Page 88 of Heartless Lord
Oh, hell, I was having a panic attack.
No! Not now.
I squeezed my eyes shut as darkness etched into the corners of my vision.
“Just relax and breathe, Red.” Killian’s voice somehow forced its way past the thunder of my pounding pulse. “Smell the flowers and blow out the candles.”
My eyes snapped open at the familiar phrase. He echoed the words I’d said to him when he was on the verge of a meltdown earlier. His gaze seared into the side of my face, a hint of the old Killian surging to the surface. His warm, calloused hand draped over mine, fingers tangling with my icy ones.
My breathing steadied, and I slowly inhaled a lungful of air.
With his free hand, he drew lazy circles up and down my forearm, gaze intent on mine. We sat there, neither speaking, neither moving, until the panic faded and sleep dragged me under.
And as my eyes slipped closed, one thought lingered…
I wasn’t sure if I should be afraid of Killian.
Or fear the part of me that felt safe with him.
CHAPTER 29
ANYTHING YOU WANT
Killian
The scent of alcohol, old sweat, and cigarettes floated from the man lying on the couch, his chest rattling with every breath. A nearly empty bottle of Jack Daniel’s perched on the edge of the coffee table, a can of beer tipped over on the ground.
Crimson stained the rag draped over the arm of the couch. He’d used it to wipe his knuckles after he'd split them.
After he’d split them on my mother’s face.
My fingers curled around the hilt of the kitchen knife, my teeth grinding as fury hemorrhaged through my veins.
I wanted to kill the bastard. He deserved to die.
Jonathan Briggs was a waste of space whose only ambition was to get drunk and cause my mother and me as much pain as possible.
No more. I couldn’t take any more.
He wasn’t always such an evil stain. I had a few early memories of us as a happy family, but all that crumbled when he let his gambling addiction take hold, and then the drugs andalcohol came. The monster on the couch was an ugly, distorted shell of the man he once was.
His lids slowly opened, revealing bloodshot, muddy brown eyes. His gaze ran over me, taking in the knife.
“Are you going to kill me, Killian?” He smirked and brushed dark strands of hair from his sallow, sweaty face. “You don’t have the balls, little boy.”
“I’m not a little boy.” When I turned eleven a few months ago, I had a growth spurt, but he still towered over me. “I’ll kill you if you hurt my mom again.”
He reached for the bottle of liquor, taking a swig. “She’s a brainless idiot who can’t do anything right. How will she ever learn if I don’t correct her mistakes?”
My grip tightened on the handle. “You’re the mistake.”
His rough laugh thundered against my skull. “Actually, you’re the mistake, Killian.” He swung his legs to the floor and struggled into a sitting position. “Everything was perfect until you came along. You took everything, latching onto her like a little leech, sucking us dry. We never wanted you.”
“Liar!” Unshed tears burned in my eyes as invisible hands squeezed my throat. “My mom loves me.”
“Does she?” He grabbed a cigarette from the pack, lit it, and put it to his peeling lips. “If she loves you so much, why does she let me hit you?”
She didn’t have a choice. When she tried to stand in his way, it only ended with another bruise.
