Page 64 of Cruel When He Smiles
I move faster than I’ve moved all week.
My hand clamps around his throat when he turns, and I slam him into the nearest wall, the thud of the impact echoing through the tiled room. He doesn’t make a sound. Doesn’t gasp or flinch. His eyes flick to mine, while I press the inside of my forearm against his collarbone and hiss the words before I even realize they’re coming out.
“What the fuck did you say to him?”
Killian blinks once, then his hand latches onto my wrist hard enough to remind me that I forgot who the fuck I’m touching.
“I’m gonna give you three seconds to let go,” he says, his voice so calm that it cuts deeper than any shout.
But I don’t back off and lean closer instead. “He smiled at you.”
Killian’s mouth twitches. Not into a smirk—into something colder. “Yeah. He did.”
A breath shoves itself out of me, too hot to feel good. “What did you say to get that out of him?”
Killian doesn’t answer with words.
One twist of his arm, and I’m the one getting spun. My chest slams against the edge of the counter, and the sharp line of the granite digs into my ribs while his forearm presses across the back of my neck. His weight pins me, and right now, he’s reminding me just how well he knows where all my weak points are.
“I’m going to let you up,” he says, tone still maddeningly casual, “because if I don’t, we’ll break the kitchen. And I like this fucking kitchen.”
I growl low in my throat, the sound more feral than I meant for it to be. “Don’t go near him again.”
Killian lets that sit there. His breath is steady behind me, too close for comfort. “You really wanna give me orders right now, little brother?” he murmurs. “You touch me like that again, and Iwillremind you who taught you where to draw the line between dominance and desperation.”
The air between us thickens until it’s almost suffocating. Then his forearm lifts, the pressure loosens, and I’m free to move—but I don’t. I stay right where I am, breathing through clenched teeth, staring at the wall.
Killian steps back and gives me space, footsteps measured as he crosses to the opposite side of the kitchen. He doesn’t look at me again right away. He grabs a towel, dries his hands, thentosses it on the counter like we didn’t just almost tear each other apart.
“What the fuck is going on with you?” he asks, his voice quieter now.
I finally turn, shoulders tight, and glare at him. “Don’t play dumb.”
“I’m not,” he says. “I know you’re obsessed, that’s not new. But attackingme? Really, Liam?”
“He smiled at you,” I say again, the words hitting the air like an accusation. “You don’t deserve that.”
Killian narrows his eyes. “Neither do you.”
My jaw ticks, and I look away because if I keep looking at him, I might say something I can’t take back. Something about how long it’s been since Nate smiled at me—really smiled. Not a cruel twist of lips. Not a forced expression meant to prove a point. A genuine smile. And he gave it to Killian.
He folds his arms across his chest, watching me. “You don’t get to police who sees him. You don’t own him.”
I meet his gaze again, my voice ragged when I say, “But I will.”
Killian’s brows lift slightly. “That a promise?”
“It’s a fucking guarantee.”
He studies me for a long moment, then pushes off the counter and steps closer, not enough to threaten, but enough to make it clear he’s not backing down. “Then don’t waste your energy on me. You want him to smile at you? Earn it. Stop acting like a brat who lost his toy and start acting like the manipulative bastard I raised.”
A bitter sound escapes me, caught between a laugh and a growl. “You didn’t raise me.”
Killian shrugs. “No, but I made you useful. And right now, you’re the fucking opposite.”
He walks past me, brushing my shoulder with calculated ease. “Figure your shit out before you torch everything you care about.”
The door slides shut behind him with no more sound than a whisper, but it echoes in my head for minutes after he’s gone.
