Charming Asshole (Killer of Kings 3)

“What’s your name?”

“Why do you want to know? You a perv? Want to take me somewhere, treat me special and fiddle with me? My friends told me about your kind.”

Killian had had just about had enough of this kid’s language. “I’m not a damn perv. Now tell me, what’s your name?” He grabbed his arms, bent down, and gave him the best stern look he could.

The kid recoiled. “Killian, my name is Killian.”

Holy shit!

He couldn’t believe what was happening right now. There was only one person who would name her son after him, and it was the very woman he’d been thinking about less than a minute ago.

“Is your mother’s name June?”

“Yeah, what’s it to you? Are you one of her family that hates her because of me?” he asked.

“What?” Killian shook his head. “Take me to your mother now.”

“Oh man, do we have to go? I’m sorry. I don’t want no trouble.”

“I’m not looking to get into any trouble. Take me to your damn mother now.” There was no denying that this boy was his. It was like looking into his past, and he’d spent a lot of time growing up, staring at himself. He’d always wondered who his father was. With a whore for a mother, she’d told him it could be anyone.

He had promised himself that he would never father children, and yet there was one right before him.

Killian Junior led the way, and Killian senior was fucking nervous. Ten years had passed, and from what he just saw, the life he thought June had clearly wasn’t the case.

****

June was going to throttle her son, and then she was going to yell, scream, and possible smother him with kisses. She had asked him to stay at their apartment until she was done waitressing. It was high tourism season, and it was the time she got to save up as much of her earning as possible. She wanted to make it a good Christmas, and to do that without getting into debt, required double shifts, and often triple shifts.

Working at the diner was the only place that offered steady work outside of the seasons, and meant she could have some semblance of a life, or at least keep her son out of trouble, and away from some of the street gangs that were around nowadays.

He had to be at one of his friends or something. She would go three doors down, and make sure he was there before calling the police. Marching toward the door, she flung it open, and came face to face with her past.

“Killian,” she whispered.

For several seconds neither of them spoke, nor moved. Her heart began to race as she stared at the man, who had aged gracefully. She’d spent months after finding out she was pregnant trying to find this very man. A man who had lied to her about the college he went to, the job he was working. Every little detail she had remembered that he’d told her had been a lie. That was what this man did, he lied.

“June,” he said.

“Hey, Mom. He says he’s not a perv? So I thought I’d bring him home.”

“Why are you speaking in an English accent?” she asked.

“Told ya, Mom, guys don’t mess with the Brits. Think of that spy I’ve seen on the telly.”

She closed her eyes and wished the floor could open her up.

“I’ve got a kid,” Killian said.

Ignoring the big Killian, she bent down, and looked at her son. “Will you do me a huge favor? Go to your room and finish your homework.” When he went to complain, she pressed a finger against his lips. “You do that and I won’t drag you to work with me next week, and make you do more than your homework. I’ll make you clean grease for the entire five hours.”

“Oh, Mom.”

“Go. Homework. Now.”

Killian went to his room, and she held onto the door. “You do not need to be here,” she said.

“Excuse me, but that is my son.”