His mother had handpicked and designed every inch of the manor from the faucets to the little doorstoppers behind every door. It had been her project for over thirteen years and probably would have still been had she not been taken from him. Killian would have sold the place after his father’s death, and had contemplated it several times, but it had so much of his parents woven into every grain and piece of wood that parting with it would be like losing them all over again.
The hall ended at the brightly lit kitchen. The rich scent of meat and gravy greeted him before rolling laughter. It had been so long since that sound had filled the estate that he wasn’t sure what to expect when he walked through the doorway.
Juliette sat at the stone island, head thrown back as she filled the room with the sweet chime of her delight. His part time cook, full time substitute aunt, Molly Coghlan stood on the opposite end of the counter, hands waving as she gave elaborate gestures in description. Lights sparked off the bangles cluttering her arms. The sound rattled through the room, making a world of noise.
Molly was a stout woman with a head full of Irish red curls and broad shoulders. Years of spending too many hours in the sun gardening without proper cover had forever imprinted folds around gleaming green eyes. Yet despite her love of the outdoors, her skin was a doughy white that emphasized the gray creeping through the russet curls cut and permed stubbornly short. She stood three full feet shorter than Killian even with three inch heels, but her aura dominated, fierce and resilient. She was a woman who feared nothing, not even death and it circled her like a shroud.
“Of course me mum took that second to walk into the kitchen,” Molly went on, eyes the color of sea foam wide and shining with amusement. “And there I was, scissors in one hand, me sister’s hair in the other, and me wee brother dangling from the cupboard. Ma just about had a fit.”
Juliette broke out in another fit of uncontrollable giggles that had her rocking back on her stool. The sound was a thing of magic. It echoed with such an abundance of joy that Killian, who had heard the story a million times before, couldn’t help feeling his own laughter tickling his chest.
“That is horrible and hilarious!” Juliette gasped, pressing a palm to her chest.
Her shoulders were still trembling when she spotted him in the doorway. Her smile immediately vanished and was replaced by something he could have mistaken for concern if he could look past the bloom of colors splashed across her face.
“Killian.” She turned in her seat to face him properly. “You’re back.”
“Aye,” he murmured. “I am.”
“And about time.” Molly rounded on him, one hand planted on the full curve of her hip. “Know how hard it was to keep this one calm? Practically had to sedate her.”
Juliette blushed. “I was calm,” she argued. “I was … worried.” The last word was said so quietly he nearly didn’t hear it. “I wasn’t sure you were okay.”
As though realizing the extent of her confession, she averted her eyes and fell quiet.
Every warning bell in Killian’s head simultaneously went off at the exact same moment. They all screamed for him to turn and run, or better yet, tell her to leave before she further contaminated his perfectly set world. All the signs were there, flashing before his eyes and yet the words refused to come. Maybe it was cowardice. Maybe it was stupidity. But he couldn’t turn her away. Not yet.
“Just handling some business,” he said, struggling to maintain a level tone.
Juliette remained fixated by the fingers knotted in her lap and Killian wasn’t sure he was ready to have her attention return to him just yet.
“So found this one locked up in that dungeon o’ yers,” Molly cut in when the tension stretched into a full, agonizing minute. “Is that how your da taught you to keep a woman?”
“Nah, he taught me to keep’em tied to the bed,” he said honestly.
Molly laughed. “Aye, that sounds more like him.” She dusted her hands and sighed. “Well, I’ll be off then.”
“You’re leaving?” Juliette said, sounding genuinely disappointed.
“Aye, I’m done me job for the week.”
“Bless you that.” Killian replied, moving deeper into the room. “Molly’s been in the family since I was a boy,” he told Juliette. “Used to sneak me sweets when me mum wasn’t looking. Now she stays to make sure I don’t accidently starve myself to death. Makes the best lamb stew on this side of the pond.”
Juliette glanced from one to the other. “So basically, you get your food precooked and delivered in weekly batches?” She looked to Killian. “You can’t cook?”
It was Molly’s booming voice roared in laughter. “Aw, love, I wouldn’t trust him in the kitchen if you paid me. Boy can’t even boil water.”
While embarrassingly true, Killian tried not to take offense to amusement being had on his behalf. Instead, he eased his hands into his pockets and shot silent glowers at the woman who had practically raised him. Molly was unmoved.
“I can’t cook,” Juliette confessed. “I mean, I can boil water, but I think the last meal I made was a sandwich.”
Molly made a sound of pain. Her hand flew to her chest.
“Lord, save me.” She eyed the pair of them. “It’s any wonder you two haven’t wasted away. Do I need to start making double?”
“No!” Juliette burst out before Killian could open his mouth. “No, thank you, but I won’t be here very much and I don’t want you to go through the trouble.”
Molly tipped her head towards Killian. “Don’t matter. He eats like a dainty bird.”
Killian straightened. “You know, that’s the second time you’ve insulted me in a matter of an hour.”
Molly laughed, unfazed. “Only second? I must be losing me touch.” She tossed on her coat and purse. “I best be on me way. Got a house to clean and a man at home to feed.” She narrowed her eyes at Killian. “Don’t eat all that in a day, you hear me? I won’t be making more.”
She would. Killian knew she would. But not without a lot of complaining.
“Weren’t you the one who used to tell me I was a growing boy who needed to eat more?” Killian challenged with an arch of his eyebrows.
Molly pursed her lips. “I also told you you’d never be too old to put over me knee.”
From the counter, Juliette made a sound that was quickly stifled behind a cough.
“It was nice to meet you,” she told Molly, tactfully avoiding Killian’s gaze. “Thank you for the stew.”
Molly released Killian from her death glare and focused on Juliette. “You take care now.” she said, already starting for the door. “Walk me,” she said to Killian.
Killian glanced at Juliette. “Stay here,” he told her before following Molly out.
“Mind telling me what happened to her face?”
“It wasn’t me.”
Molly shot him a glance. “I’da beaten your hide bloody if I thought you had it in you to put your hands on a woman.” She stopped walking and peered closely into Killian’s face. “My question is, what are you intending to do about it?”
It was a question Killian had expected the moment he’d seen Molly in the kitchen with Juliette. He had almost been waiting for it.
Molly had been raised by a father who used his fists more than his mouth. Killian had never met the man, but he suspected it had been bad; Molly always got that look in her eyes whenever mentions of abuse came up. It was the look Killian had seen in the mirror every day for three years before he’d put a stop to it. It was something that surpassed fury, conquered rage, and passed that line beyond the haze of red. But unlike him, she had no one to punish. She had no way to make it stop. Her father had drank himself to death in a gutter when she’d been thirteen.
“I’m taking care of it.”
Molly straightened her shoulders. Her chin went up in a defiance he knew all too well.
“Be sure you do. There’s a special place in hell for men who hurt women and children.”
&n
bsp; “Aye.” He eased his hands into his pockets to keep from touching her. “And I intend to make sure he gets there sooner rather than later.”
Her shoulders rose with her deep inhale. “Good lad.” She twisted away towards the doors. Her hands were unsteady when she adjusted her purse strap. “Until next week then.”
With a kiss to his cheek, she shuffled away. Killian watched her until she had descended the front steps and made her way to the car Marco brought around for her. He shook his head at the piece of crap Toyota. The thing was older than he was and yet she refused to let him get her anything better. It rumbled and shrieked like a banshee all the way through the front gates.
“Sir? You have a conference call booked in an hour.” Frank appeared seemingly out of nowhere, phone in hand. He stopped at Killian’s shoulder. “Should I reschedule?”
Killian glanced down the sunbathed corridor leading towards the kitchen.
“No.” He unbuttoned his cuffs and rolled the sleeves on his dress shirt. “Give me thirty minutes.”
Leaving the man to punch that into his phone, Killian made his way through the strobes of sunlight. His feet clipped on marble with an almost skip to each step.
The excitement he felt coursing through him was an unfamiliar one. He’d never been the cause of another person’s happiness. He’d never been able to give someone something that meant a damn. Telling Juliette she was free of Arlo was practically burning a hole through his chest.
She stood at the sink. The water ran as she scrubbed her bowl and spoon. Killian followed the lines of her back in the soft material of her dress. The light from the French doors shimmered through the silky strands falling around thin shoulders. One foot was arched up on the toes while the other remained flat. He knew the moment she was finished when the foot was settled down next to the other one and she snapped off the faucet. The bowl and spoon were settled inside the dishwasher. She dried her hands and turned.
“Jesus!” One hand jumped to her chest. “I didn’t hear you come back.”
“There’s no need for that,” he said instead, gesturing with a jerk of his chin towards the dishwasher. “I have someone that takes care of those duties every day.”
Still breathing hard enough to make her chest rise and fall rapidly, she moved to the stove and hooked the rag back through the oven handle bar.
“I would feel bad if I left it for someone else.” A smile curled the corners of her mouth as she turned to him. “You sound like her,” she said. “Molly,” she clarified when he raised a brow. “I mean, you already have a deep accent, but when you were talking with her, it was very thick.”
It was a fact his father used to tease him over mercilessly. Unlike his mother and Molly, his father hadn’t been raised in Dublin. His accent had been more refined, audible and understandable by most. Killian had been raised by the three and together, they had given him something in between. While he couldn’t hear it, he’d been told several times that his accent was more pronounced in his anger or when Molly was around.
For Juliette, he snorted. “I haven’t got an accent.”
She chuckled. “Of course not.” She started towards him. Her smile faded and she was eyeing him with those furrowed brows of concern. “Are you okay?”
His hands moved into his pockets. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
One shoulder lifted in an indecisive shrug. “You seemed angry when you left and I—”
“You can’t,” he cut her off with more sharpness then was probably necessary. “You can’t worry. You can’t ask. You can’t know. Those are the rules. You’re not my girlfriend or my wife. There is nothing between us but sex.”
It was cold. Molly would have hit him for less, but it needed to be said. She needed to understand her place. The delusion of women who believed there was more to be had when there wasn’t was a problem. He wanted no problems. Not where Juliette was concerned. She needed to know right from the beginning what he expected. She needed to be aware of just how limited and emotionless their arrangement would be.
But Juliette, if she was hurt or angry, revealed nothing outwardly beyond the tilt of her chin.
“I only worried because if something happens to you before my debt is paid, I’ll be stuck with Arlo forever.”
It was a legit response, whether it was the truth or not made little difference; he would let her keep her secrets as he would keep his. After all, he wasn’t there to trade diaries.
He drifted deeper into the room, moving as close to her as he dared without touching.
“You can stop worrying then,” he said. “Arlo won’t be bothering you anymore. He sure as hell won’t be putting his hands on you again.”
His news didn’t have the affect he’d expected. Instead, her eyes went enormous. All the blood spilled from her face, making the bruises grotesquely bright.
“Oh God…” She stumbled back, away from him, her hands flying to her mouth. “You killed him?”
It was insulting and amusing that that was the first place her mind always seemed to go where Arlo and Killen were concerned.
“And if I did?” He circled around her slowly, taking a sort of pleasure in her panic.
She rounded on him. “Then you gave up a bit of your soul for someone who didn’t deserve it. Yes, Arlo deserves to die. Yes, I imagined doing it myself a million times. But he has no right to taint any part of you with his … his evil.”
That made him pause. His head tilted as he observed the woman standing before him.
“My soul.”
The two words sounded foreign and strange leaving his lips. It reminded him of the time his mother had hired lumpy Mr. Delavan to teach him German. Every syllable had come out gruff and clumsy and ultimately ended with Mr. Delavan throwing his coffee mug at the wall and storming out.
Intrigued by the novelty of him with a soul, Killian moved to the French doors and peered out at the sheen of light glinting off the polished marble. The late afternoon sun hung low and tired in the cloudless sky. The hint of a breeze made the leaves shiver on their branches, but never made it past the glass to touch his skin.
“I’m not entirely certain I possess one of those,” he murmured more to himself than the woman watching him.
“Everyone has a soul,” Juliette said quietly. “Even Arlo, although, I’m sure his is black and shriveled to nothing.”
He glanced back over his shoulder at her. “How do you know mine isn’t?”
“I don’t know you well enough to answer that.”
What had he expected? Had he honestly expected her to tell him he was redeemable? That he could somehow be forgiven for his past crimes? Did he want to be? It had never occurred to him before. What he’d done, he knew he would do again given the chance. He made no apologies for taking those lives. Did that make him evil? Did that make his soul black and shriveled?
His mother used to tell him stories of brave knights who would seek justice for their kingdom, for their king and princess. They were deemed as heroes, as a thing of honesty and integrity.
Killian wasn’t a hero. He wasn’t a white knight in shiny armor riding a white horse. He didn’t save king and country. He also knew the difference between fantasy and reality; only in a fantasy did the hero stalk, torture and murder nine men and expect a parade. Killian expected nothing. He had no illusions. None. His world was black and white and splattered by crimson.
“Killian?” The quiet click of her shoes moving, closing the distance pulled him from his thoughts. “Did you kill him?”
Turning away from the glass, Killian watched her draw ever closer and wondered what she would say if he told her yes. Would she call him a monster? Would she throw the contract back into his face and scream for him to leave her alone?
“No,” he heard himself say before his brain could finish wondering. “He continues to live, unfortunately.”
He saw her shoulders sag with her exhale. A fine crinkle formed between her brows that emphasized the relief and worry in her eyes.
> “Okay.” She licked her lips. “Good.” She ran a hand through her hair, exhaled again and started to turn away. But she paused and turned back to him. “What … what did you mean he won’t be bothering me again?”
“I mean that I’ve handled the matter,” he said evenly. “It’s been dealt with. You and your family will be left alone.”
Her breathing grew steadily louder. “It’s done? It’s over?”
He inclined his head. “Aye. You’re free, Juliette.”
There was a distinct tremor in her hands when they lifted and flattened to her chest. Wet eyes darted away from him to focus on something just over his shoulder. He knew she wasn’t seeing anything, but she stood that way, unmoving as the impact of his words finally sunk in.
She finally turned those glossy eyes back to him, glimmering with panic and fear.
“I haven’t signed the contract. I…” She broke off with a strangled gasp. “I have questions and…”
He put his hand up. “That isn’t important right now.”
The smooth column of her throat bobbed rapidly. “I … I don’t … I can’t.” One hand lifted, trembling violently before settling on her brow. “Seven years…” She looked to him, desperation haunting every line of her face. “It’s over?”
“It’s over.”
Killian caught her when she swayed. He almost didn’t. Almost wasn’t fast enough. She gave him no warning. But he had her. His arms were around her, lifting her limp weight into his chest. Hot, ragged breath burned against his throat with her first sob. Her back heaved. Slender fingers curled viciously into the crisp material of his shirt, wrinkling and tearing at the fabric as she clung to him.
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