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Killian twists his attention from his laptop to me. “Carter.”
Shirtless and unshaven, he looks regal as fuck behind our mahogany desk. The lamp by his side does nothing to soften his sharp features. Nothing can soften Killian. Not even the homey feeling of our home office.
Wooden bookshelves, the expensive Persian rug, the antique leather couch.
None of that touches Killian.
Well, maybe other than Amara and now me.
He’s as harsh and strong as ever. The man I’ve idolized since I can remember.
“Busy?”
Of course he is. He’s serious. Deep in thought. Much like he looked on my fourteenth birthday. The first time he introduced me to what our hotel really deals in.
When he started treating me like an adult, business-wise.
“Today is the first step in your four-year internship, Carter.”
We were at his office in the hotel. He sat behind his desk, while I occupied the chair across from him. Finally, after years of begging him, I was dressed in a fitted black suit. Just like him.
I wasn’t attracted to him back then. I admired him. Wanted to be him.
He didn’t have weaknesses. Nothing broke through his rough exterior. Always composed and respected wherever he went. Especially here.
Especially after they’d leave his office bloodied or with their heads bowed in humiliation. I’d been a kid waiting outside for him to be finished when they walked out wounded, but I’d understood the power he had over them. How he fucked people up.
I wanted that. Fucking craved that.
Now that he’d let me in.
Excitement at wreaking havoc and cracking skulls brimmed beneath my skin.
I’d been visiting the gym in our apartment building. Lifting weights. Started boxing. My knuckles were raw from pummeling into the punching bag. My muscles primed to be put to good use. A violent use.
“So ready.” I gripped the arms of the chair, fingers clenching and unclenching. “I’m strong enough to break someone’s nose, Killian. To crack ribs. My boxing partner’s still at the hospital after last night. I can beat anyone up for you. Let me.”
“Easy there.” His lips twitched. Quickly, he schooled them back to the straight, firm line he’d been known for. “Beating people up isn’t the main focus of our business.”
My brow furrowed. I was motherfucking confused.
“I saw them,” I accused.
“Yeah, you did.” He steepled his fingers on the desk. “Hurting members who step out of line is one aspect of our job. A necessity to toe the line. Our main focus, though, is running this hotel and keeping the peace around here.”
He continued then to elaborate on every boring task and routine. Suppliers, paying taxes, the member vetting process. What mediating means, and why Killian—and now, we—were the ones to handle it.
They trusted him to do it. He was as ruthless as the rest of them, but he had no weakness. He had morals, though. Every low life, every politician passing through our doors, they were crooked as fuck. Killian could tell left from right better than any of them ever could.
I’d taken that for granted at the time. Suppressed my yawns through the whole lecture. Surely, the juicy bits were just around the corner.
When he got to the rules, my ears perked up.
Finally.
“It’s vital you remember”—his eyes narrowed as he leaned forward—“we don’t go around beating people up for no reason. We’re here to maintain the peace, not to use people as our punching bags for the fuck of it.”
“What if—”
