Page 54 of Cruel When He Smiles
Killian’s jaw ticks, but he says nothing at first. Something tells me he’s deciding between violence and restraint—and we both know which one always wins.
I see it coming a second too late.
He grabs me by the front of my coat and slams me hard against the wall, the force knocking a breath out of my lungs and sending a framed photo crashing to the floor. My back hits the plaster, and the resulting thud reverberates through my body, but I don’t flinch, and I don’t fucking blink.
Because this is Killian. This is who he is when he cares, when he doesn’t know what the fuck to do with an emotion he has no blueprint for.
His blue eyes are bright with fury, not performative rage or anger for show. Real, visceral, born-in-the-blood rage that shakes through his frame. His arm presses across my collarbone, close enough that I feel the threat in his body.
“I warned you that if that little brat was going to be the reason you destroy yourself,” Killian says, voice lethal, “I wouldpersonallytake care of the problem.”
My jaw clenches. “You won’t touch him.”
“Don’t fucking test me, little brother.” His grip tightens, dragging me forward only to slam me back again, menace radiating from every tense muscle. “I’ve picked you up off the floor and cleaned your blood out of the drain. Sat outside your door while you screamed at ghosts that aren’t real. You think I’m going to stand by while some brat undoes three years of healing?”
My voice is even when I speak. Cold. Controlled. “You don’t know him.”
“I don’t need to,” he growls, his breath hot against my face now. “All I need to know is that you were doing fine until he started mattering. You were focused.Unshakable.And now?” His lip curls. “Now you’re cutting again after three years. Because ofhim.”
His eyes flicker with concern and sadness, but then it’s gone before I can reply. “You don’t get to turn soft. Not you. You were the one thing in this house I didn’t have to worry about losing.”
I swallow, my throat dry. “I’m not soft, I’m strategic with him.”
“Bullshit!”
Killian’s palm presses harder into my chest, but he doesn’t speak for a long moment. He watches me as if he’s looking for something deeper than lies or deflection. An emotion I might not even know I’m giving away.
He lets out a long breath and shakes his head. “I’ve seen you lie to everyone, Liam. Coaches. Doctors. Professors. Yourself. But I’ve never seen you lie to me.”
I suck in a stuttered breath. “I’m not lying.”
“You’re not being honest either,” Killian snaps, slamming his hand against the wall beside my head. “I see your face when you talk about him. You’re not supposed to look at your marks like that or fantasize about keeping them. You don’t shake when you talk about how much you want to hurt them. Unless it’s not about the pain anymore.”
“I said I’m in control.”
“No, you’re in danger.” He shoves me once more for good measure before stepping back. His fists are clenched so tightly I can see the tremble in them. “You think I won’t kill for you? You think I won’t rip out a boy’s spine to keep you from falling apart again?”
I stiffen fractionally, another tell that Killian immediately catalogues. “That’s not your call.”
“You’re my brother, that makes it my call,” he grits out, running a frustrated hand through his hair. “If this thing with Carter ends with you bleeding out again, I’ll end him—”
I surge forward, closing the space, getting in his face. “If you touch him, Killian, I swear to god—”
“What?” he roars. “You’ll killmeinstead? You’ll trade me forhim?”
We stand there, breathing hard, every inch of the room vibrating with static. Both our chests are heaving with the kind of pressure that begs to be screamed or shattered.
I lower my voice. “You don’t get to be jealous.”
“I’m not fucking jealous,” Killian says, though it sounds like a lie even to him. “I’m terrified. Because for the first time in your life, you look like prey.”
Thatstops me.
Thatsilences the rest of the venom on my tongue.
Killian doesn’t admit when he’s scared. He doesn’t do fear; he mocks it. Dismantles it. Feeds off it like oxygen. But looking at him now, I see it for what it is—curled beneath the fury, beneath the threats, beneath the promise of violence.
“I’m not going to let him ruin me,” I say, trying to placate him. But he doesn’t believe me. Not really.
