get my hands on you, I’d hunt the bastard down and choke him with his own intestines.”
My brain locks on one thought: Killian will soon have his hands on me.
I drain my glass before I, too, stand. What? I’m thirsty. A fog spills through my brain and a sweet voice whispers, His towering height is a very good thing, there’s nothing to be afraid of, and maybe you should hold on to his shirt. For balance.
No! I call foul!
The fog is clearly a whore galore, and I decide to teach her a lesson by stepping back...into my chair. Oops! My butt hits with a little too much force, and I wince.
Killian pulls me to my feet. “You’re not getting out of this, lass.” He leads me away from the table. As he moves behind me—or rather he tries to move behind me—I turn with him. I don’t want him at my back.
He has to know the problem, but rather than castigating me, he distracts me. “What kind of punishment were you given this morning? I’ve wondered all day.”
His blue-gold eyes sizzle with a shocking amount of anger. Anger on my behalf.
He has a protective streak, doesn’t he?
Finally I turn. I don’t give myself time to think about my actions. Here goes nothing. I...lean...back. My stomach leaps into my throat, and I honestly expect to hit the ground.
He catches me and smiles. “Well?”
I’m so relieved, I find myself saying, “I kept a calendar on my wall.” RIP, sweet calendar. “Vans had it washed away.”
Killian’s brow furrows as he helps me straighten. “You screamed because of a calendar?”
“Well, it was a good calendar,” I say, defensive.
“Noted.” He twirls a finger, silently telling me to turn around. “What else has been done to you during your stay?”
“Just about everything you can imagine. Whippings, beatings. I’ve even been fried with a cattle prod.” I turn more easily this time. “Oh, and let’s not forget the time I was waterboarded. So fun!”
Shut up! common sense shouts. I’m oversharing when it’s time to be a vault.
Oh, who cares? This is a wonderful day, and I love absolutely everyone!
“Dr. Vans has waterboarded you?” Killian asks, his voice so low, so silky, I’m almost hypnotized by it.
“Yep. But here’s a better question. Are you ready for me?”
“Can anyone ever be ready for you, lass? But don’t worry. I won’t let you get hurt. You have my word.”
I hold my breath as I fall...fall...
Killian catches me again. This time, he spins me around, so that we’re face-to-face. “Do you want me to kill Vans for you?”
Maybe. I step closer, intending to reveal the most important piece of information in the history of the universe: his eyelashes are pretty and I’d like to measure them. Who am I kidding? I already know how long they are. Perfect inches. But I say, “There’s a pond in my brain, and a lovely fog is dancing over the water.”
Killian looks at me as if I’m the best birthday present ever.
Wait. I planned to tell him something... “Eyelashes.”
“You’re drunk,” he says.
“How dare you. I’m only probably drunk.” I reach out and trace a fingertip around each of his eyes. Soft eyelashes.
Frowning, he clasps my wrist and places my hand at my side. “Why didn’t you fight back today?”
Fight back...fight back? Oh! Vans. “There’s only so much I can do. I bet you’ve never been on the receiving end of an attack. You’re so big.”
“Oh, I’ve been on the receiving end of an attack.” His anger returns in a flash. “I’ve also gone back and repaid the person responsible a thousand times over.”
I’m shivering. Why am I shivering? “Not one for mercy, huh?”
“Victors are adored, failures are abhorred.”
As many times as I’ve failed to escape the asylum and save myself from more pain, well, he must think the worst about me. “I’m going to disrespectfully disagree with you. If victory is achieved the wrong way, it’s not really a victory at all.”
He arches a brow and sneers, “Your opinion is very en-light-ened.”
Ugh. Do I sound like a Troikan? Bow must be rubbing off on me.
“Your turn,” I say. “Turn around.”
“You really think you can catch me?”
“I’m stronger than I look.”
“And yet I’m still not reassured.”
I twirl my finger.
He rotates slowly, reluctantly. “By the way, victory is victory. I end up on top, not the bottom.”
“On top of what? The pile of heartbreak and suffering you leave in your wake?”
He opens his mouth, closes it with a snap—and falls.
I catch him, but he’s heavy, heavier than