the piece of shit in the chair. “How did she contact you?” My voice is deceptively calm.
“Private number,” he says quickly. “I didn’t know who it was at first.”
“And you didn’t think to ask why?”
“She knew shit about me and threatened my future! What the fuck was I supposed to do?”
“What a piece of work,” Killian drawls, sarcasm dripping from every word. “A real fucking visionary.”
I step back, shoving my hands into my pockets just so I don’t use them to break his jaw. “I’ll take care of him,” Killian says, his voice casual, like we’re discussing a fucking inconvenience rather than a man tied to a chair who just admitted to hurting my Pup on someone else’s orders.
My thoughts are a hurricane, violent and chaotic, every single one leading back to the same fucking thing—his mother.
“You should go,” Killian continues. “You’ve got bigger things to focus on, like finding out why Nate’s mother paid someone to take him out.”
I nod, but before I reach the door, Killian’s voice stops me.
“Hey, Liam.”
I pause, glancing over my shoulder. “What?”
He watches me with that sharp, knowing glint in his eyes. “You know what this means, right?”
I narrow my eyes. “Enlighten me.”
His smirk widens. “This might be it. The person who has that little piece of your toy you’ve been trying to get your hands on.”
I stare at him as that hits.
Nate is mine—his body, his thoughts, his obsession, every fucking part of him except one. That tiny, locked-up part. The part that freezes when his phone rings. The part that makes his hands shake when he answers it. The part that makes him go quiet in a way that doesn’t fucking fit him.
The part that’s not mine, but I want it.
I want it so fucking bad it burns.
Killian claps Josh on the back, making him flinch, then looks over his shoulder at me with that easy grin. “Go play detective, lover boy. I’ve got things covered here.”
I don’t argue with that and turn, putting the code in the keypad, pushing open the cellar door, and stepping into the hallway. I inhale deeply, and I force my muscles to relax and my rage to stay buried until I know exactly where to direct it.
I barely register the rest of the house as I move upstairs. Music from the kitchen, the low rumble of voices, laughter from someone in the lounge. None of it touches me. I shut my door behind me and go straight to my desk, hauling my laptop open before I’ve even taken off my coat. I’ve known her name for a while but didn’t think she mattered.
Dr. Evelyn Carter.
The search doesn’t take long since women like her leave digital footprints a mile wide. Awards. Banquets. Donations. She’s curated an image that screams perfection—silk blouses and pearl necklaces, charity luncheons, photo ops at hospitals and youth centers.
She looks polished and controlled, the same way he tries to be—but her smile doesn’t reach her eyes.
Ah.
