Fighting Fate (Fighting #7)(38)

“In my car.”

He holds his hand out, and I drop my keys into his palm. “Stay with her.” Ryder nods and Killian pulls my purse from my car, hitting the lock and alarm before stomping back.

He tosses me my purse and keys and mumbles a quick “thanks” to Ryder before climbing into the driver’s side.

I share a quick look of apology with Ry. He smiles too big for my comfort just as Killian pulls away.

*





Killian





I snapped.

I felt the second it happened, and now that it’s done, I can’t pull myself back together again.

By the time I hit the front door of the house, I heard him. He’d called her a bitch, made disgusting comments about her body. What a f*cking fool! To think he’d been honored with having the gates of heaven opened to him and he spat on the floor and walked away.

My muscles twitch with the fall of adrenaline. It took every ounce of my training and every sliver of my will to keep from pulverizing that douchebag. I wanted to laugh maniacally in his face and wear his gray matter on my fists like a badge of honor—oh f*ck. I need to lay off the Stephen King books.

“Killian, please don’t be mad at me.”

“I’m not mad at you, but I f*cking hate that guy. Promise me you’re done with him.”

“I am. I never want to see him again.”

“Good. I’ll go pick up your car in the morning.

“You don’t have to do that.” She picks at her nails. “I can pick it up myself.”

“Not now, Ax. Don’t do your tough-girl thing with me when I’m barely holding on to the last inch of my patience. I’ll get your f*cking car.”

“Fine,” she whispers. “Thank you.” A few seconds pass and she fidgets in her seat. “Did you kiss her?”

I flex my hands on the steering wheel and contemplate lying. “Yes.” I keep my eyes to the road.

“And…how was it?”

“It was…” not you. “Different.”

“Hm.” She shifts in her seat, and I can see in my peripheral vision that she’s looking at me. “Do you like her?”

I make the left into my apartment lot, find a spot, and shut off the car before turning to face her head on. She’s gazing up at me with questioning eyes, so I swallow and confess, “No.”

Her lips open but then slam closed. I hop from the Jeep, and when I hear her door shut, I hit the locks. Without looking back, I climb the stairs to my apartment, hyperaware of her presence at my back. I push inside, hit the lights on, and drop my keys in the bowl.

“Make yourself at home. Grab something to sleep in.” I head to the bathroom and shut and lock the door before bracing myself over the sink and staring at my reflection in the mirror.

I could’ve killed that guy. I’ve stuck up for Axelle in the past, gotten in fights to defend her, but I’ve never been afraid like I was tonight.

This shit between us has to stop. It’s built to a level I’m no longer able to control, and if we don’t clear the air between us, I could end up in prison.

My mind briefly flashes back to four years ago, the way Blake lost it on Stewart, nearly killing the guy and landing his ass behind bars. Back then I thought Blake was a psycho, totally out of control. Now I can relate.

And that thought alone is scary as shit.

I pull out my contacts and strip out of my clothes. The hot shower spray is punishing against my skin, but I welcome the burn.

I rehearse the speech I’m going to have to give when I exit this room, knowing that the next hour could change the last four years of friendship we’ve built. It’s terrifying and liberating, and by the time I’m out and dried off, I’m eager to get it over with.

With a towel around my waist, I push out and into the studio apartment. Axelle’s sitting cross-legged on my bed with a glass of water between her hands. She’s wearing my black UFL tee and a pair of red boxers, her long slender legs looking as smooth as silk against my comforter.

“I’m finished if you need to get ready for bed.”

Her eyes widen and slide down my chest to my abdomen and then lower to—dammit, f*ck! My dick is half hard and more than obvious behind the thin white towel. I whirl around and give her my back.

“Thanks, I’ll, uh…” I look over my shoulder to see her flustered and fumbling with her water glass as it splashes over the lip and onto her legs. “Oh, shit!” She scrambles off the bed. “Do that.”

She scurries to the door, tripping once on her way, but I pretend not to notice and dig out some pajama pants to wear to bed. I hear the toilet flushing then the faucet running, and the door opens again just as I’m settling into a chair at my small kitchen table.

She looks between me and the bed. “Are you not tired?”

“We need to talk, and—no shit—I won’t be able to concentrate if we have this conversation on the bed.”

Her eyes widen, and she crosses to me with uneasy steps.

I nod to the seat in front of me. “Sit.”

She lowers herself and blinks up at me with makeup free eyes, and suddenly she’s sixteen again. That’s the face I fell in love with, the face I’m still in love with.

“Killian, listen, if this is about tonight—”