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Then she whips her head back and forth between us, baring her teeth. “No more secrets, though.”
“No more,” Killian promises.
Preston’s screams start to ruin the moment. I throw him on the floor, using a wipe from my pocket to clean my trusty Cyclone and shove it in my pants pocket.
I bend to grab his ear, haul him back up to me, and stuff it into his screaming mouth. My hand slams his nasty lips shut, and I don’t care. I have more wipes to clean the fucker off me.
“No more,” I tell Amara, more pacified now.
“Thank you.” Amara sighs.
Preston gags and gags, fighting to spit his ear out. However, with my hand plastered on his mouth, it’s highly unlikely his ear is going anywhere.
“We would’ve come clean eventually. Swear.” My whole body works hard to restrain Preston. But my face is soft. For her and Killian. “I had a cage ordered for our old room, in case you tried to run once we did.”
“Baby.” She drops the gun, speeding toward me. She almost tackles me and Preston to the side as she throws her hands around my neck. “It’s one of the sweetest things anyone’s ever done for me.”
“I’m happy you’re happy, beautiful girl.” Killian joins us, caressing her messy hair. “You’re so special. So very special.”
His dark eyes dart to mine. He’s amused and turned on in equal measures. Of course he is. He’s thinking about caging me there alongside Amara.
I don’t hate that idea. Don’t hate it at all.
“This is the nastiest grooming, twisted shit I’ve ever seen,” Christopher utters. “No wonder you’ve been keeping it a secret. Sick fucks.”
Crack.
Killian bashes the unbroken vase into Christopher’s head. Water and flowers spill over his face and he coughs and groans from the pain.
“You’d do well to refrain from calling me a pedophile.” Killian leans in close to Christopher’s face who wriggles, trying to break free. “I won’t be as forgiving as Carter. If you mess with me, you’ll be chewing on your ear. You’ll be taking hearty bites on it before swallowing.”
Christopher has the brains to shut up. His eyes are still full of rage, an issue Killian appears extremely keen to fix.
“You’re angry, huh?” Killian hoists Christopher up to his knees, twisting his body to face Amara. “Imagine how we feel. Finding you here, hearing you planned a gang rape in our hotel. Can’t say I’m pleased, Christopher.”
It’s the only type of criminals we don’t let in. Sexual offenders. Murderers, drug dealers, white-collar douchebags—we let them in, happily.
Child molesters, rapists, human traffickers—we don’t simply deny their application. We make them disappear. It’s been three years since we had any of those monsters apply.
“She’s the one who asked me to fuck her,” Christopher dares to repeat what the now-vomiting Preston had. “She contacted me. It was all her.”
Killian delivers three hard blows to Christopher’s cheek and jaw.
Another wave of Preston’s puke runs down my hand. I’m not squeamish, so it’s easy to leave my hand right where it is for a little over ten seconds. When I’m sure some of his vomit went back down his throat, I throw him on the floor.
While he hurls his ear and more of his stomach contents, I rise to my feet, fishing for another wipe. I always have two or three there. Just in fucking case.
After I clean myself from Preston’s saliva and vomit, I turn to Amara.
“That’s how you lured him?” Killian beats me to the question. “With sex?”
“It’s hot as hell, but Amara, what were you thinking? You could’ve been hurt.” I pounce on her, my hand grabbing the side of her neck. “They could’ve grown a pair and attacked you despite the gun. We might’ve missed you on the cameras.”
“I had to lure him here, somehow.” She smooths down her dress, calm and confident and magical. “I told him I was after revenge sex in your hotel. To make you mad. It worked. This isn’t even a real gun, and they still fell for it. Cool, right?”
Jesus fucking Christ. A plastic gun.
I’m furious. I’m two seconds from thrusting her into the cage for a full month to teach her a lesson.
