In Fury Lies Mischief (Midnight Mayhem 2)

“What do you mean you have proof?” I ask, and I don’t know why I skipped over all of the other raw details he spilled and reached straight for that—closure maybe—but I did, and I wanted to know.

He pushes off the RV and takes my hand. “Come.”

I do, because aside from my trust issues with him, there’s one thing that with all that we’ve been through that I absolutely know, and it’s that Killian wouldn’t kill me. Maybe that’s the first plank that has been laid down on our bridge. I follow him through Delila’s home, ignoring how haunted the mansion feels now with her not here. I don’t think I’ve come to the realization of her not being here anymore.

He continues down the hallway and into a room that’s at the very end of it, opening the door.

King, Keaton, and Kyrin are inside, talking around a mahogany table. My eyes fall to the picture frames that are on top. All of Delila and Maya. My heartbeat thickens again.

“Give us a minute,” Killian says to the boys, and they all look between him and I.

“You sure about that?” King asks, an eyebrow raised. “Don’t know if it’s a good idea.”

Killian picks up a black remote before his eyes collide with King. “Give us a minute.”

They all spill out of the room as Kill leans over the desk, his arms flexing. “I’m showing you this because I don’t want to have this conversation again. You can forgive me, or not, it doesn’t matter to me. I’d still want you to watch this.” He runs his hand over his sharp jaw. “Kyrin is a fucking genius. When we were kids, he used to do a lot of fucking filming.” Kill shakes his head, turning to face the TV. “There are hours and hours of film, a lot with you in it too, and a lot with your dad…”

My brows pull together as I round the sofa.

Killian presses play and the TV shows static before two boys come on.

“You’re a fucking idiot.” I shoved Kyrin in his arm when he aimed the camera right at me.

“No, I’m actually not.” He knew I was kidding, because he was the furthest thing from an idiot. We were fucking around outside after target practice with our dads, when the front door to our pool house slammed closed, stealing both of our attention.

Kyrin’s eyes came to mine. Dead. Angry. Hateful. That’s Kyrin.

I smirked. “Let’s go.”

“What the fuck are you doing?” Kyrin asked but follows me. Everyone knew to follow me. My ideas were always bad, but they always followed.

I brought my finger to my lip signaling for him to be quiet.

He glares at me before stomping up the stairs.

I hit him with the back of my hand. “Shut up and film, asshole!”

“I don’t give enough of a fuck about this world to be an asshole.”

I rolled my eyes while slowly pushing open the front door.

“No,” Peter hushed into the phone that was pressed to his ear. “I can’t. She’s not gone yet.” There was a pause as Kyrin lined up the camera to be pointed directly on Peter. Peter sighed. “I don’t know when. Soon. She’s not got long, and then it’s done and I’ll be back in Patience.” Pause. “Yes, I will keep up my end of the deal. You grant me back into the trust and I will allow her to become a Little Doll.”

“What the fuck does he mean?” Kyrin whispered from behind the camera, shocking me out of my trance.

“Don’t know. But we’re going to tell Dad.”

My ears buzzed

“What else happened?” I ask, my throat dry.

It’s silent for a while before Kill clears his throat. “I went and talked to Dad. We concocted a plan. We knew that your mom was sick. I was angry…” Killian whispers, and I turn to face him.

He falls down onto the chair that was tucked under the table, running his hands through his hair. “I didn’t know why, but I remember that I was angry.” His eyes came to mine and sucked what little life I had inside of me out with it. “I wanted to protect you as a kid. It was three weeks later that your mom died and sure enough, your father packed up and was heading to Hope to drop you off.” He glares at me. “You know what family does, Saskia?” he asks, his tone a notch softer.

I swipe the stray tears that have fallen down my cheeks away angrily. Annoyed that I’m once again crying.

“Fuck,” he whispers, pushing up from his chair, making his way toward me. He pulls me into his chest and for a very brief second, I allow myself to be healed by him. In this moment, it didn’t matter that the same hands that had caused so much carnage were the only ones that could tame my sadness. It didn’t matter to me in this moment that most of the battle scars that Killian hides beneath his sharp looks and swagger were inflicted by the same man I called Papa. Or the same woman that I admired growing up.