Page 49 of Then We Shatter

I quickly consider all the possibilities. We could run away together. But then we’d have both our families hunting us down. Or I could try to speak to Dad and… No, I can see where that conversation would lead. Maybe Katarina could tell me where she is once she’s in exile. Or I could trek to the middle of Siberia and kill Vasili like I keep threatening. Fuck.

“There is no happy ending for us, Killian,” Katarina says when my silence stretches on for too long. “We always knew that, and I’ve been putting this off for too long. My sestra keeps saying I’m pushing my luck, and I think my luck has just run out.”

I rake my fingers through my hair, tugging at the roots. I won’t say goodbye. Not yet. “Please, Kitty. Don’t change your plans yet. It’s only another three weeks until the wedding. I said I’ll fix this and I will.”

“What can you do?”

“You’ll see,” I promise. “Trust me.”

Chapter 18

Killian

Killian: Don’t be mad. I might have fucked up. Just a little.

Katarina: What have you done, Shorty?

On the other side of the door, there’s the slow, methodical footfalls of a man primed to seek out danger and eliminate threats. That threat would be me, but my pulse remains steady as my enemy walks past the hidden entrance to the closet. His steps recede and a distant door closes. Then… silence.

Now I panic.

I wrap a clammy hand around the door handle. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. I know what’s waiting for me. I can do this.

Clearly I can’t because I’m still gripping the handle when the door pulls open. A sliver of light fills the darkened closet and a figure slips into the gap. Thankfully it’s an ally.

“I hope you’re wearing something stab-proof,” Shelley says under her breath as she slips past.

Sweat trickles down the back of my neck as I remain in the shadows, and it takes a shove from Shelley to get me over the threshold.

Katarina’s dress is as black as her eyes and as short as her temper. She’s wearing makeup for our impromptu meeting and she’s dressed for a funeral. Mine.

“I can explain–”

The Bratva princess rushes me, a barrage of Russian expletives falling from her crimson lips as she strikes my head with something. The weapon isn’t sharp, but it’s heavy.

“Kitty, will you stop– Shit!” Her next blow glances off my cheekbone. Something purple flashes across my vision. What the fuck is she hitting me with?

I go to grab her wrists, but she’s too fast and too determined. She won’t stop until she’s inflicted real physical damage. “You absolute piece of shit,” she whisper-yells, switching to English so I know exactly what she thinks of me. “You cock-sucking, mother-fucking, son of a whore!”

I grab her wrist and hold it at arm’s length as I glare back at her. “Call me all the names you like, but don’t bring my mother into this.”

Her eyes flare, but she tips her head just enough to acknowledge that was too much. I let her yank her hand away, and her assault with a blunt weapon continues.

“You’re a complete…” Thwack. “And utter…” Another hit. “Knobhead, Killian McConkey. How could you be so fucking stupid?”

“It wasn’t all my fault,” I try, but she won’t stop hitting me.

I give Katarina another four strikes before I wrap my arms around her and lift her off the floor. She wraps her legs around my waist, her skintight dress bunching at the hips. Bracing one arm on my shoulder for balance, she lands a direct hit on my forehead. I see stars, but I know the layout of the room well enough by now and I dump Katarina’s arse on the massage table.

The abrupt drop destabilizes her and I grab both her wrists. My face is inches from hers, giving her the option to head-butt me. When she doesn’t, I risk a look at the purple silicone weapon she’s carrying. It’s big but it fits perfectly in her hand.

My face smarts from all the strikes she’s rained down on me, but that doesn’t stop me grinning.

“Don’t look so damn pleased with yourself,” Katarina warns.

“Can I help it if I like how obsessed you are with my gifted cock?”

“Are we making jokes now?”